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CHAPTER FOUR

Christy

I finally get Nolan in bed and curl on my couch with a blanket to watch a movie when my phone dings with an incoming text message.

I remember when I first started in this business, I was excited with every phone call or text message I got, but now I dread them this late at night. All it ever means is someone wants to change their appointment, trying to make their life easier while it completely fucks mine. People don’t understand how tight of a schedule I run, and if you’re fifteen minutes late, it pushes back everyone after you, throwing me totally off. It’s even worse when they need to change days or times because then I have to call five other people to see if they can come earlier or later.

The thought frustrates me, so I ignore it for the moment while I search for something good to watch. When it dings with the second reminder, I drop my head back and pick it up to see who wants to move their appointment.

I peek at my phone just to see who it is and instantly jump up when I see Evan P. across my screen. Swiping it with an urgency, I sit up as I read it.

Thanks for coming out today.

I stare at the screen, not sure what to respond with, so I screenshot it and send it to my sister.

Of course, she doesn’t respond and instead calls me right away.

“Holy shit!” she yells into the phone.

“I know, right? What should I say?”

“I’d start with, Why didn’t you tell me you were a baseball player? ” she laughs, but it makes me pause and think.

“This is exactly why he didn’t tell me.”

“I’m not following.”

“If I didn’t find out he played for the Terrors today and he just randomly texted me tonight, I would have thought nothing of it. I might have replied, and I might not have. I definitely wouldn’t have called you—that’s for sure.”

“But because he’s a professional baseball player …” she says into the phone, picking up what I’m putting down.

“Exactly.” Guilt runs through me. “My thoughts of him shouldn’t change just because of what he does for a living.”

“It doesn’t hurt though,” she jokes, making me laugh.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Then respond like he’s your client and you still have no clue who he is. I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”

“Yeah.”

“Then screenshot your entire message and send it to me!” Her voice is laced with so much excitement that I laugh out loud.

“Bye, Sasha,” I tease.

“Bye, future WAG.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

I chuckle as I do just that and stare at my phone, reminding myself that while he sat in my chair today, all I knew was that he was a cute guy, so I treat this like any other guy who’s texted me over the years.

So, I send a simple response.

Thanks for the ball. Nolan is currently sleeping with it like it’s a stuffed animal.

That’s awesome. A boy right up my alley.

I stare at my phone, having no clue what to respond with. Silence between us has my heart pounding as I desperately try to think of what to do next until I see the bubbles appear on his phone, showing me he’s typing something, so I sit and wait to see what he has to say.

Question for you. Where’s a good place to go get furniture?

I laugh out loud. So not a question I thought he would ask.

Like what type? What are you looking for?

All of it. I have a bed and a couch.

He snaps a picture, and my eyes open wide. The empty room, with just a couch and the TV on the floor, proves he wasn’t kidding.

Oh, like, legit, you have nothing!

He sends a laughing emoji back, then types:

This is the first place that’s only mine. I’ve always moved in with teammates, or the team put us up in places. I guess when you make it this far, they expect you to be on your own.

Is that a good or bad thing?

I chuckle to myself, truly not sure which one it might be.

The fact that I made it this far? Amazing. The fact that they expect me to have my own place … I guess, for me, not as great. It will be once I have everything here. I just need to know where to go to start.

I think about where I could send him. I’m a single mom, living in a small townhome, so most of my stuff is from IKEA or hand-me-downs, but I get the feeling he wants something a little nicer than that. I think about the shopping centers I frequent and remember there’s a cute place called Lainey’s Furniture, next to the Italian restaurant I take Nolan to if I want to treat him to a nicer dinner.

There’s a place located at Fifth and Broadway that always looks to have cute stuff.

Cute?

I laugh out loud.

What’s wrong with cute?

I’m a 29-year-old single guy, filling his own home for the first time. Cute makes me think of flowers and pastels.

Oh. Do you want manly, like a deer head and black leather couches?

He snaps another photo of himself lying on his couch and sends it to me. I may or may not stare at him for way too long, kind of in awe that I’m texting this man right now. There’s something about him that’s simple yet exciting. He’s obviously fit, but not in a bulky way. And I love that he didn’t try to get the shot just right before sending it. There’s no pose to the way he’s relaxing on his couch, which is a tan color and looks nice enough.

No black leather sofas for me.

Looks comfy.

It is. You’ll have to come sit on it sometime.

My face flushes at the thought, but I don’t respond.

Why don’t you come shopping with me tomorrow?

My eyes pop out of my head as I read his text. I swipe my phone up to check my calendar. Then close my eyes in frustration when I see I have a completely packed day. This is my world. Kid, work, kid. I don’t even remember the last time I hung out with a guy. I’ll be single for the rest of my life just because I have time for nothing else.

My phone dings with another text message, taking me out of my self-pity woes.

Am I being too forward?

I sit up in a hurry, not realizing that I left him hanging after his last texts.

No, sorry. I was looking at my schedule. I have to work.

I don’t hit Send, and I delete the last sentence I just wrote, then pull up my calendar again. I’ve never played hooky, and the more I think about it, the more I want to. I think in my head about each client I have and where I could move them.

No, sorry. I was looking at my schedule. Let me see if I can move things around.

He gives my text a thumbs-up.

I type out a message to one person, asking if they can come in earlier, knowing they have an event tomorrow they need their color done for. Once they reply that they can, I text everyone else, asking if I can move them to this weekend, knowing my sister will watch Nolan without me even having to ask, especially because of why I’m asking.

Anticipation races through me as I wait for each person to text me back, saying if they can do that or not. This excitement I’m feeling is so foreign and reminds me of when I was in high school. The thought both excites and terrifies me. There’s a reason I haven’t been with anyone since Nolan’s father.

Only one person can’t, so I move them to earlier, after the other client, and text Evan back.

OK, I can go! Does 11 work?

Perfect. Should I come pick you up?

Yeah, just meet me at the salon.

Sounds good. See you tomorrow.

I heart his message and try to get back to what I was watching, glad no one else is around because I couldn’t hide the smile on my face if I tried.