Beauty and the Baller(95)

I hear the front door open, and Nova steps out.

Wearing a red sundress with her hair framing her face, she gives me a rueful smile as she takes in my dirt-stained shirt and shorts.

I lift my hands. “I make a mess of this every time. I wasn’t made to work in gardens.”

She laughs. “You’ll need to change before we take pictures. Lois will be here in fifteen; then we’re heading to the Roadhouse to meet Skeeter and Sonia and who knows who all Lois invited to his birthday party.”

“Most of the town, I bet.” We’re doing a special thing tomorrow just for us since it’s Saturday and Sabine will be here.

My gaze goes to the birthday boy in her arms. With a crown of dark hair and dark-blue eyes, he takes my breath. Two girls and a son. I want more if Nova agrees, but so far she says three is the magic number.

He sees me and jumps for me as Nova sets him down. I meet him before he reaches the steps. Solid and big for his age (like me), he crawled at six months and walked at nine.

“You’ll get him dirty,” Nova chides as she joins us.

I grimace as I look down at him. “He isn’t wearing this, is he?” I already know the answer, but I love to rile her up.

“Yes,” Nova replies. “See the detail on the smocking on the collar? It’s got little balloons, and the blue color of the romper matches his eyes perfectly. I know it’s girlie, but smocked outfits are a southern thing.”

I don’t care what he wears, whether it’s girlie looking or not. He can play with Barbies or whatever he wants. I kiss his cheek, then hand him back to Nova.

She brushes at the dirt on his outfit/dress while I dart inside to change.

A few minutes later, we’re lined up around Oliver’s new rosebush. My hand is intertwined with Nova’s. She’s my love, my everything. She brought the sun—and stars—right to my soul. She brought me a family—not just our kids but the people in Blue Belle. We’ve collected four state championships since I’ve been here, and I’ve no plans to leave. Maybe someday, when our kids are bigger and the time is right. My football career here gives me joy, and when you have joy, why would you go and look for anything else?

Oliver stands between his sisters as they clasp his hands, rather tightly to keep him still. Sparky sits next to Dog while the cat I got Nova, Dimitri (because he’s Russian, and I got to name him), is on the end next to Cleo. He’s been her cat since day one and is never far from her.

“All right,” Lois says as she picks up the camera. “Let’s get this picture for the album!”

Before she can click, a white Honda pulls into the driveway, and Sabine jumps out of the car. She rushes up to us, straightening her red sundress to match Nova’s. “Wait for me, y’all.”

“You told me you couldn’t make it until tomorrow!” Nova says.

Nova asked Sabine if she wanted us to wait for the weekend so she could be in the photo, but she’d said no, that the picture must be taken on the actual birthday. Nova told her we’d do another one tomorrow, and we’d put them side by side.

Sabine smiles. “I tried to call you, but you never answered.”

“I have three kids. My phone’s probably still charging—on silent,” Nova admits.

Sabine shrugs. “I skipped my classes today. I emailed my professors and said it was my nephew’s birthday and I had to take one picture. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

I laugh. Right.

“Sabby!” Lia calls, and it’s chaos after that as she runs across the yard. Cleo chases her, determined to get to her aunt first. Oliver plops down in the dirt, then sticks a rose in his mouth.

Nova groans and pulls leaves and petals out of his mouth as Dog chases Dimitri—he does not like that cat and never will. Sparky raises an eyebrow at the show, then pounces on a lizard.

Nova picks up Oliver, gives him a kiss, and then motions to Sabine and the girls. “Get in here with us.”

We line up again, smiles on our faces. Lois clicks the photo, several of them, and years later when I look at them, at all of them, from Nova’s to Sabine’s to our children’s to Sabine’s children’s, I thank the stars for my glow.





Turn the page for an excerpt from Not My Romeo.





Chapter 1


ELENA

If I smoked, I’d have one in my mouth right now. Maybe two.

But I don’t, so I settle for chewing on my thumbnail as I whip my little Ford Escape into Milano’s jam-packed parking lot. Glancing around, I take in the stone-and-cedar exterior, the flickering gaslights by the door. It’s a five-star restaurant, one of the best in Nashville, with a monthlong reservation wait, yet my date managed to get us one on short notice. Points for that.

A long sigh leaves my chest.

Who, tell me who, agrees to a blind date on Valentine’s Day?

Me, apparently.

“I’m breaking the seal!” I announce to no one.

That’s right. Tonight, I’m meeting Greg Zimmerman, the local weatherman for the NBC affiliate here in the Music City. Supposedly he’s tall, dark, handsome, a little nerdy, and fresh from a breakup. Perfect for me. Right?

So why am I so anxious?

For a brief moment I contemplate a pretend headache. Dang it. I can’t do that. For one, I promised my roommate, Topher, I’d follow through; two, I have nothing better to do; and three, I’m starving.