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Chapter twenty-one

Griffin

ME

Which question are you answering today? Favorite book or favorite flower?

DANAE

Asking a reader to name their favorite book is considered cruel and unusual punishment. We could never choose.

ME

Come on, there has to be one book that rises to the top.

DANAE

Nope. I could maybe choose a few top favorites from each genre or for a specific mood. But I can’t possibly pick only one book.

ME

Fine then. Favorite flower?

DANAE

I don’t really care for flowers. I’d rather have books. smiley face emoji Flowers die. Books are forever.

What hobbies do you have other than baseball?

ME

You didn’t really answer either of my questions. So I guess I won’t be telling you that I don’t really have any hobbies outside of baseball.

DANAE

Really? Nothing?

ME

I like people. Meeting and getting to know new people. Establishing connections. Not sure where that classifies on the hobby scale though.

DANAE

I guess we’ll just label it “talking.” Now you have an answer when someone asks what your hobbies are.

ME

Gun to your head, you have to choose a favorite book. What’s your instinctual answer?

DANAE

Fine. The abridged version of The Count of Monte Cristo. I read it for Honors English my sophomore year of high school, and even though I had always been an avid reader, it was the first book I ever paced myself reading. I didn’t want it to end. You might like it!

ME

Is there a movie version?

DANAE

Why don’t you like to read?

ME

That’s too deep of an explanation for a text message.

Why do you hate baseball?

DANAE

That’s too deep of an explanation for a text message.

ME

Well shoot. Looks like I’ll have to see you in person again ASAP.

It’s been three days since our snow day, and although Danae and I have texted a lot, I’m obnoxiously excited to see her again tonight.

Our daily texts have helped me slowly learn more about what makes her tick—that her favorite part of being a librarian is helping kids find “the” book that unlocks their love for reading.

That the hardest adjustment to being a mom has been constantly second-guessing if she’s responding the right way to his emotions.

That her favorite color is purple, specifically the shade in the sky at sunset.

That she really makes pro/con lists for just about every decision, and books are her means of mental escape.

I’ve told her a little more about my family dynamic too.

How we moved all over when I was young, so I learned to adapt to new social situations everywhere we went.

She wasn’t surprised at all by my admission that I was quick to win over every coach and teammate I ever played with, regardless of how long we were in one spot.

She also didn’t seem surprised by my relief that we stayed put once I hit middle school.

Most people assume that since I adapt to new situations so well, I must enjoy constant change.

But I was elated when my dad stopped working for a big company overseeing construction of luxury hotels and opened his own general contracting business.

We could finally settle in one place, and I even grew to love that it was Oklahoma.

We’re slowly laying cards on the table, revealing our lives and histories to each other little by little.

But I’ve been stuffing certain cards up my sleeve, reluctant to play the jokers.

I get the sense that Danae’s doing the same .

. . and it’s not a long-term strategy if I’m going to win this game. Win Danae for the long haul.

I need to tip my cards if she’s going to tip hers.

The fact that her trust in me rides on my trust in her is an easy tell to read, so I’ve been preparing myself for a more serious conversation at dinner tonight.

Luckily, I’ve arranged for my chef to cook dinner for us here at my house, and Sam is going to take Jason to a movie.

“Be expecting a large charge to your credit card tonight because I’m going to buy Jason all the popcorn and candy he can stomach,” Sam says as she walks into the bathroom where I’m styling my hair.

“Hey, knock first! What if I was in here showering?” I exclaim.

“Puh-lease, you wouldn’t leave the door open if you weren’t fully clothed,” she responds with an eye roll. “You sent Danae the security code to get into the neighborhood, right?”

“Of course, I did,” I say, washing the residual hair product off of my hands.

“I’ll text you when Jason and I are on our way back to give you a heads up to stop making out with Danae,” Sam says with an impish smile.

“You’re such a child,” I reply. I flick her arm as I walk past and dodge her returning kick. “We’re going to be talking. We need to be intentional about getting to know each other better if we’re going to be able to withstand the time apart while I’m in Arizona.”

“A little bit of making out might not hurt,” Sam says. “You know you want to.”

Boy, do I know it. Throughout the week, my thoughts have wandered to Danae’s lips on more occasions than could be cataloged. Maybe a little kissing wouldn’t hurt.

“P.S., Joe called earlier, and I actually answered. You’re welcome,” Sam says, then pauses as though actually expecting me to thank her for doing her job. I narrow my eyes, forcing her to continue talking. “He really wants you to do that cologne campaign.”

“The one where they want a bunch of moody, broody shots of me shirtless with a crowd of women?” I ask. She nods. “No, thank you. ”

“He asked me to remind you of the generous payout they’re offering,” she says with irritation. “Pretty sure he’s concerned about his portion of that payout.”

“Yeah, no. Never would I want to do that kind of marketing campaign. But especially not now that I’m trying to start a serious relationship with Danae. Parading around shirtless with other women isn’t exactly a trust-building move. Hard pass.”

“Perfect! I’ll tell him to shove the offer up his—”

I cut her off with another glare.

She holds her hands up in a placating gesture. “I’ll tell him it’s a firm no. Have you told Joe that you’re dating someone?”

“Nope,” I say, popping the “p” sound. “He’d want to spin it into some sort of PR story. Definitely not doing that to Danae and Jason. I’m going to go check with Robert about the food,” I say, heading to the kitchen. The house smells like an all-day brunch café.

Robert pulled some chef strings and borrowed several chafing dishes, which are lined up on the giant kitchen island. It smells like they’re already filled with the smorg?sbord of breakfast foods I requested.

“All good?” I ask.

Robert nods. “Just finished washing the dishes. It’s not going to taste as good being premade as it would if you'd let me stay and cook to order,” he explains with a severe look.

