Page 41 of Tinsel in Telluride

Luca’s voice pulls me from my spiraling thoughts, and I glance up to find him standing with his head poked out from the cabin door.

“Yeah.”

I follow Luca inside where Martha, the sweet matriarch of the farm,is putting the finishing touches on what looks like a broccoli salad.

The moment she sees Luca and me, she smiles. “You two have the sweetest little boy. He reminds me so much of my grandson, Ryan.”

“Oh, he's not?—”

“Thank you,” Luca cuts me off with a smug smile. “He’s definitely something special.”

Apparently, I didn’t need to spiral. Just give Luca another thirty seconds and he would have reminded me why I hate him on his own.

I pin a glare in his direction, and the bastard shrugs like it’s no big deal.

But it is.

Each moment Zach and I spend here, I feel like I’m losing everything I have fought so hard to protect. And to make matters worse, I’m losing it to someone who has no idea how special it is. We’re just a shiny toy right now. But what happens when we have to actually parent? When it’s not just a fun trip to the mountains. Will Luca show up then?

I swallow hard past the lump in my throat and look past him at Martha. “No rush, but when will lunch be ready? I’m trying to make sure we don’t end up with a hangry toddler.”

“Oh!” Martha exclaims in the way only a fretful grandmother can. “I completely understand, darling. Here, if you want to have him start with some fruit, I’ve got a bowl chopped and ready.” She turns around and pulls a bowl of berries from a vintage refrigerator. Setting down on the edge of the worn chopping block, she pushes it toward us.

“Thank you so much,” I say, making a note to see if the Denver Hearts chapter would consider partnering with this family-owned business for future fun outings. It would definitely be a trek out here, but the kids would love the horses. The trail ride to the hundred-year-old cabin where Martha and her family cook a homemade meal for guests and tell them all about the history of the land would be both heartwarming and breathtaking.

Luca grabs the fruit with one hand while his other slips to my lower back.

Martha’s gaze tracks his movement, and she offers me a sly wink as Luca gently steers me back toward the door we came through.

The moment we are out of sight of the sweet old woman who thinks we’re the poster family for cuteness, I spin on him.

“What the hell was that?”

Luca chuckles but keeps walking until he reaches the railing, then calls Enzo over to grab the fruit to offer Zach.

It’s not until he’s done that he looks back and realizes I’m still waiting for an answer.

“What’s the harm in letting a little old woman—who we will never see again, I might add—believe we’re a family?”

“You can’t seriously be this dense.” I push a stray curl from my face, tucking it behind my ear. “You know who you are, right?”

He saunters back over to where to me and crosses his arms over his broad chest, a barrier of defense. “I’m fairly certain I remember my name.”

My eyes widen, surprised he’s still not getting it.

“Luca, the four of you are owners of major league franchises, not to mention four of the most eligible bachelors in sports.”

He raises a brow and grins. “So you’ve been doing your research on us.”

“You think I would let my son build snowmen with strangers?”

“No, you’re too good a mom for that.”

His compliment catches me off guard, and I tumble over my words. “I—Thank you. But you must realize all it would take is one phone call and your name, along with mine, and Zach will be plastered all overThe Foul Line.”

I’ve made it a point to stay off the radar of the trashy sports news sight. I don’t need anyone speculating who my son belongs to or commenting on me raising him as a single mom. It hasn’t been easy with all the coverage of Willow taking over as the Renegades owner and Renegade Hearts getting the official MLB sponsorship, but somehow I’ve managed.

Then again, if Luca is his dad, it’s only a matter of time.

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