Page 12 of View With Your Heart

“Mom, it hasn’t even been five seconds,” Gee groans.

“Yeah, but Mr. Scott has plans.” A late dinner. Sounds chic, trendy, and mysterious, and also none of my business. I refuse to ask about his personal life. It doesn’t matter to me. “His wife is probably waiting for him.”

At the mention of such a person, Gee hits the ball, and Gavin needs to duck out of the way as it’s a line drive toward second base. When Gavin stands erect again, he stares across the field at me.

“I’m not married.”

For some reason, my heart skips again, and the pulse between my thighs increases like the flutter of a jeté.

Third base. Strong hands touched me in a place only I had explored before Gavin’s fingers sought that sensitive spot, then filled me in a way I’d never experienced.

“Home run,” Gavin yells, and I shake out of my memory once more, watching Gee run the bases while Gavin continues to stare at me.

Being unmarried means nothing to me, I tell myself, lying at the leap within my chest, powerful and strong like a petit allegro jump sequence

“Home run,” I whisper to myself as Gee rounds third and heads home. Score. Gavin and I had that moment once upon a time, but I cut that memory short.

“Good job,” I call out, removing my hands from the fence barrier to clap. I didn’t realize how hard I clutched at the thin strips until my fingers unfurl and ache. The rusty scent of metal drifts to my nose, and the coloring returns to my white knuckles. “Collect the balls.”

Gee does an about-turn after stomping on home plate and races to the outfield to collect the dozen or so balls we brought with us. He hates fielding, which is another reason he dislikes his outfield position, but it’s all part of the game. As he collects his equipment, Gavin struts to me.

“He’s a natural,” he says, glancing back at Gee, and I chuckle without humor.

“Easy there, sport,” I tease. Gavin’s head swivels, and he slowly smiles.

“I haven’t heard that name in a while.”

Yeah, I bet you haven’t. Thirteen years of separation will wipe away a nickname.

“So the Film Festival,” I question, hating that I’m remotely curious about him.

“Yeah.” He swipes nervously at his hair, and I remember the motion from our youth. “I made a film.”

“I read that,” I state, and he blinks.

“You’ve heard of it?” Something unfamiliar fills his voice, lightening the tone, and I question his surprise.

“I read it in the festival program.” I’m not about to explain how I stared at the image of him, uncertain the name correlated with the man of my past until I saw his picture. He’s hardly changed over the years. Same strong jaw. Same deep gaze. Same rosy puffed lips.

“Are you coming to see it?” The twist in his voice sounds almost . . . hopeful, leaving me wondering why he’d want me to view it. Instead, I ask something else.

“Will they sell popcorn?”

He blinks at me, long lashes lowering before his eyes widen in recognition. A slight curl to his lips forces a hidden dimple to peek out.

Am I . . . flirting with him?

“Not sure, but I put red licorice down as a special request.” His mouth curls deeper, and I catch myself before I smile in return.

I am not flirting with him.

“I probably shouldn’t,” I state, standing straighter as Gee runs to home plate to gather his bat and fill his ball bag with all his gear. “Gee, buddy, let’s go.”

“Wait.” Gavin reaches the fence barrier between us, but I begin to circle the backstop. Once I do, Gavin meets me at the edge of the wood base and reaches for my upper arm, whispering once again. “Wait.”

The contact of his warm hand on my clammy skin fires off a current of electricity, jolting me back twenty years when he first kissed me.

“Sweet sixteen and never been kissed,” he teased as we stood outside my cousin’s house, and he kissed me for the first time. It hadn’t been true, that I hadn’t been kissed before, but when Gavin kissed me, I knew I’d never truly been kissed until that moment. When he kissed me at twenty-three, I knew I’d never kiss anyone like him again.