Page 2 of In Your Dreams

I’m not the same awkward teenager I was back then. Nerdy, shy, and meak are all words that come to mind regarding my personality as a teen. I loved math and history the most, and joined the Math Club my freshman year. The only “cool” thing I did was play baseball. By my senior year, I was less nerdy and awkward but I wouldn’t say I was a charmer by any means.

Baseball may have helped me come out of my shell a little but it still wasn’t enough to help me with Poppy. We had a lot of classes together over the years and when we were juniors, I sat right behind her in English. Sometimes she’d flip her blond hair from side to side and I could smell her shampoo. It was this clean mix of citrus with a hint of floral and I swear to God I went to the drug store and sniffed every shampoo on the shelf trying to find it. I never did by the way. Maybe it was her natural scent, I don’t fucking know. All I do know is that maybe it was borderline creepy to do that and I was lovesick as all hell.

Jesus, the sudden lusty nostalgia is enough to make my dick twitch. I shift side to side praying like hell Tom doesn’t notice. That would be all I need.

Honestly, I don’t really think she paid me any mind. We ran in the same circles and maybe had a few conversations about nothing much but she never seemed to really see me.

“Dude, are you okay?” Tom asks. “You’ve been zoned out for a few minutes.”

We’re in the baseball storage room putting away gear and I realize I haven’t spoken in a while. “I’m fine, just thinking.”

“About Poppy’s party tomorrow?” He asks.

“Shut up,” I say.

I’ve been the baseball coach for the Cardinal Falls Little League team for three years and Tom has been my assistant since day one. And before you ask, yes. We’re the Cardinal Falls Cardinals. It’s not original nor does it strike fear into our greatest rivals, the Boomville Bobcats, but you work with what you got. I mean, what did you expect? The Cardinal Falls Sharks? Makes no sense.

“I’m just saying, man, I know you have to be thinking about her. You get this look in your eyes when you do. The second I heard she was moving back, I knew you’d turn into a drooling lump,” Tom says.

He’s not wrong. I’ve asked Theo about it enough times that I’m pretty sure he knows something is up. That would be just what I need. He’s become a close friend over the years but I’m not sure how he’d feel about me going after his little sister. It’s like a rule among guys. Sisters, mothers, aunts, even close cousins are all off limits.

“Will you just focus on whatever it is you’re doing over there and stop sticking your nose into my non-existent love life?”

Tom holds his hands up in innocence. He’s an older guy, closer in age to my dad than me. I guess retirement gets pretty boring, so his solution was to come help me wrangle roughly twenty-five nine and ten-year-olds. Tryouts for the season are in two days and there’s actually a lot to do to prepare. That’s whatwe’re working on now. With Poppy’s birthday party tomorrow, it really needs to get done today.

“Did you get her a gift?” Tom asks, pressing on.

“Yes,” I say. “Of course, it’s a fucking birthday.”

“A good one?” He asks.

“I like to think so.” I turn to face him, wanting to really drive my point home with intense eye contact. “Now please, for the love of God, will you just leave it alone?”

Tom retreats to his task, finally taking the hint and leaving me to stare down at the list of kids who have signed up to try out. Some of their names I recognize, others not so much. In a town as small as ours, family names who have been around a long time are easy to spot.

We have a pretty good number too. So many in fact, that letting everyone get playing time might be difficult. This isn’t the MLB after all. Everyone gets to join the team. Tryouts are not to make cuts, but rather to evaluate the players strengths and put them in the best positions for them as an individual. Then, as the season goes on, we improve their weaknesses and try to make them all pretty well-rounded players.

It’s going to be a long summer. I can already feel it. Not that I’m complaining too much. A long summer beats a long winter. But between working on the curriculum for the next school year, coaching practices during the week and games on the weekend, plus Poppy’s return, I feel like I might be stretched a little thin. Well, only if I can woo her. That’s the word isn’t it? Woo. Wooing. To woo. Hell if I know. It’s been a long time since I’ve wooed anything.

“So what did you get her?” Tom asks.

I rip a sheet of paper from my notepad and wad it into a ball before chucking it at his head. He ducks, missing my assault, then smiles to himself and returns to what he was doing. He means to drive me crazy, as is his usual goal. But this time, he’sdiscovered a very specific button he can push. All of which lends to just how long this summer will likely end up feeling.

CHAPTER THREE

POPPY

What does a girl wear to herwelcome-back-happy-birthday-sorry-about-your-divorceparty? Or maybe I’m officially a woman as of today? It definitely doesn’t happen when you turn eighteen like everyone says. I was still very much a girl. Maybe it should have happened when I had Aiden, but I was still very young. Truth be told, sometimes I still don’t feel like an adult. But getting a divorce? Surely that puts me over the mark.

I study myself in the full length mirror in the corner of my room. I’m still only wearing my towel, holding up dress after dress in front of me and possibly putting too much thought into my attire. What says, “Look at me, I’m cute and shit but I’m not trying to overcompensate from my recent rejection but also I’m not trying to be so cute you want to hit on me” or something like that?

In the end, I settle on the faded red sundress. It hugs me around the chest and helps prop up what little I have. They’ve needed some help ever since I breastfed Aiden. The dress falls a little above my knees and I pair it with flat strappy sandals. I know better than to wear heels on a night like this. Everyone is going to be buying me drinks and shots. It will be interesting to go from “here’s a shot for your birthday” to “sorry about your divorce, here’s a shot” and back again.

Once I’m done, I head downstairs to check on Aiden, who’s spending time with my dad in the garage.

“You guys okay?” I ask, as I pull the door to the garage open. But I stop dead in my tracks as soon as my eyes land on them. The man who raised me and my dear, sweet son both have their shirts off and they’re leaned far over the popped hood of my dad’s old truck. Ass cracks. Two sweaty, grease stained ass cracks are on full display.

“Yeah, mom,” he says, turning back toward me. “We’re all good here. Have fun at your party.”

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