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“I don’t know.” She yawned, stretching her arms. “Better, I guess.” Her attention was drawn to a white sack Logan was holding. “What’s that?”
A crooked smile slanted his mouth. “Chicken soup. I picked some up at the deli.” He handed her the bag. “I want to make sure you’re well enough for the game tomorrow night.”
Abby’s head shot up. “Game? What game?”
“I wondered if you’d forgotten. We signed up a couple of weeks ago for the softball team. Remember?”
This was the second summer they were playing in the office league. With her recent worries, softball had completely slipped Abby’s mind. “Oh, that game.” Abby wanted to groan. She’d never be able to avoid Logan. Too many activities linked them together—closeness of their workspaces, classes, and now softball.
She took the soup into the kitchen, removing the large plastic cup from the sack. The aroma of chicken and noodles wafted through the small room. Logan followed her in and slipped his arms around her waist from behind. His chin rested on her head as he spoke. “I woke you up, didn’t I?”
She nodded, resisting the urge to turn and slip her arms around his waist and bury her face in his chest. “But it’s probably a good thing you did. I’ve gotten a crick in my neck sleeping on the couch with Dano on my lap.”
Logan’s breath stirred the hair at the top of her head. The secure feeling of his arms holding her close was enough to bring tears to her eyes.
“Logan.” She breathed his name in a husky murmur. “Why are you so good to me?”
He turned her to face him. “I would’ve thought you’d have figured it out by now,” he said as he slowly lowered his mouth to hers.
A sweetness flooded Abby at the tender possession of his mouth. She wanted to cry and beg him not to love her. Not yet. Not until she was sure of her feelings. But the gentle caress of his lips prevented the words from ever forming. Her hands moved up his shirt and over his shoulders, reveling in his strength.
His hands, at the small of her back, arched her closer as he inhaled deeply. “I’ve got to go or I’ll be late for class. Will you be all right?”
Speaking was impossible, and it was almost more than Abby could do to simply nod.
He straightened, relaxing his grip. “Take care of yourself,” he said as his eyes smiled lovingly into hers.
Again, it was all Abby could do to nod.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at six-thirty, if you’re up to it. We can grab a bite to eat after the game.”
“Okay,” she managed shakily, and walked him to the door. “Thanks for the soup.”
Logan smiled. “I’ve got to take care of the team’s first base player, don’t I?” His mouth brushed hers and he was gone.
Leaning against the door, Abby looked around her grimly. If she felt guilty before, she felt wretched now.
—
Shoving the baseball cap down on her long brown hair, which she’d tied back in a loose ponytail, Abby couldn’t stifle a sense of excitement. She did enjoy softball. And Logan was right—she was the best first base player the team was likely to find. Not to mention her hitting ability.
Logan wasn’t as good a player but enjoyed himself as much as she did. He just didn’t have the same competitive edge. More than once he’d been responsible for an error. But no one seemed to mind, and Abby didn’t let it bother her.
As usual, he was punctual when he came to pick her up. “Hi. I can see you’re feeling better.”
“Much better.”
The game was scheduled to be played in Diamond Lake Park, and Abby was half afraid Tate would stumble across them. She wasn’t sure how often he went into the park and—She reined in her worries. There was no reason to assume he’d show up or that he’d even recognize her.
Most of the team had arrived by the time Abby and Logan sauntered onto the field. The co-ed Softball League was recreational. Of all their team members, Abby was the one who took the game most seriously. The team positions alternated between men and women. Since Abby played first base, a man was at second. Logan was in the outfield.
The team they were playing was from a local church, and Abby remembered her team beating them last summer.
Dick Snyder was their office team’s coach and strategist. “Hope that arm’s as good as last year,” Dick said to Abby, who beamed at him. It was gratifying to be appreciated.
After a few warm-up exercises and practice pitches, their team left the field. Logan was up to bat first. Abby cringed at the stiff way he held himself. He wasn’t a natural athlete, despite his biking prowess.
“Logan,” she shouted encouragingly, “bend your knees.”
