Chapter Eight
Nash
M y phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I reach over to snooze the alarm with half-closed eyes. There’s a text notification. I expect it to be a message from Carmen following up on a new endorsement deal she’s been working on, but when I unlock the screen, Avery’s name jolts me awake.
This is Avery. About your offer… Can we talk?
She must have gotten my number from Benji. Does this mean what I think it does?
I reread the message three times, trying to guess what “can we talk” really means in girl code. In my experience, words like that usually precede something bad. But in this case... maybe it’s good news.
I check the time on the thread before typing out a reply. 5:47 AM. Who texts that early? Her shifts at the club don’t usually start until 9:00 am, but that was only a half hour ago. She must’ve sent it before taking Benji to school.
I type: Absolutely! I’m free now , then delete it. Too eager. I try: Call me when you get a break, but that sounds demanding. Finally, I settle on what feels like the perfect response—simple, casual, and to the point.
Sure. You in?
I shower, make my bed, dress for the day, then check the time.
It’s almost 10:15 and still no word from Avery.
She’s probably in the thick of the club’s breakfast rush, which means I’m stuck waiting for a reply like some lovestruck rookie.
Since when does Nash Fontaine wait around for a woman’s text?
I slide my phone into my pocket and start down the hall, my father’s voice ringing in my head.
“Fortune favors the prepared, Nash.”
My dad, William Fontaine, is known as much for being a shrewd businessman as he is for being a proud father. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from being his son, it’s that preparation beats hesitation every time.
If Avery and Benji decide they’re moving in, everything has to be perfect.
Yesterday was my first night game of the season, so I was too tired to look around when I got home. But from what I’m seeing now, Linda’s team worked some serious magic.
I pause at the entrance to the first guest room, noticing the difference immediately.
The space that once served as a glorified dumping ground for unopened Amazon boxes and neglected gym equipment has been completely transformed.
Against the far wall, there’s a modern, four-post bed, made up with crisp white linens and a navy blue comforter.
To the side, a new desk overlooks the window, and there’s even a bookshelf stocked with all my old baseball encyclopedias.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know this room is perfect for Benji.
I check out the second bedroom to find it’s gotten the same treatment, only the color scheme is less masculine.
The bed is made up with the same white sheets, but instead of navy blue, the comforter is cream-colored and filled with down.
I pass by a vase of fresh white flowers on the dresser, hoping they won’t be too much for Avery, then inspect the adjoining bathroom with the same satisfaction.
In the kitchen, the refrigerator is packed with actual food, and my once-empty pantry is now fully stocked and ready to feed an army.
I pull out my phone and text Linda.
Looks amazing! Thanks for everything. I owe you.
That’s why you pay me the big bucks. Good luck today!
I smile and slide my phone into my back pocket before suddenly second-guessing everything. Did I do enough? Or even worse… What if I did too much? Am I forgetting something obvious? And what if Avery might think I’m trying to—
The doorbell rings, interrupting my thoughts.
When I open the door, the sight of Milo O’Donnell standing on my porch with a plate of cookies makes me jump.
“Nash! Perfect timing!”
“Milo? What, uh…. what are you… doing here?” I ask, forcing a smile.
“Well, funny story,” he says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“I was meeting with an urban beekeeping association about a potential sponsorship—did you know honey production in Chicago increased thirty-seven percent last year?—and their treasurer’s cousin happens to be a real estate developer who mentioned a property three blocks from here.
And when I remembered you lived in the area, I thought, ‘What kind of Play It Forward Director would I be if I didn’t check in on my star mentor? ’”
He thrusts the plate toward me. “Chocolate chip cookie? I made them myself.”
“Thanks, but I’m kind of in the middle of something,” I say, running a hand across the back of my neck.
“Ah?” Milo’s curious eyes peer over my shoulder and down the hallway. “Not expecting company, are you?”
I think about the fact that Avery hasn’t even texted me back and shrug, letting out a defeated sigh as my shoulders fall. “No. I guess not. Would you… like to come in?” I take the plate of cookies, and his eyes light up when I push the door open.
