by Tracy March
But the batter at the plate struck out. A fair number of Braves fans cheered and started that stupid tomahawk chop. Cole checked the pine tar on his bat, tapped the weight off onto the ground, and headed toward the batter’s box. He tried not to let the crowd distract him during games, and he rarely looked up at the Diamond Club seats where players’ friends and families sat.
Most of his friends were on the bases, in the dugout, or in the bullpen, anyway. And they were pretty much his family, too. Whether he looked or not, he could bank on Mack being up there in the Diamond Club seats, sometimes with his wife, Brenda, and often with Frank. He was always nervous when they were there and watching—it was a different kind of pressure. The eyes of a crowd of forty thousand didn’t affect him like the eyes of the people he wanted to impress most.
But today he felt different—like he needed a boost of confidence since he’d blown it with Liza last night and botched Frank’s plan. Deciding it was worth the pressure of Mack’s gaze to get a little reassurance, Cole glanced up into the crowd and quickly located Mack. But the woman sitting next to him wasn’t Brenda.
Liza?
The sun caught her hair just right, making it shimmer like dark copper. She stared straight at him and smiled. His heart hammered faster than the rhythm of his country-song walk-up music blaring in the background. He couldn’t believe she’d changed her mind, but he wanted to run up into the stands and kiss her.
He was normally serious when he came to the plate, but this time he busted out a hell-yeah grin and winked at her. He took his stance and faced the pitcher, ready to knock that baseball out into the parking lot.
After two swinging strikes and one ball in the dirt, Cole got a fastball down the middle. He smacked it off the screws, tossed his bat, and sprinted for first, watching the ball ricochet off the right-field wall. As he rounded first and headed to second, his teammate scored, and the Nats took the lead.
Thanks to a hot redhead.
Standing on the bag at second, Cole took a deep breath and scanned the cheering crowd. He loved this team, and he loved these fans. This park was like his home. Maybe Frank’s plan is going to work.
The prediction proved to be true—the first team that had scored had won. The Nats took it four-one, and were one step closer to the division title, just as Cole had told Liza they would be.
After the game, the celebrating, and the media interviews, he hit the clubhouse and showered in a hurry, anxious to get to Liza. One of his smart-ass teammates had bought thirty copies of today’s Washington Post and plastered his and Liza’s pictures in the shape of a big heart on the clubhouse wall. This morning, he could barely stand to look at the photo of them together—much less thirty of them—or good-naturedly take the teasing from the guys. But now he had hope, and his teammate’s prank had quickly made the start of his fake relationship seem legit. He couldn’t wait to see her again, so that made it feel kind of legit, too. He snapped a picture of the display and posted it on Twitter.
Cole Collins @ColeCollins
@LizaSutherland Nats clubhouse art. #epiccollage
Mack texted and told him he’d set Liza up in the Nats’ family room, and Cole found her there. She sat on the edge of a leather armchair, her back to him, watching the Nats Extra postgame show on one of the flat screens. He hung in the background for a second while one of his teammates wrangled his toddler son, and his wife picked up toys.
Liza glanced behind her and caught sight of him. She stood, looking self-conscious and pretty damn hot, and gave him a shy smile.
Cole made his way past the chattering family, kind of nervous about how this was going to go, but confident he could pull it off now that he had a second chance.
She had her phone in hand and she tipped it toward him. “Nice tweet.”
“You saw the newspaper, I guess.”
She nodded, gazing at him with those pale green eyes.
“Sorry if it embarrassed you,” he said sincerely.
“What do you mean ‘if’?” She smiled brightly, and it calmed his nerves a little.
He rolled his eyes. “I’m glad you came,” he said.
She smoothed her hands down the front of her faded jeans—they fit just as well or better than the black ones she’d worn last night—and tucked her hands into the pockets of her red zip-up hoodie. His gaze lingered on her snug, white V-neck tee. “And dressed like a Nats fan, too.”
She blushed and gave her outfit a once-over. “Totally unintentional.”
