Page 12 of Desert Sky (RB MC #4)

SKYE

“ W hat will it take to get a date with you? Lily?

Tyler never gave up. He’s always got a lazy smile on his lips. His blonde hair curled up at the tips, the same college ball cap on his head.

He’s cheery.

Happy.

Like a big, goofy Golden Retriever begging to be your favorite guy. “I’m not your type.”

“My heart and hormones disagree.”

“Sign, here,” I deadpanned. “And here.” I marked the contract with another X.

He signed without even glancing at the paper, instead his cornflower blue eyes never wavered from mine.

“Better stop flirting with your office manager or she’ll call HR.”

“I am HR.”

“And that’s the problem.”

“You’ve worked for me for two years, come, on. You know I’m a great guy.”

“I’m moody. Tired. Haven’t been on a date since high school. You can do better than me and you know it.” My cheeks bloomed with color as he refused to look away.

“I have tickets to the Durham Bulls game tomorrow. Jackson loves baseball…”

I raised a brow. “Are you using my son against me to finagle a date?”

“Will it work?”

“Probably,” I sighed.

His smile lit up the rooms if he had the winning lottery ticket in his hand.

Guilt crept up my throat. He didn’t even know my real name. My past—and he was too good of a guy to want to date me.

It was the kind of North Carolina evening that felt dipped in honey and warm light—the sky streaked with pinks and purples as the stadium lights flickered on at the Durham Bulls Athletic Park.

The crack of bats echoed, fans cheered, and the scent of caramel corn and sausage dogs lingered in the air.

Tyler had bought the tickets. Premium seats. Close enough that you could see the dirt kicked up from every slide into home plate.

Jackson was practically vibrating beside me, cap turned backward, glove in hand, his eyes wide behind his smudged sunglasses.

Tyler handed him a soda and ruffled his hair. “You ready to catch a foul ball, champ?”

Jackson nodded fiercely. “I’ve been practicing!”

I smiled, watching them. Tyler had a way of sliding into our lives gently, like he wasn’t trying to fill a space, just… exist beside us.

The Bulls hit a home run in the fourth inning, and Jackson jumped up, screaming with the rest of the crowd, waving his arms like a wild thing. He sat back down breathless and leaned over to whisper, “Mom? Can I ask him?”

I blinked. “Ask him what?”

He turned to Tyler, eyes shining. “Tyler, do you wanna come to my Little League game this weekend? I play shortstop. And sometimes I pitch. I could show you my fastball.”

Tyler’s brows lifted, then softened into something quiet and surprised.

“I’d love that, buddy,” he said, without missing a beat. “You let me know where and when, and I’ll be there cheering the loudest.”

Jackson grinned so big I could practically see his heart glowing.

Something shifted inside me then—watching my son find joy in a moment so simple. Seeing a man show up not with promises, but with presence.

Tyler looked at me, his voice low. “That okay with you?”

I nodded, throat tight. “Yeah. That’s okay.”

Because it was. Maybe more than okay.

The crowd roared around us as the Bulls scored again, but the noise faded behind the feeling blooming in my chest. Jackson leaned against me, sticky fingers tangled in mine.

Maybe this was what healing looked like—small moments stacked like bricks.

And maybe… we were building something new.