Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” I told him. “This is potentially a big wedding. The bride is kind of a local celebrity. Is your lefty pitching?”
“Yeah, he’s starting.”
“Shoot, I wish I could be there.”
“Dinner when I get back?” he asked.
“Sure. Want to come over again? Although I should warn you, I was just planning on leftover spaghetti tonight. Kind of boring.”
“I’ll take leftover spaghetti and being alone with you over a crowded restaurant any day. You know how I feel about people.”
I laughed. “I do. Okay, just head over here when you’re back.”
He arrived around 7:30 with another bottle of wine, a grocery store bouquet of roses, and his luggage.
“Are you moving in?” I joked as he shut the door behind himself.
“I’m running out of clean clothes,” he said with a guilty expression. “I only packed for a long weekend. Do you mind if I do some laundry?”
“Not at all,” I said.
He handed me the flowers. “These are for you. Sorry they’re not too fancy.”
“They’re beautiful, thank you.” I put my nose in them and sniffed. “But what’s the occasion?”
“No occasion. I’m just thankful you’re putting up with me and my dirty laundry tonight.”
I smiled. “You’re sweet.”
He put his finger on my lips. “Don’t tell anybody.”
“So tell me about the game,” I said, watching as he stuffed an alarming amount of clothes into my washing machine, which was located in a utility closet off the kitchen. “Did they win?”
“They did,” he said, shoving dark jeans, white T-shirts, and boxer briefs in all different colors into the drum. “They played really well.”
“You know, you shouldn’t put all that in together. You should do darks and lights separately.”
“But I don’t even have that much stuff. I can probably do this all in one load,” he said proudly, like that was a good thing.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” I set my wine glass on the counter and pushed him aside. “Do not do it all in one load. Those T-shirts will never be white again.” I started pulling out all the non-white stuff and dumping it into an empty laundry basket.
“But that’s going to take longer.”
“Do you have somewhere else to be tonight?” I glanced at him over one shoulder.
He shrugged, then gave me a wry grin. “No. But I’ve got things I’d rather do with you than laundry.”
“We’ll get to that. But let’s not ruin your clothing in the process. Tell me about the game.”
While he talked animatedly about baseball, I added some of my whites to the machine, poured in the soap, and turned it on. Then I separated the rest of his things into my three-bag sorter.
“I was really happy with the way that lefty applied my advice,” he said. “I could see him slowing down, thinking through each pitch, breaking down the motion like we talked about.”
“That’s awesome,” I said, happy to see him in such a good mood.
“I’m going to work on pick-off moves with him tomorrow. He’s got balance issues there too.”
“What’s a pick-off move?” I pulled pasta bowls down from the cupboard, and Tyler shut the cupboard doors behind me.
“It’s a throw from the pitcher to a fielder to prevent the runner from stealing a base.”
“Ah. Got it.”
While we ate, he continued talking about the game. “There was a scout there today watching the lefty. He’s got interest from several really good schools.”
“That’s great,” I said, pouring both of us a little more wine.
“It is, but David, the head coach—Virgil’s son—is worried that he’s not gonna take any of their offers.”
“Why not?”
“Apparently, this kid’s dad died last year, and he doesn’t want to leave his mom and sister alone.”
My heart ached a little. “Sounds like a sweet kid.”
“I met his mom today too. She’s got the same concern.”
“She wants him to go?”
“Yeah. David asked me to talk to him about it, but I don’t know . . .” Tyler’s voice trailed off as he took another bite of pasta. “Seems too personal.”
“But you know he’ll listen to you, right?”
Tyler shrugged. “He might.”
“Then why not try?”
He picked up his wine glass and took a drink, his forehead furrowed.
“I mean, it’s good that he’s thinking about his mom and his sister and not just about himself,” I said. “It means he has a good heart.”
“Yeah. He’s definitely not like I was at eighteen. I couldn’t wait to get out of here and go be a big shot, and nothing was going to stop me. This kid is different. He’s more like you.”
I laughed. “Like me how?”
“He’s not self-centered,” he said. “His mom said he’s always been that way. He puts other people first.”
My heart melted a little more. “Well, this is one instance where I think he needs to be told it’s okay to think about what he wants for his future. That putting himself first does not make him a bad person. I know I’ve certainly been in a spot where I had to make a tough choice, and it helped me to hear that.”