Again, he felt guilty about involving her in Frank’s scheme. She had shown up and worn his team’s colors. For some reason it reminded him of when she’d hung out and watched him at baseball camp.
“What made you change your mind?” he asked.
She lifted one shoulder. “The tweet you sent last night. The hot dog I had during the game was cooked perfectly.” She grinned.
Cole flattened his hand against his chest, pretending to be wounded. “You mean it wasn’t my irresistible charm and wit?”
She shook her head, looking coy. “But that was a pretty impressive double you hit.”
He scrunched his nose. “I was aiming for the parking lot.”
“You used to say that at baseball camp.” She smiled. “Even though there wasn’t a parking lot anywhere near the diamond.”
“But there was a parking lot somewhere,” he teased.
“I say take what good you can get, and next time make it better,” she said. “Cheesy, huh?”
He kind of liked the way she came up with things that made him think. It was more than he could say for most of the girls he’d dated. “Sounds like something a coach would say.”
“I got it from my dad—heard it about a million and twelve times when I was growing up.” She cocked her head. “I’m surprised he didn’t use it on you baseball-campers, too.”
Cole tensed. “Maybe he did,” he said flatly. “But that’s a long time and a lot of coaches ago.”
Liza winced at his tone, and Cole checked himself. She didn’t seem to have a clue how her father had hurt him and shattered his confidence—something all those coaches had worked to undo. John Sutherland had become co-owner of the Orioles while Cole played at UNC. He had followed Cole’s progress and built up his hopes of being drafted by the Orioles, assuring Cole there was a behind-the-scenes deal going on and that it was a sure thing. John and Sylvia had become surrogate parents to him over the years, and he was nearly as excited about being “officially” associated with them as he was about playing for the Orioles. But at the last minute, the Nationals had drafted him. Sutherland had given him some lame excuse about the draft being unpredictable, and claimed the Nationals had picked him up before the Orioles had the chance. Soon after that, John and Sylvia had drifted out of Cole’s life, his confidence was shot, and his troubles in baseball began. But that was the last thing he planned to admit to Liza right now, if she hadn’t figured it out herself.
He reached out and pulled one of the strings of her hoodie, just as he’d done last night with a lock of her hair. “Let’s get out of here. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
But Cole was the one who was surprised. He couldn’t believe how happy he was that he had another date with her.
Chapter Seven
Liza and Cole walked hand-in-hand down the sidewalk along one of the quiet streets of tiny downtown Maple Creek, Maryland. The place always reminded her of Mayberry RFD, the town she’d seen in reruns of The Andy Griffith Show on TV Land. Maple Creek had lots of the same characters and a few modern touches. Mature trees flanked the road, and decorative banners of colorful fall leaves hung from the old-fashioned light posts.
A group of older ladies stood in front of the drugstore. Their heads turned in unison as Cole and Liza passed, their eyes wide behind their glasses. They didn’t see many men under sixty in this town, so Cole
was certainly an eye-catcher. Liza couldn’t argue that.
He walked with a little swagger, his jeans set perfectly on his hips. As if he knew they were watching, he ran his hand through his hair—shiny in the afternoon sun and messy from the breeze. His plaid shirt rippled across his muscular shoulders as he raised his arm, and settled just tight enough across his pecs when he lowered it. Tall, rugged, and carefree, he looked like the walking inspiration for a sexy country song.
“Good heavens,” one of the ladies said just loud enough for them to hear.
Liza rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Busted.”
“What?” he asked playfully.
“You’re shameless. Putting on a show like that for those old ladies. You’re going to give them heart attacks.”
“I didn’t put on a show for them,” he said, grinning guiltily.
But he had given Nats fans a show this afternoon. Liza had to admit she’d been impressed watching him play—so athletic and confident, with the crowd chanting his nickname, “Crush, Crush, Crush.” The jumbotron scoreboard had flashed highlights of him making impossible plays with ease.
