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Ziggy

I’m a nervous wreck.

I shouldn’t be. The caterers are here. The bar is set up. The room is perfectly decorated. Dad’s beaming as he welcomes the team to the postseason banquet, delayed because a few players were traveling over the summer and weren’t supposed to be back until now.

And this is the first time I’ll be in a room with two dozen men who know that I’m dating their captain.

And my stepdad.

Their team’s owner.

Dad insists that the whole family greet the team, so I’m standing next to Mom, who’s next to Miranda, who’s next to Dad.

All four of us in a row.

“Hey, Ziggy,” Crew says to me after he shakes my mom’s hand. He’s first in line. “Looks great in here. Did you hear we have a player on the team who saved a puppy from a fire last week?”

“ No ,” Mom gasps.

I glare at Crew as much as I can without giving away that I’m glaring at him. “I hope we hear all about it later. That’s something to celebrate.”

“My goodness, is he okay?” Mom asks.

“Barely even singed his arm hairs,” Crew says.

Holt’s not here yet. He’s coming with Fletcher and Goldie and Silas.

And they’re intentionally arriving almost last.

They might even be in the parking garage right now, waiting for most of the other guys to arrive.

Wouldn’t surprise me.

I wonder if he’s as nervous as I am.

I hope not. Only one of us should feel like this.

“Ziggy? Are you okay?” Mom whispers.

Another player’s here, talking to Dad and taking a minute.

“Yes! Yes. Why? Do I have something between my teeth? Is my lipstick smeared? Oh god, did I lose an earring?”

“Sweetheart, you look perfect.” She puts a hand to my forehead, like anxiety can present itself with a fever or something. “What’s going on?”

“I just want to do a good job,” I blurt.

“You’ve done a fabulous job. Look at this place. No one else could’ve pulled this together like you did.”

I can think of a dozen people I personally know who could’ve pulled this together, but I don’t say that.

Instead, I smile politely at Holt’s teammate, who gives me a kind smile in return before shaking Mom’s hand and telling her thanks for hosting tonight .

Two. Dozen. Men.

Including several I’m meeting for the first time tonight because not all of the guys come into the office regularly. Two were retiring at the end of the year. A couple more have been traded but came back for the banquet.

And all of them know my secret.

Mine and Holt’s.

I manage to shove the worries far enough into a mental box that Mom quits fussing.

Doesn’t hurt that the players and the sponsors Dad invited are showing up in thicker crowds now, and I’m saying polite nice to meet you s and good to see you again s and thank you for coming s to suited man after suited man and occasionally their dates too.

We’re telling my parents tomorrow.

After the banquet.

To give the team one more night of semi-normalcy to celebrate what they certainly deserve to celebrate.

And then Holt and I will handle the aftermath of our announcement without taking away from anyone’s joy.

Because the team really did do amazingly well this season.

If it weren’t for a few injuries to some key players, they would’ve gone all the way again this past season.

More businessmen and their wives come through the line.

I keep alternating between looking at the rancher I hired to come and grill steaks on the patio outside the banquet hall and watching for Holt to show up in the line.

And that’s why I almost miss it.

The introduction.

The introduction .

“Ziggy,” Mom says with that tone of voice that says she’s said my name at least three times now.

I snap to attention and force a smile at her, consciously not asking if my dress is stuck in my panties. “Yes?”

“This is Kyle Vince. The nice young man I told you about who works with your father at the Environmental Engineering Club?”

It takes seven heartbeats—fast heartbeats, but still—for me to catch on.

The nice young man I told you about .

Shit.

Dammit .

I keep my forced smile in place and hold out a hand, blocking him from going in for a cheek kiss.

Not on purpose, though it would’ve been if I’d realized he was going to try to do the cheek kiss.

What in the hell has my mother been telling him about me? “Hello, thank you for coming. What’s your connection to the team?”

“ Ziggy ,” Mom hisses.

Kyle smiles at me. He’s a few inches taller than me, slender, in a suit that smells both expensive and new. “Big fan.”

“Like season ticket holder?”

“I, ah, no. Just a game or two every season. But I subscribe to the rugby channel. Watch a lot at home.”

He’s so lying.

I slide a look at Mom, who’s beaming at him. “Kyle was just promoted to senior lead manager engineer for one of the biggest environmental firms in Copper Valley.”

“That’s…not actually a title,” he tells her with a bashful smile.

Bashful .

It’s fake.

It has to be fake.

But even if it isn’t, I don’t care.

“Congratulations on whatever your title is,” I manage to say without any snark at all. Thank you, seven years of hardcore hospitality training on cruise ships. “We need more people in the world who care about the environment.”

