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Surprised,WyattgaveLouthe address. “Seeyou at six,” he said with a warm smile, hopingPammywouldn’t strangle him with her bare hands.
* * *
Lilyshowedup early at theSomershouse, hoping she could helpPammyset up.Wyattwanted to pick her up but she insisted on taking the shuttle.Slowand steady.
Sherang the doorbell of what could best be described as a modern log cabin, its facade a mix of theOldWestand neatly trimmed gardens.Whenno one responded,Lilylet herself in.
“Hello!”
“Inhere!” she heard a woman call out.
Pammystood in the kitchen, wearing a ‘Bunin theOven’ apron over her swollen figure.Sweatwas beading from her forehead as she balanced a pan of mini-rolls in her mitted hands. “Hi,Lily.Gladyou let yourself in.Gotmy hands full. “
Lilyset down the sparkling cider she’d brought and went over, shut the oven door, taking in the scene.Thekitchen was large with a high, beamed ceiling, pine cabinetry, and untreated oak floors.Amusingsigns like “Dinnerchoices:Takeit orLeaveIt” and “StressedSpelledBackwardsisDesserts” hung along the walls.
Outthe window,LilyspottedWyattin the backyard grilling up a storm, singing along with whatever tune was playing in his earbuds.Shecouldn’t make out the words, but watching him groove to the music, using metal tongs as a one-handed conductor, she knew the scene wasInsta-worthy.Lilywas pulling out her phone, ready to film a surefire viral video of him whenJoeybolted by.
ToLily,Joeylooked like the human version ofBernie, running in circles, chasing his tail.Pammyyelled at him to calm down.
Beforeshe could ask,Pammysaid, “Mr.Galindois coming.”
“Ah.”Thatexplained things.Wyatthad shared with her the revelation of whoLouwas.Clearly, theSomersclan was beyond excited to host the man responsible for their favorite team of all time.
Withthe whirlwind around her,Lilyset the table, taking time to make it look festive with red, white, and blue confetti she found in a bag on one of the chairs.
“Mindholding down the fort whileIgo shower and change?”Pammyasked, looking drained.
“Notat all.”
Amoment after she heard the upstairs door shut, the doorbell rang.Shehurried to open it.
Loustood there, wearing a crisp, white shirt and pleated slacks, like he was coming to a formalThanksgivingdinner rather than a backyard barbecue.Inhis hand was an expensive-looking bottle of scotch.
“Lily!” he said, as she let him in.Hesmelled ofOldSpice. “Niceto see you again.”
“So,” she said, taking the bottle and placing it on the table, then setting her hands on her hips.Shefeigned her best scolding look. “Youwere holding out on me.”
Helooked at her askance then said, “Oh.”Then, “SometimesIlike to keep a low profile.”
“Seemsit didn’t work.Beprepared, this household is filled with diehard fans.”
Therewas no sign ofWyattorJoey.Theywere probably putting on theirRockiesgear.
“Andyou are not?”
“I’mnot much of a sports aficionado.Sorry.”
“Nothingto be sorry about.It’speople like you whoIcan meet casually and not wonder if they’re silently tabulating my net worth.”
Lilylaughed. “Nowyou have me wondering.”
“Cometo think of it,I’vealso been wondering aboutyou.”
“Howso?”
Theysat on the sofa.Apamphlet about natural childbirth and a candy dish filled with chocolate mints rested on the side table.Lilypopped one into her mouth.
Lousaid, “Imay be old butIhave the best memory out there.Yousaid you work fora property management firm.”
