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The scream coming from Willow’s mouth is ten times louder than the blasting music. Eyes wide, she vaults herself backward, nearly tripping over the edge of the couch. I lunge forward, but she catches herself just in time. Then she dives flat onto the couch cushions, like she’s sliding headfirst into home.

The music clicks off, though my ears continue to ring.

With the room silent, I expect Willow to pop up from the couch and babble an explanation, but she stays face-down on the microfiber fabric.

I place both hands on the back of the couch. “Willow?”

“Mm-huh?”

My plan had been to ask what she’d been doing, but it’s clear Willow was crushing her air-guitar solo.

“Are the knee pads so you can slide across the stage?”

Willow tilts her head toward me, peeking one eye open. “That’s an unexpected bonus.”

“What are they for, then?”

She pushes up with an inhale, scrubbing her face with her hands. “I get tired of crouching when I’m cleaning baseboards. Kneeling with pads is easier.”

My eyes follow her gaze toward a bucket and what looks like an oversized toothbrush against an interior wall.

I frown, all the levity from finding Willow being…well, Willow, vanishing.

“No.”

My word is so sharp it could break the plate glass in front of us.

She groans. “I knew you were going to be like this.”

I can’t look away from the bucket. I want to simultaneously crush it between my palms and throw it off the balcony. I’m still staring when Willow climbs over the back of the couch, grabs me by the elbow, and drags me toward the kitchen.

“Here.” She shoves a pan of banana bread beneath my nose. “This will take the edge off.”

When I only glare, jaw tight, Willow sighs, breaking off a piece and lifting it toward my mouth. The scents of bananas, cinnamon, and chocolate swirl in my nose, but I don’t give in. It’s only when Willow raises her brows in a challenge that I let her feed me the tasty morsel. The sensation of her thumb brushing my lip is almost as blissful as the taste of the decadent bread.

Despite my efforts to remain stoic, a rapturous moan leaves my throat.

“Right?” she says, delighted. “Remember, both are part of our contract. Me cleaning and you getting delicious banana bread.”

“I don’t like it,” I tell her, picking the whole loaf out of the pan and taking a huge bite from the end.

“I know, but you’ll learn to live with it,” she says, patting my shoulder.

Willow lets me eat half of the loaf in silence, hoisting herself onto the kitchen counter and kicking her bare feet while she waits.

“Better?” Her knowing smirk shouldn’t be this adorable.

I simply grunt.

Willow’s smile doubles in size. “I’ve been waiting for you to get home.”

“You have?” Warmth billows between my ribs.

“Yes. I want a first-hand account of the Phoenix game. All of America heard Tenny’s hot-mic love confession, but I want to know what it was like to be there in person.”

Shoving down my stupid hope, I chastise myself for even thinking Willow would be excited to see me. She’s more interested in when Tenny tried to start a fight with the opposing first baseman during our first game of three against the Phoenix Rattlers.

Apparently, Tenny has been having a clandestine relationship with Diamond Breakdown’s sideline reporter, Alex Stevens, since spring training. When the Rattlers’ first baseman talked trash about Alex, Tenny lost his cool. He shoved the guy, but before he could take a swing, Rhett and I held him back.