Yours to Keep (Man of the Year)

by Lauren Layne

  The next three at bats for Haven High were outs, which meant they ended the inning without scoring, and too soon, Olive was dragging herself out to third base, where she chatted with Rhinebeck’s freshman English teacher, who had a bad back and was acting as third-base coach for her team.

  Olive listened with half an ear as Sandra droned on about how parents “just weren’t enforcing the importance of summer reading anymore,” and her gaze and attention wandered to home plate, where Carter was chatting—flirting?—with a cute redhead teacher who was taking her sweet time stepping up to the plate.

  Olive knew umpires usually wore the mask thingies, but either nobody had thought to bring one, or Carter had decided he didn’t need it, because his face was on full display in all its annoyingly handsome Man of the Year glory.

  No wonder it was a low-scoring softball game at 1–1. Most of the teachers were female, and Carter Ramsey was one hell of a distraction.

  As though sensing her gaze on him, Carter’s eyes flicked over to third base, and he gave her the quickest of winks before gesturing to the pitcher and hitter that it was time to get back to it.

  Olive blew out an irritated breath, mostly at herself, because the damn wink made her feel warm and fluttery, as though there were something between them other than being neighbors and friends. As though he weren’t waiting for the love of his life to return from California so they could make good on their idiotic pact and get married.

  Carter hadn’t brought up his and Felicity’s arrangement again, and she was both grateful and disappointed. She wanted to know where his head was at. Wanted to know if, when Felicity showed up, everything would change.

  The clink of the ball against a bat snapped her out of her reverie, just in time to see the softball rolling idly toward her. The redhead had evidently barely made contact, because the ball had all but come to a standstill by the time Olive got to it, scooping it out of the dirt and hurling it toward Penny Bell at first base, who, Olive was thrilled to note, only had to lean a little to her right to catch it.

  “Safe!” Carter yelled from where he’d jogged down to first base.

  “What?” Olive yelled back. “But I caught it! And threw it! And Penny caught the throw!”

  “The batter beat your throw,” he said, not looking at her as he jogged back to home plate.

  Oh. Right. She’d sort of forgotten that was a part of it.

  Still, Olive fumed through the rest of the inning, wishing for the first time all game that the ball would come her way, and angry, again, for the first time, when it didn’t. She’d wanted a chance to show Carter what was what.

  After the third out, she trotted back to the dugout, deliberately not looking at Carter as she did so. When she did sneak a look out of the corner of her eye after she switched her cap for one of the helmets, he was flirting again, this time with the pretty blonde catcher for the other team.

  Maybe he should have worn the mask after all, because Olive wasn’t entirely sure her bat wouldn’t “slip” during her next at bat, which was coming up all too soon.

  Principal Mullins was up first. He hit a solid single to right field.

  The geometry teacher went next. A strikeout, which was just shocking, considering she’d spent the entire at bat giggling and flirting with the umpire. One out.

  One of the two Haven PE teachers hit a double to left field, sending Principal Mullins to third.

  The art teacher popped up. Two outs.

  Olive’s turn.

  Crap.

  She’d learned enough about the game over the past couple of weeks to know that in the final inning of a tie game, a runner on third base and two outs was a high-pressure situation. The excited cheering of the spectators in the bleachers confirmed it.

  “You’ve got this!” Olive heard Kelly yell, followed by someone starting the chant, bring him home, bring him home . . .

  Olive ordered herself not to look at Carter as she approached the plate, but the man was like a damn magnet for female eyes, and her gaze found him anyway.

  He looked steadily back at her, and from the outside, there was nothing personal in the interaction. No words were exchanged, no flirty winks, not even a smile.

  But somehow, she felt his support, knew that he was on her side. Not that he’d make a wrong call or throw the game in her favor, just that he was there. Win or lose.

  “All right, let’s do this,” she said loudly, with a melodramatic sigh. “One more out, then it’s barbecue time, am I right? That’s the reason we’re all here?”