And I’m officially dating him.
The entire setup seemed surreal, but the guilt that was nagging her didn’t. Was it okay to feel a little relaxed and kind of excited now that she knew where things were headed with Cole? A half-million dollars for BADD. She still felt kind of sleazy about what she was doing, but reassured herself that it was for a good cause. Just like Cole donating a date to the BADD auction…right?
They passed a small post office and a barbershop. “You’re taking me to Sweet Bee’s, aren’t you?”
Liza never would’ve guessed he’d bring her to Maple Creek, and it tugged at her heart a little. She’d mentioned Paige’s bakery last night, and he must have remembered. They stopped in front of the next storefront where a sunshine-yellow-and-pink striped awning shaded the doorway. The moment they stepped inside, they were enveloped by the sweet smell of cakes baking in the oven.
Paige came around from behind the glass display cases—filled with cookies and cakes and gorgeous pastries—and gave Liza a tight hug, her white apron dirty and her eyes dancing with mischief.
Liza worried what that might mean. “Cole, this is my best friend, Paige Ellerbee.”
Paige was the size of a Polly Pocket doll with a face like a Disney princess, and the flair for drama to match it. She shifted her wide-eyed gaze between Cole and Liza. She’d hung on every word of the story Liza had told her about last night’s date when she’d called on her way to the baseball game. But Liza had revised it a little. She’d left out the part about turning Cole down for another date, and the part about her deal with Frank. As far as Paige knew, all had gone smoothly, if not a bit strangely, for the two of them. She hadn’t needed any more evidence than the picture she’d seen in a copy of the Washington Post that a customer left on a table.
Paige shook Cole’s hand, looking way calmer than most people probably did when they met him. “Pleasure to meet you,” she said, then flipped her blond ponytail. It had a streak of pink in it that matched the stripes in the awning. “Now I can mark you off of my ten-guys-I-gotta-meet-before-I-die list.” She nodded, grinning.
Liza laughed. “I thought it was ten-guys-I-gotta—”
“Glad the Nats won today,” Paige said quickly, and shot a no-you-didn’t look at Liza.
“Nice to meet you, too,” Cole said. “Thanks.”
Liza could tell he didn’t know what to make of Paige. She hadn’t either, when she’d met her in third grade. Heading back from the bathroom, Liza had seen Paige standing alone outside her classroom, drawing smiley faces on the wall with a red Sharpie.
“Are you in trouble?” Liza had asked. “’Cause if you’re not already, you’re gonna be.”
Paige had widened her golden-brown eyes, her blond hair falling in wisps from her ponytail. She’d looked like a Precious Moments figurine. “No I won’t,” she’d said politely. “This is art class.”
“Everything’s ready for you two.” Paige gestured toward the door that led to the kitchen.
Liza glanced suspiciously between her and Cole. “What does that mean?”
Cole said, “You, Miss Tiki Torch Hot Dog, I’m-not-much-of-a-cook, are going to do some baking.”
“You’re kidding, right?” She would much rather do some eating.
“Nope.” Paige’s eyes glimmered.
Liza had no idea what they were talking about. Obviously the two of them had cooked up something before she and Cole got there. “Someone want to clue me in here?”
“Liza, you’re like, all Orioles, all the time.” Paige clutched Cole’s biceps and raised her eyebrows at Liza. “And Cole is all Nationals, for sure. So I thought you two should settle this thing in the kitchen—you know, baseball pie wars or something.”
“Baseball pie wars?” Liza asked.
Paige nodded. “Well, yeah. Because cake and cupcake competitions are so overdone. And I figured I’d have a real battle on my hands.” She tipped her head toward Liza, looking exasperated. “But then you show up in that Nats outfit and I’d say the advantage goes to Cole.” He played along, giving Paige a thumbs-up, and that only encouraged her. “I can count the times on my index finger that I’ve seen her wear something that wasn’t black or orange.”
