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“I like it.”
“Great. Can I get your logins and passwords?” At my raised eyebrows, she follows with, “I signed a contract with the Landsharks and those types of things are kept in complete confidence. I thought we’d start off with posting together so that I can get a feel for what you’re comfortable sharing. After that, you should follow my direction. If at any time you want to pull back, we can. Rena paired us for a reason, though, so I hope you’ll trust me.”
I stare at her.
“Is there a problem?”
There’s that “P” word again. I scratch the back of my neck like that will get rid of my apprehension. I’ve learned the hard way that trust is something earned, not given. And I’m not fond of being told what Ishoulddo.
I also need to change my password before I give it to her. I don’t think she’d appreciatebaseballstud69. My younger brother, Drew, is the techie in the family and created my accounts. He thinks he’s hysterical.
“How about we take some pictures today, and tomorrow I give you that info?”
“I understand. I did spring it on you.”
“Appreciate it.”
Sammy barks.
“Come on. Looks like we’re keeping someone waiting.”
We walk past the pebble pool, rose garden, fruit trees, and large grassy area. Chloe stays quiet, one eye on Sammy, the other on our surroundings. When we round the corner, she gasps.
“You have a baseball field.”
“It’s not regulation size, but it does the job.”
She jogs into the outfield, Sammy nipping at her heels. The field ends at the edge of the bluff, the Pacific Ocean a massive backdrop. Chloe looks over her shoulder at me—damn she’s pretty. “This is insane,” she calls from the short perimeter fence along the rim.
I reach her side. On a clear day, the view is unparalleled. She stretches her neck, her chin jutting out, in order to peek over the fence line. I’ve got a good six to eight inches on her so I casually follow her line of sight. Stairs lead down to a flat dirt area for collecting “home runs.”
“You have a crag so balls don’t fly into the ocean. That is brilliant. Do you fetch them yourself?” The question is full of amusement. She thinks I don’t.
“Actually, I do, Webster.”
She side-eyes me. I’m not sure if it’s because she doesn’t believe me or because I called her Webster. Neither bothers me. She’ll discover soon enough I always speak the truth. And when it comes to her nickname, she’s stuck with it whether she likes it or not. I don’t go around nicknaming just anyone.
“Okay, Hotshot Center Fielder, let’s see you and Sammy in action.”
We turn back to the field. Sammy’s baseballs are scattered all over the diamond. I grab one, wave it at Sammy so she makes eye contact with the toy, then toss it. “Fetch!”
Sammy chases the ball down, puppy teeth picking it up. She runs back toward me, dodges left and scampers off, her understanding of the game a work in progress.
“You need treats,” Chloe says. “To reward her with.”
“Right. I keep forgetting that.” I grip another ball, get Sammy’s attention, and throw it. Repeat. If nothing else, Sammy loves shagging balls and keeping them away from me.
The arm motion dumps sizable tension on my collarbone, but the discomfort is nothing I can’t handle, not when I’m breathing in the scent of fresh-cut grass and sea and have a smart, beautiful woman next to me.
We play for a good ten minutes before Sammy drops to her belly, tuckered out. I sit beside her, rub her back. Chloe snaps some pictures. “It’s time for a ride in the car,” I tell Sammy. She’s unfazed.
“Unless you need my help, I think I’ve got enough for today.” Chloe scratches the top of Sammy’s head.
“Your help?”
She glances at my sling. “Taking her to the vet.”
I know she doesn’t mean anything negative by it, but I’m irritated nonetheless. The damn sling isn’t debilitating, not when the rest of my body is in peak condition. “I don’t need you.” I regret my gruff tone the second our eyes connect. The spark I saw earlier in hers is gone.