  The people near enough to hear laughed, and she stepped up to the plate, bat over her shoulder.

  The first pitch sailed down the middle of the plate before she could even think to move.

  “Strike!” Carter yelled.

  She narrowed her eyes at him, and he shrugged.

  The second ball also came sailing down the center of the plate—the Rhinebeck pitcher had played softball in college, and it showed. This time, Olive swung as hard as she could, nearly knocking herself over in the process. She was still regaining her balance when Carter yelled, “Strike,” again.

  “Yeah, yeah, we know,” she snapped, unable to resist the urge to glare at him.

  The ball had landed at his feet, and he picked it up before the catcher could, and he stared at it for a second too long before throwing it back to the pitcher.

  Nobody else seemed to have noticed the moment, but Olive read the silent message loud and clear. Keep your eye on the damn ball, Dunn.

  Fair enough. She was pretty sure she’d closed her eyes completely on that last one.

  The ball came hurling her way once more and she practically burned a hole in it with her gaze—watching it carefully enough to know it was well wide of where it should be.

  “Ball one,” Carter yelled. He didn’t look at her, but she swore she saw him give a single nod of approval.

  The pitcher wound up again, and the process repeated. Once again, Olive concentrated on nothing but staring at that ball, only this time it was coming right down the center, and . . . she swung.

  The sensation in her hands registered before the noise. A dull, delicious throb as the ball met the bat. Followed by a solid-sounding clanking noise.

  Followed by what sounded like the entire bleachers yelling, “Run!”

  She did. She sprinted toward first base, focused on nothing but beating the throw. Her foot hit the bag, and as soon as she stopped her forward momentum, she whirled around, looking for Carter to make that crucial safe-or-out call.

  He made the call. But not at first base. The outfielder had thrown the ball home in an attempt to stop Principal Mullins from scoring.

  Carter was wearing his sling, but the gesture he made with his one good arm was unmistakable, even to a baseball noob. As was the single word out of his mouth. Safe.

  Principal Mullins had scored.

  The game was over. Haven High had won.

  Her colleagues were all whooping, dashing toward home plate to celebrate. Olive turned to jog toward them, saw Principal Mullins turning her way with a wide grin on his face, his hand extended for a high five. It was the sort of thing that Olive had been daydreaming about . . . well, for a few days.

  She slapped her palm against her boss’s, grinned as her coworkers patted her shoulder and helmet in excitement, but she didn’t really see any of them. All of her attention was on one person. And his was on her.

  Carter grinned. Olive grinned back. And giving in to the happiness bursting out of her, she acted before thinking, launching herself at Carter full force, wrapping her arms around his neck, her legs around his hips.

  He laughed as he caught her and, even one-handed, easily supported her weight as he smiled up at her.

  “Nice RBI, Dunn,” he said.

  “I know.” Then she planted her palms on either side of his chiseled cheeks, and kissed Haven’s very own golden boy, right on the mouth.

  It was a spontaneous kiss, driven by instinct and pure glee. A pl
ayful kiss between friends.

  Only, the second her lips touched his, something shifted, low in Olive’s belly. And worse, deep in her heart. It was more than the hot pull of sexual awareness, though there was definitely that.

  It was a whisper. A quiet voice uttering the simplest, and most powerful, of statements. You belong here.

  Ignoring the voice and the heartache it promised, Olive let herself indulge in the kiss for only a moment before pulling back and forcing a bright grin.

  But Carter didn’t grin back, and the warmth in his eyes had nothing to do with friendship.

  The arm around her tightened, and the fingers of his bad arm, sandwiched between them, found the fabric of her shirt, tugging her back toward him. The command in his gaze was unmistakable. Again.

  Heart thumping in her chest, Olive’s face started to lower to his.

  And then she heard it. Instead of the jubilant celebrating, there were whispers. Real whispers this time, not just in her mind.