“She’s exaggerating,” Liza said. But not by a lot…
“C’mon back.” Paige led them into the kitchen, which gleamed with stainless steel. The place was so clean and organized that someone might wonder if all of the pastries and cakes up front had been delivered, and the kitchen was just for show. Liza knew better. After Wes died, she’d spent many days in here with Paige, trying to help but really only getting in the way. Yet Paige had never acted as if it bothered her—even when Liza botched recipes and left cookies in the oven way too long.
Since then, Liza had associated Sweet Bee’s with her intense grief during the first months after she lost Wes. It had kept her away from Paige more than she wanted to admit, and still Paige had understood.
“So here’s the setup,” Paige said. “You two are going to create a team pie.” She took another opportunity to grab Cole’s biceps. “You’ll make a Nationals pie, and Liza will make an Orioles pie. I’ll help you come up with recipes, and then we’ll see which one turns out best. Haven’t you ever seen Cupcake Wars? It’s like that, but with pie.”
Liza was waiting for the punch line, and Cole looked as though he was trying not to laugh. “You’re serious?” she asked, imagining the horror she might create considering she was chronically kitchen-challenged.
“What? Are you afraid of a little friendly competition?” Paige teased.
“No,” Liza said quickly. “I just hate to embarrass him.”
Cole laughed and smoothed his hand up and down her back. “I’m not too worried about that.”
“Whatever,” Liza said, enjoying the sturdy feel of his touch. “You’d be wise not to judge me based on one flaming wiener.”
Paige raised one eyebrow. “I’m not sure I want to know what that means.”
“Considering we’re in your kitchen,” Cole said, “and you’re letting Liza cook, I’m guessing you don’t.” He flashed Liza a knowing smile, and her heart fluttered.
“I think I might,” Paige teased. “But I’m willing to risk it. There’s a fire extinguisher mounted right there on the wall. Feel free to use it when you need to.”
“Joke all you want,” Liza said. “We’ll see who’s laughing later.”
Paige glanced from Liza to Cole, and shrugged. “Game on.” She checked her oversized watch. “We need to get moving. The judges will be here in two hours.”
“Judges?” Liza knew she sounded freaked out. Just when she’d decided this could turn out to be fun with the three of them, Paige had gone
and thrown in judges?
Paige nodded. “Handpicked and hungry for pie.”
“Who?” Liza asked.
“You’ll see. But we need to get to work now.” Paige gestured to the right side of the kitchen. “Cole, you’re over here. Liza’s on the left. Backs to each other, so you can’t check out the competition.”
Liza felt a twinge of disappointment. Having her back to Cole made sense, but she’d kind of been looking forward to checking him out as often as she could while they were together. Frank’s deal did offer some fine fringe benefits to offset some of her guilt.
Cole extended his hand to her, playing this whole thing up as if it were a reality TV show. Paige watched them closely as Liza shook his hand, his grip strong and sure. He gave her a crooked smile and sweetly said, “I’m going to crush you.”
…
Cole wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. This baking stuff was work. When he was growing up, he’d helped his grandma in the kitchen, baking cookies or cobblers. But that had mostly involved licking the beaters and the bowl, then heading back outside to play baseball with his buddies. Now he understood just how much effort went into making a couple of pies.
But his wasn’t an ordinary pie. It was a masterpiece.
He hurried to put the final touch on it—a curly-W logo in the center on top. He stepped back and admired his work, hoping the pie tasted as good as it looked. Paige had helped him decide on a recipe, but he’d done the rest himself. His grandma would be proud.
He couldn’t wait to put his Nationals pie up against anything Liza had decided on for the Orioles. At first, he’d been skeptical of the whole idea, thinking of all the other things Frank could’ve arranged for them to do. But he was having fun joking with Paige and flirting with Liza. He got the feeling she might be starting to warm up to him the way she used to, and that pleased him more than he thought it would.
“Time’s up, you two.” Paige flitted into the kitchen like a sprite. “And everyone’s here.”
“Already?” Liza asked.