I look to the guest waiting to say hi to Mom, and I almost squeak.

It’s Fletcher.

Followed by Goldie.

Followed by Holt, who’s shaking Dad’s hand with what I would’ve called a relaxed smile a month ago, but now, I can see the tension in his shoulders and the strain in his neck and the way his mouth is too tight at the corners.

He’s nervous.

And Fletcher’s glaring at Kyle while Goldie leans around him and gives me a finger wave.

Miranda looks like she’s torn between wanting a tub of popcorn to watch the show and wanting to leap in and save me.

I appreciate both of those things about her.

“Kyle will be sitting with us,” Mom tells me. “I can’t wait to hear more about his job. How about you, Ziggy? Aren’t you fascinated?”

“It’s not quite as exciting as a rugby game,” Kyle says.

Match , I hear the entire Pounders team yell in my head.

“I’m pregnant,” I tell Kyle.

His brows lift, but only slightly. “Yes, your mother told me. That’s exciting. I personally hope to have several kids whenever I meet the right woman and settle down.”

“He wants to be a dad ,” Mom whispers .

Loudly.

“Mrs. Keating, so good to see you,” Goldie says, slipping around Fletcher, who’s still glaring at Kyle.

“So we’ll talk more at dinner?” Kyle says to me.

“It seems so. Enjoy the bar. It’s free. Thank you for coming and supporting the Pounders.”

He winks.

I momentarily wish for morning sickness to come back.

There’s nothing innately wrong with him, aside from the fact that my mother invited him here to attempt to make him my date.

And he’s not Holt, who just said something to Miranda to make her snort-laugh so loudly that all of us are looking at her now.

“Oh shit, I blew snot on your coat,” she says to Holt.

“Not the first woman to do that to me today,” he replies, which makes me choke on a laugh too.

Jessica did get him spectacularly well this morning.

“Oh, are you dating someone, my dear?” Mom says to him.

“I have a—” He freezes, his gaze darting swiftly from me to Fletcher to Mom to Miranda to Dad to me and back to Fletcher.

He can’t say a dog who hates him.

He can’t say a dog who hates men.

He probably shouldn’t say dog at all.

“Friend with a kid with a cold,” Goldie interjects smoothly. “He was telling us all about it on the way over. Though why we had to drive a man with two good feet is such a great question, isn’t it?”

Thank the wine gods for Goldie.

“You’re out of the cast!” Mom shrieks. She tackles Holt with a mom hug. “Oh, what a wonderful day! Roland. Did you see this? Holt’s out of his cast.”

“It was a boot, Deedee,” Miranda murmurs.

“Yes, great day for the Pounders,” Dad says before going back to talking to Silas.

Goldie slips to my side and hugs me. “Thank you so much for talking your dad out of inviting mine again this year,” she whispers.

“Of course,” I whisper back.

I don’t know all of the details, but I know Dad likes Goldie’s dad because he created a rugby league for kids so Silas would have a league to train in, but Goldie and Silas aren’t big fans of the man themselves. Our families weren’t really tight growing up because it was before Dad cared to buy a rugby team.

And now I wonder if they weren’t tight for other reasons, despite having kids in the same schools at roughly the same times.

Honestly, watching Goldie and Silas both thrive—and watching Holt thrive as well—without their parents makes me hope mine can see how happy Holt makes me, and that they’ll be supportive.

Guess we’ll see tomorrow.

Also, I want a glass of wine.

I very much want a glass of wine.

“You look beautiful tonight,” she adds as she pulls back. “Look at you showing off your baby bump.”

I run a hand over the smooth fabric of my dress that is, indeed, showing off the small but unmistakable baby bump that is Tater Tot. “Thank you. You look like a million bucks.”

She’s in a skin-tight red dress that reaches mid-calf, with her dark hair twisted up in a fancy knot. “Fletcher calls this my fuck you dress. It’s his favorite.”

“Only when we’re home alone,” he grumbles as he turns to us after kissing Mom on the cheek and thanking her for having them.

“That might be too much information,” I say.

Goldie’s golden-hazel eyes sparkle with mischief. “That’s what my brother said too.”

“We really getting steak?” Fletcher asks me.

I point toward the double glass doors to the patio, where plumes of grill smoke are billowing around the patio and an older gentleman in a cowboy hat is flipping steaks at the grill. “I’ve been in catering and hospitality too long to disappoint. The wine is fabulous too. Which I won’t be having. But I still know it’s great.”

“The decorations are beautiful,” Goldie says, gesturing to the glinting silver streamers and the balloon arch at the photo station.

“Miranda told me what to do there. I just put it in motion.”