  Olive turned her head, scanning the crowd to see what had happened.

  Not what, she realized, as her stomach sank. Who had happened.

  Felicity George was back, and Olive was unceremoniously dropped to her feet as Carter went to her.

  The voice in her head had been only half-right. She very well may belong to Carter—but he most definitely did not belong to her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Saturday, August 22

  “Felicity! Felicity, hold up,” Carter yelled, a little exasperated as he jogged after the retreating brunette. “Would you wait?”

  She did not wait, but Carter had the advantage. He was in tennis shoes, his ex in towering platform sandals. He caught up to her in the parking lot, and resigned, she turned around to face him. Carter drew up short, just before colliding into her.

  He felt . . . stunned.

  And a little numb.

  Felicity looked the same as he remembered. Exactly the same. Same pink cheeks, wide eyes. Same slim shoulders, shy smile. Even her hairstyle was the same as in his memories, parted on the side and styled in loose waves down to the middle of her back.

  The fact that she hadn’t changed should have pleased him, but instead he felt strangely unsettled. People were supposed to change. Age. Evolve.

  He knew he had.

  “Hi, Carter.” The voice, too, was the same. Soft, and just the slightest bit husky, as though she didn’t use it often. And she hadn’t, not around him. She’d always been fairly quiet. In that way, she was Olive’s opposite.

  Understatement. Felicity was Olive’s opposite in every way.

  Olive.

  Thinking of her, Carter felt anything but numb. If Felicity had always made him feel content, Olive Dunn made him feel alive.

  But now wasn’t the time to think how Olive had felt in his arms just moments before, or the sweetness of her surprise kiss, or the way he wanted to repeat both experiences as soon as possible.

  It would have to wait. Carter was long overdue for dealing with the woman in front of him. The one who’d brought him back to Haven in the first place, though the plan seemed silly now.

  “Hi.” He cleared his throat. “It’s good to see you.”

  And it was. He couldn’t deny that there was a sense of fondness as he looked at the woman who once had been a girl he’d loved. But that’s all it was. Fondness.

  She smiled and smoothed a nervous hand over the skirt of her strapless white dress, which was strangely formal for a hot summer Saturday at the high school softball field.

  “How are you?” he asked when she said nothing.

  “I’m fine. I’m great, actually. Recently divorced, which was a little brutal, but was the best thing for both of us.”

  He nodded awkwardly. “I’m glad things are good.”

  “And you?” she said, tilting her head. “You’re dating Olive Dunn now?”

  Olive.

  Carter hesitated a second too long. “I gave her some pointers for the softball game.”

  Felicity’s eyebrows lifted. “Looked like a bit more than softball pointers. She was all over you.”

  And I wanted to be all over her.

  Carter felt a flicker of annoyance at Felicity’s proprietary tone, and felt the urge to defend Olive, though God knew she was a woman who didn’t need defending.

  Before he could reply, Felicity let out a little laugh. “Oh my God, listen to me. I sound like a jealous girlfriend, over Olive, of all people. I lost the right to be possessive a long time ago. Didn’t I?”

  There was a slight searching note in her tone that told him the question wasn’t as rhetorical as it should have been.

  Yeah, you did.

  He didn’t say it, though. Carter had had plenty of experience in letting women down easy, but this wasn’t just any woman—it was one he’d once pledged to marry if they were still single. He could only hope that she’d forgotten about it.

  Her choice of an impractical white dress made him think that perhaps she hadn’t.

  “I hoped you’d be here. In town,” she said in a soft, sweet voice as she held his gaze.

  There was, again, a distinct hopeful note in her voice, and though Carter didn’t want to hurt her, it was hard to feel much of anything around a grown-up Felicity who somehow seemed stuck in a time warp.

  She gently reached out and touched her fingers to his sling. “I was sorry to hear about this. Did it hurt?”

  A broken arm? Yeah.

