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Alice sometimes saw the ninth inning in her dreams. She was convinced that game would go to the grave with her as one of the most memorable events in her life. And most heartbreaking.
None of it was Alex’s fault.
The final pitch, bottom of the ninth, delivered by Miles only two weeks after he’d come back off the disabled list, hit the dirt and went wild.
The winning run came home.
Walk-off victory for the Braves.
The home-team crowd had lost their minds, and the whole Atlanta team had stormed the field. It was a victory for the ages, absolutely. An unforgettable win.
It had just been for the wrong team.
Alice leaned into Alex, grabbing his arms and wrapping them around herself, snuggling into his warmth.
“Back to the real world tomorrow,” she said.
“So they tell me.”
Kevin and Liv had settled down into a more quiet pursuit, investigating the shells that littered the water’s edge. Kevin was explaining something about the shell in Liv’s cupped hands, and the kid was totally rapt.
Alice wasn’t ready to go back to normal life. They’d spent these three incredible weeks together, and in that whole time they’d barely talked about what would come after. During the last two months of the season, they’d been a typical long-distance couple, but now the season was over until February, and they still hadn’t figured out what was going to happen next.
It was too soon to talk about moving in together, way too soon. Yet they’d proven during their stay at the cabin that they shared a companionable ease in close quarters that gave her hope for the future.
“I’ve been thinking…” he began.
“That’s a dangerous pastime.”
“Tell me about it. My brain has been in agony all day.”
“I bet. So what have you been thinking?” Her heart kicked up its pace until she was sure he must be able to feel it hammering.
“Well, awhile back I pointed out Georgia and Florida aren’t all too far apart.”
“You did.”
“So close, in fact, I’m told they share a border.”
“You don’t say.”
“I do. Liv knows all about the states.”
“She does.”
“And, funny thing, I have to spend about six weeks every year in Florida already.”
“You do.” She turned in his arms to get a better look at his face as he spoke.
“And I asked my realtor—”
“You have a realtor?” Her pulse was pounding so hard she could barely hear herself speak over the sound of it in her ears.
“Sure. And he says my place in Georgia would make a really nice rental property.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.”