“I hope you don’t mind the impromptu visit,” Milo says, trailing me until we reach the kitchen. “Martha always says my timing is either perfect or perfectly awful. I’ve never quite figured out which is which.”
I set the plate of cookies on the counter, checking my watch for the time. “These look great, but you really didn’t have to—“
“The secret,” Milo continues, “is brown butter. Most people don’t realize how transformative it can be.
Like mentorship, really. Simple ingredients, thoughtfully combined, can create something so much greater than the sum of their parts.
That’s why I’m so glad to have you on board.
A single bachelor like yourself could gain a lot from working with youth. ”
I nod absently, unsure of where he’s going with this.
“You’ve got a really nice place here, you know?
Lots of nice things. Not much different from what I’d expect.
But you know—a house never quite becomes a home until it holds more than just possessions.
” His voice shifts, and the intensity in his eyes makes me think that maybe there’s more to him than his quirky persona suggests.
“It’s the people and their connections that transform a space, Nash.
My mentor showed me that after I’d spent years thinking success meant buying a house in the Hamptons and having my own personal butler.
Maybe one day you’ll know just what I mean,” he smiles like he’s in a daze, then snaps out of it after glancing at his wristwatch.
“Oh, goodness! Look at the time! I suppose that’s enough nostalgia for one day, don’t you? Enjoy the cookies.”
I see Milo out, relieved to no longer be listening while he drives home the fact that I’m twenty-eight and still haven’t settled down with someone. I get that enough from my mother.
I’m about to turn it to ESPN on the flatscreen when my phone buzzes. I pull it out of my back pocket, and my heart races as a message from Avery lights up the screen.
She’s in.
“And this,” I say, pushing open the door to Benji’s room, “is where you’ll be sleeping.”
Benji’s jaw drops as he steps inside. “This is all for me?” He glances back at Avery as if needing her permission before setting down his bags.
“Yep. All yours, Champ.” I lean against the doorframe, trying not to look too pleased with myself.
“There’s a desk! And baseball books!” He drops his baseball bag onto the floor and stretches his arms out before falling back onto the mattress. “Oh, man! This is the best bed ever! Thanks, Nash!”
“You’re welcome. You’ll have to let me know how she sleeps.” I turn to find Avery standing in the hallway, arms crossed tightly over her chest. The dark circles under her eyes tell me her time at the hotel was even worse than I thought. “Ready to see yours?”
Avery follows me down the hall with a neutral expression, but it’s clear by the look in her eyes that she’s relieved to finally be settling in—even if she won’t let her guard down long enough to admit it. “Bathroom’s through there. Fresh towels and toiletries are in the cabinet.”
She steps inside the giant room, looking around cautiously. “This is... really nice.” Her voice is measured—polite even—and for the first time, I think she’s about to smile. But she doesn’t.
“Like I said, you and Benji are welcome to stay for as long as you need. No strings attached.”
Something flashes in her eyes. Doubt? Or maybe it’s suspicion. “Thank you.”
She nods, and I clear my throat. “The kitchen’s fully stocked, and the Wi-Fi password is on the fridge. Help yourself to whatever. I leave tomorrow for a two-week road trip, but I left my backup cell number and Linda—my realtor’s—on the counter in case you need anything.”
Benji appears in the doorway, already wearing the new baseball cap I left on his desk backward. “Can I put posters up?”
“Sure,” I shrug. “Mi casa es su casa.”
“What?” he deadpans.
“It means make yourself at home,” Avery says, the ghost of a smile finally playing on her perfectly kissable lips.
Knowing how wrong it is on so many levels to even think about kissing Avery right now, I back away to give them their space. “Guess I’ll let you two get settled in. Let me know if you’re hungry and I’ll order a pizza or something.”
I head downstairs, and the sound of Benji’s excited voice echoing through the hallway hits in an unexpected way.
Aside from the occasional cleaner or repairman, I’m not used to having other people in my space.
It may not be what I expected when I woke up this morning, but something tells me it’s a sound I could get used to.