Page 55 of Double Play

“I like it.” She hums, still eyeing the paper sacks I’d set on the kitchen table on the other side of the island. “It’s quiet . . . and all mine.”

I could ask about where she lived with her ex-husband. If they had a house or not. If they owned or rented, but I honestly didn’t care. This room with dark cabinets and butcher block countertops feels cozy, quaint even, and reminds me of Isaiah’s place in Colorado. It was home.

Shaking the strange thought, I step over to her kitchen cabinets and start to rummage through them.

“Nosy much?” she jokes, before asking, “What do you need.”

Within minutes, I have ground beef sizzling on her stove and the makings of my dinner selection spread out, giving away exactly what I intend for us to make for dinner.

“Tacos?” she questions.

“Nachos.” I hold up a bunch of peppers. “Complete with jalapeños.” I wiggle my brows and India laughs.

“Damn. And here I’d hoped we’d be making out on my couch later.”

“Oh, we’ll definitely be doing that,” I warn her.

“Not with jalapeño breath.” Her scowl is so cute, and forced, and within a few seconds she’s breaking form and smiling again.

“There’s these inventions called toothpaste and a toothbrush.”

India licks her front teeth and smacks her lips. “And you happen to have brought your own?”

She has me there. I didn’t bring those items with me for a very specific reason which isn’t necessary to disclose yet.

Within minutes, the ground beef is browned and a cooking sheet with tortilla chips and Mexican cheese is set into the oven to bake.

In the meantime, I offer India a pre-mixed margarita or a Corona beer.

“Definitely the Corona.”

I pop the caps, and we tap our long neck bottles against each other.

“To second dates,” I say. To second chances.

“We had a first date?” She arches one brow again before bringing the bottle to her lips.

“Colorado. The place of all our firsts. First kiss. First sex. First official date. Hiking.”

She smiles warmly at me, a genuine one that nearly bends my knees and takes me to the floor to worship her in other ways, like with my tongue and fingers.

Instead, I step toward the paper bags I’d set aside while prepping everything for dinner. “I have something else for you.” Pulling out a slim gift, poorly wrapped in brown paper, I present it to her

“What’s this?” India’s eyes narrow, like she’s puzzled but pleased.

“A housewarming present of sorts.”

Her head whips upward with further confusion in her eyes.

“I’ve been waiting for an invitation to your house before sharing.” The playful jab is a reminder that we’ve spent months ignoring one another.

India slowly flips the item over and I’m certain she knows what it is based on the shape of the gift. The flat square is rather obvious. But when she unwraps the gift, she stares down at the item like she’s never seen anything like it before.

“It’s a record.” Her voice is low, quiet and confused. “The soundtrack for A League of Their Own.”

Slowly, she lifts her head, eyes mystified, and for half a second, I worry I’ve made a poor choice.

“I remembered it being your favorite.” I’d admitted such a thing while we were hiking in Colorado. “And I just thought . . .” I wave at the album still held in her hands.