“I promise I won’t let Danae judge your chef skills based on the Bunsen burner food,” I say, and Robert starts muttering under his breath about his crumbling reputation.

“For real, thanks for doing this, man,” I tell him, heartily clapping him on the back.

“Anything for you,” he sighs. “Promise me that sometime I can cook a real meal for you and your new lady.”

“Done.”

I spend the ten minutes between Robert’s departure and Danae’s arrival pacing the living room and trying not to think about kissing her.

Unsuccessful.

The doorbell rings, and I rush to answer it. Jason is all smiles as I swing the door open, and I pause to crouch down into his hug before greeting Danae .

She’s dressed more casually for this date in jeans and a long-sleeved top, but she’s just as heart attack-inducing as she was in the green cocktail dress.

Her lips have a slight pink hue to them, the kind that comes from a tinted lip balm as opposed to flashy lipstick. They’re as magnetic as I remember.

A little kissing definitely wouldn’t hurt, right?

It’s a matter of moments before Sam is on her way out the door with Jason to drive Danae’s car to the movie theater. As the door clicks shut behind them, I can’t resist the urge to pull Danae into a lingering hug.

“Hi,” I murmur into her hair.

“Hi,” she murmurs back, her voice vibrating into my chest.

Reluctantly, I draw myself out of the embrace. “Hungry?” I ask.

“Famished, actually,” Danae answers with a smile.

“Good thing, because I have a whole dinner buffet waiting for you,” I say as I place a hand on the small of her back, gently leading her to the kitchen. I open the chafing dishes with a flourish.

Danae gasps. “Breakfast for dinner?” She returns my wide grin.

“I should clarify that I did not cook this. My chef, Robert, did. And he would like you to reserve your judgment on his cooking skills until he can prepare a fresh meal for you sometime,” I say.

Danae scans the waiting omelets, pancakes, waffles, bacon, sausage, and biscuits with gravy, her eyes dancing.

“I can assure you—there is nothing else he could possibly cook that will be more impressive than this spread,” she says.

We load our plates with food and sit at the smaller table in the kitchen, forgoing the formal dining room. Conversation is light, recapping our weeks as we savor the meal. But as the piles of food are reduced to crumbs, I know it’s time to dive deeper.

I have to play the jokers. Even if I don’t want to.

Needing some movement, I stand to take our plates to the sink.

Danae follows me, carrying the syrup and hot sauce from the table.

After rinsing the plates, I dry my hands and then lean them on the counter, facing the sink.

Clearing my throat, I say, “So, on our first date, you asked me about my injury last year, and I kinda shut down. But I want to talk with you about it now. ”

“I watched a video!” Danae blurts. She’s standing right next to me, and when I turn to face her, I see the panicked look on her face, eyes wide and cheeks flushing.

Her words come out in a rush. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I googled it and watched the video of what happened, and I’m so sorry! ”

I’m stunned by her admission, not because I’m upset, but because I’m surprised that she cared that much.

Danae must misinterpret my silence, though, because she doubles down on her apology.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry if searching about it behind your back breaks your trust. I’m sure you’re tired of people knowing all of your business from the internet, and I’m sorry that I was one of those people. ”

“I’m not upset,” I say, shaking my head. Taking one of her hands in mine, I reassure her. “Not upset at all. Don’t worry—I was surprised you gave it a second thought.”

Danae sputters a laugh. “Um, second thoughts are all I give. Second, third, tenth. Too many thoughts about everything all the time.” She looks down at our hands, at my thumb tracing hers. “It looked really painful. Really awful,” she whispers.

I blow out a breath and lean my hip against the counter. “It was. Physically, it was more than painful. Total agony.” Her eyes are soft with compassion, and now I draw in a deep breath. “It was the mental toll that was harder to handle, though.”

“How so?” she quietly asks.

I stretch my neck, uncomfortable talking about the emotions.

“Obviously, there was so much anxiety about my future in baseball. Was it over? Could I come back from a torn labrum? It’s a difficult rehab journey after surgery.

It wasn’t my throwing arm, but the flexibility and reflexes of my catching hand are just as crucial in a defensive position like shortstop. I was plagued by the uncertainty.”

Pausing, I look down to see that now her thumb is the one tracing gentle patterns on my hand. “And if it had all been over, it would have been my own fault,” I confess.

Danae’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

I shake my head, weighed down by the memory of that moment.

“I should have yielded to Farmer, our left fielder. We’d both called for the ball, but the placement fell within his territory more than mine.

If he was able to get there—which he yelled that he was—I should have let up and given him the catch.

But coming off the previous season, I’d been getting a lot more attention.

The ‘Wizard of Defense’ nickname had been around for several years, but I was gaining more attention as a five-tool player. ”

Danae’s quizzical expression reminds me that the baseball lingo is going over her head.

I explain, counting items off on the fingers of my free hand.

“Five-tool players are strong in all areas—fielding, running, arm strength, and hitting for both average and power. I’d always been able to put the bat to the ball and had a decent batting average, but the season before my injury, I’d started hitting with a lot more power in addition to playing well defensively. ”

I close my eyes, too ashamed to meet Danae’s honest gaze. This beautiful, authentic woman—will she still be interested when she realizes how selfish and prideful I was?

“I let all the attention over my success go to my head. Felt like I was a bigger deal than I was. So, in that split second running for the ball, I was determined to be the one to make that game-winning catch. Who was I if not the ‘Wizard of Defense,’ able to make a diving save like that?”

Swallowing hard, I open my eyes to look Danae in the eye.

“I wanted to be the Wizard of Defense. Wanted to get the catch that would have been on highlight reels for years to come. That would have garnered even more attention, put a greater spotlight on my abilities. So, I assumed that Farmer would yield to me, and I dove for the ball. And I almost ruined my entire life in the process.”