Page 46 of Riding the High

I tip my face up to look at him. “I think it’s time you admit the Reds are better this year.”

He pinches my shoulder.

“It’s okay, really, we won’t judge you for switching teams,” I continue playfully. “We welcome everyone, even Yanks fans.”

“Over my dead body,” Cole scoffs as he strokes Mabel’s hair.

There’s something so nurturing about the tiny movement. And clearly Mabel thinks so too as she cuddles under his strong arm and closes her eyes. A tightening I’ve never felt takes over my chest, then moves through my entire being as I watch him with her. So strong. So loving. I gaze at them, letting myself soak in their love for a beat.

The seventh inning starts and the atmosphere in the pillow fort is almost magical as we watch. An early summer breeze and the sound of the crickets comes through the open windows. The glow of the TV and the spicy clean scent of Cole fill my senses.

Mabel’s out cold, and I’m having a hard time concentrating on the game, because somewhere during the last inning, Cole shifted his arm behind me and started using his free hand to trace my shoulder lazily. The pads of his callused fingers slide down my skin and I shudder. There’s nothing sexual about what he’s doing, but my body reacts regardless, and Ilose my train of thought as his fingers move up from my skin and through my hair.

He’s talking about the Yankees’ season and why, even if the Reds win tonight, they don’t stand a chance of taking the series. I tilt my head up to him, ready to whisper-argue with him. But, this time, his head is positioned much closer. His eyes bore into mine. I gather the will to keep my thoughts straight.

“You can’t mean that. They’re at home and Greene is at his best,” I say, reminding him what a good year our pitcher has had.

“Ginger.” He growls my name like it’s a warning, his lips hovering dangerously close to mine.

I try to remember how to swallow. “Yes, Cole?”

“Thank you for making today very fun for Mabel, but if you ever, ever vandalize my house with Reds shit again, I’m going to do fucking ungodly things to you.”

I smirk and look back at the TV, feeling safe and brave because Mabel is on his other side. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Cole.”

He tugs a curl in response. I know he means it playfully but all I can think isplease pull harder.

“You won’t always have Mabes to protect you,” he adds.

I force myself to focus and tell myself not to read too much into his touch. I know enough from watching him with Mabel that Cole’s just affectionate, and this doesn’t mean anything.

We stay in the fort for the rest of the game and the Reds increase their lead to three runs. But I don’t see the end. Because I fall asleep, curled into Cole like it might just be where I belong.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Ginger

66 days to go

LAW DADDY

Bring warm sweatshirts. It gets cold up there.

I’ve been packing for myself for like fifteen years at least. I also checked the weather and have packed extra socks, my pillow

And a partridge in a pear tree.

LAW DADDY

Always gotta be a smart ass. All this from the woman who doesn’t even wear a coat in the winter.

It was one time. I also helped Mabes pack. So she’s good to go. All you have to do is worry about yourself.

I watch the three little dots pop up, then disappear, then pop up again. But still, nothing. I stare at my phone. It’s been two weeks since I moved in, and Cole has been leading two new courses in citizen interaction techniques and report writing. On top of this, he’s also been covering for two deputies who are onholidays. We spent the other night on the front porch drinking a bottle of my nonna’s homemade wine while he went over Mabel’s summer schedule and told me where he’d need me to fill in as he takes on this extra load. He needs this Lake Charles holiday to reset and recharge before another busy few weeks.

Since Cole has been working all hours, Mabes and I have fallen into a great routine. We both get up early and I make her breakfast. Some days Cole wakes early and has coffee with me; some days he gets up when I’m already making Mabel’s waffles or muffins, which she tells me are far better than her dad’s boring cereal. Once everything is ready, we sit outside in the sun and count the painted lady and viceroy butterflies vying for the milkweed bush in the corner of the yard while we eat.

Our garden project is in full swing now too. Over the last week, we’ve managed to dig out the entire back garden and refill it with fresh topsoil. Mabel is a very go-with-the-flow kind of kid but, at the same time, a little workhorse when she wants something. She spent three days straight with me out there, filling one side of the plot with starter plants: new tomatoes, some peppers, intermittent flowers, spinach and lettuce. It’s all in the beginning stages, but to see Mabel’s face light up every time a new sprout appears has been magical. She’s drawn a picture of the garden in her notebook and, every time something new pops up, she adds it to the sketch.

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