  Carter forced a smile. “Nothing a little ibuprofen couldn’t take the edge off, and it’s well on its way to healing. At least that’s what I’m hoping the doctor will tell me on Monday morning when I go into the city for an appointment.” It was a canned brush-off response. He didn’t have even the slightest inclination to confide in Felicity the way he did Olive.

  She frowned. “You’re leaving? But I just got back.”

  And you haven’t been the center of my universe in a long time, he thought uncharitably.

  “It’s been scheduled for a few weeks now,” Carter said gently. “My bosses would be pissed if I cancel.”

  “Ah, well, I guess you’re kind of important now,” she said with a coy smile, her hand still on his arm. Felicity tilted her head toward the field. “Are you all finished up there? I’m not sure we’ll have privacy for much longer once everyone starts going to their cars. I was thinking we could grab a drink or a coffee or something . . . catch up?”

  “I’d love to,” Carter said. “But I’d planned to drive down to the city tonight.”

  He’d been planning no such thing. But he needed room to think. To figure out why, after weeks of waiting for this moment, he couldn’t stop thinking about Olive’s lips against his. And what he wanted to do about that.

  “Oh.” Her hand dropped. “Okay. Can you drive? You know, with your arm?”

  “I’ll manage. There’s no law against people with one arm behind the wheel. Rain check on that coffee?” he said with a smile to soften the blow of rejection.

  She smiled back. “That sounds great. We have . . . things to talk about.”

  And there it was. If there had been any doubt that Felicity remembered their pact, that it was the reason she was back, it disappeared when she held his gaze for a meaningfully long moment.

  “Yeah. We do,” he said, reaching out and giving her hand a friendly squeeze. “It was good to see you again, Felicity.”

  Her eyes flickered with disappointment as he dropped her hand immediately and she undoubtedly heard the generic friendliness of his tone.

  It wasn’t a lie. He was glad that he’d seen her. But not for the reasons he’d expected.

  Carter made it to his truck before he gave in to the urge to scan the slowly growing crowd for Olive.

  He didn’t see her. Told himself he was glad. And that was the lie.

  Olive said a distracted thank-you to whoever refilled her glass from one of the many beer pitchers being passed around as she checked her phone for the hundredth time.

&nbs
p; Another text from Kelly. One from her cousin, Sarah, who’d been at the game. One from her aunt, asking whether her phone prompting her to upgrade software was a “hack.”

  Nothing from Carter.

  The Haven High staff, and what felt like half the team, had headed to Abby’s Sports Bar after the game, and though the mood was decidedly jubilant, Olive hadn’t been able to muster more than fake laughs and smiles.

  Someone dropped into the seat beside her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Olive took a sip of her beer and gave Kelly Blakely a look out of the corner of her eye. “What do you think?”

  Her friend smiled, though her gaze was concerned. “I think I saw you kiss Carter Ramsey, and then he ran after his ex-girlfriend.”

  “It was technically a kiss, in that my mouth touched his mouth, but it wasn’t that kind of kiss.”

  Lies. Lies. Lies.

  Kelly looked at her skeptically.

  “We’re just friends,” Olive said, the sentence sounding . . . wrong. They were friends, but after that kiss, there was nothing just about it, at least on her end.

  “Friends who’ve been spending a lot of time together. I know Mark and I’ve been in the city the past couple weeks, but since we’ve been back, everyone I’ve talked to has said you and Carter are inseparable.”

  “He’s helping me with the reunion.”

  “And teaching you to play softball?”

  “We’re just helping each other out.”

  Kelly helped herself to the stack of pint glasses in the middle of the table, as well as one of the pitchers of beer. “You do remember who you’re talking to, right?”

  “My very annoying, very nosy friend?”

  “Your very caring friend, who’s invested in your happiness. And, if I may be so bold, knows a hell of a lot more about what’s going on between you and Carter than you do.”

  “How do you even remotely figure that?”

  Kelly smiled. “You do remember how Mark and I got together, right?”