“You both did a fantastic job.” She squeezes my hand. “So now you get to enjoy the evening, yeah?”

“Yes,” I say out loud while my brain says I’m going to try .

Fletcher pats me on the shoulder. “Good job. See you later.”

Holt’s getting another hug from my mom, who pulls out of it and smiles at me. “Ziggy, do you remember Holt? He sent flowers when we lost our sweet Oreo last year, and he’s always the first to hold a door for any of us when he has both feet. Which he does. Finally. He was going to leave us to play in Europe but decided to come back to the Pounders after all, and we couldn’t be more thrilled. ”

The whisper campaign is clearly working.

I hold out a hand when I want to leap into his arms and ask him to please take me somewhere to hide from an arranged dinner date. “Nice to see you again.”

He takes my hand in his large, warm one, and he squeezes. “Likewise.”

Swear that’s a likewise to my internal thoughts rather than my boring greeting. “If my mom is happy you’re still on the team, then I’m happy too.”

“One of the best teams I’ve ever played for.”

We’re still shaking hands. I need to let him go.

But this is the only time I’ll get to touch him at all tonight.

“Oh, you,” Mom says, playfully batting his arm. She shakes her head at me. “He’s the kind who would say that about any team he played for. Always looking for the bright side.”

And he struggles to find it.

I know that much after getting to know him the past couple months.

But he’s here, and I’m glad.

I give his hand one last squeeze, then drop it. “I hope you have a lovely time tonight. The food should be good.”

“Hope so,” Silas says behind him.

“Oh, Silas, so good to see you too.” Mom hugs him as well. “I was sorry to hear your dad couldn’t make it this year.”

Holt snorts.

Silas grimaces too, behind Mom’s back. “Yeah. Really sad.”

He extricates himself from Mom’s grip and holds out a hand to me. “So you’re Ziggy. Goldie keeps talking about you.”

“Who are you, and how do you know Goldie?” I ask.

I hear Holt snort again, and I let myself smile as Silas rolls his eyes. “She might not say good things about me, but I know she talks about me.”

“She does. Is your daughter with you tonight?”

He shakes his head.

“That’s too bad. She’s adorable. And so smart.” Hallie was tagging along with Goldie for one of our lunches last week.

He smiles. “Kids are great. You’ll love yours.”

“Already do, even if they keep kicking me.”

Another businessman is lined up with Mom, waiting to say hi, so Silas joins Holt, Fletcher, and Goldie, who are waiting for him, and then the four of them head for the picture station.

Holt doesn’t look back.

And I should quit looking at him.

But what would it be like if we could openly be here together?

If I could go take pictures with them?

If we could sit at the same table where I could hear more stories from his teammates and friends about their season together?

“Ziggy?” Mom says, again in that I’ve said your name three times now tone.

My fake smile reappears, and I turn to the next man in line and hold out my hand, shaking as Mom introduces me to another sponsor and his wife.

“You seem very close with Silas,” she murmurs between guests.

Silas.

Close with Silas .

She’ll find out otherwise tomorrow. “He’s Goldie’s brother. I met his daughter last week. What was I supposed to say? I’d hope someone would tell me if they think Tater Tot is an absolute delight.”

She puts her hand to my forehead again. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? Are you getting enough sleep? Is this job too much right now? You know, we can?—”

“Deedee, say hi to Zander,” Miranda interrupts. “You can fuss over Ziggy later. She’s doing great. Who wouldn’t be stressed worrying about making sure a hundred people are happy with a gourmet steak dinner?”

Zander looks between all of us, then makes quick work of shaking hands and thanking us for having a party for the team, then departs.

Thanks for having us. Thanks for having me .

Such a strange expression.

We’re literally here because the guys played an amazing season. We should be thanking them for giving us a reason to have a big, festive dinner where my mom has brought a date for me and where I can’t be seen privately talking to the man who has my heart.

Finally— finally —the line is over, and it’s time for us to get drinks and mingle for a few minutes before dinner’s called.

I slip to the bathroom, Miranda on my heels. “You okay?” she whispers.

“We’re telling them tomorrow,” I whisper back.

“Your mom brought you a date.”

“ I know .”

“This is gonna be awkward. Want me to sit between you?”

“Yes.”

“On it. Give me a signal if I need to accidentally spill my wine on you to get you out of anything else too. Cough twice. That’s a good signal.”

All good plans .

But the best-laid plans are no match for my mother, and I end up seated right next to Kyle.

While Miranda is seated next to another businessman’s son.

With his parents between us on one side, and our parents between us on another.

And with Holt four tables away.

Yep.

Gonna be a long night.