Unforgettable (Cloverleigh Farms #5)(47)

“I remember you telling me you always put your left sock and shoe on first.”

“Always. I still do. It’s a whole process.”

She laughed. “What else?”

“Well, my number was eight, so on game days I used to do everything eight times. I’d swipe my deodorant on eight times, flip every light switch eight times, blink eight times at every stoplight on my way to the clubhouse.”

“Wow. And you believed all those things helped?”

“I must have. I couldn’t not do them.” I thought back to the painful weeks after the first wild pitches. “When everything fell apart and I couldn’t throw anymore, I was even worse for a while. I was doing it all the time, game day or not. I was completely compulsive, convinced that if I was better about it, my arm would come back.”

“How’d you finally stop?” she asked, a little quieter.

“It wasn’t working, for one. Therapy helped too. And then I finally just quit playing. It was sucking the life out of me, trying to be something I wasn’t. I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

She snuggled closer to me, looping one arm around my back and resting her forehead against my chin. “Does it make you sad to talk about it?”

I wrapped one arm around her shoulders and put one hand beneath my head. “Usually. Sad or angry.” I paused and realized something. “But I don’t feel that way right now.”

“You don’t?”

“No. And you know what? I didn’t feel like telling a single person to fuck off today. I actually had a really good day. Best one I’ve had in a long time.” For a moment, I wondered about that. What had made today so much better? Was it because of the sex last night? Seeing my sister so happy? Being around baseball again? I wasn’t sure.

When I’d arrived here, all I’d wanted was to get through Sadie’s wedding and get the hell out of town again. Go back to my cabin in the mountains where no one could find me and I was free to brood in peace. Now I felt differently—at least for the moment.

April wriggled like a fish in my arms. “That makes me happy. And I think it’s a perfect reason to stay a little longer.”

Eventually we crawled beneath the covers, and this time, I held her close as we drifted off to sleep.





The next morning, I woke up to rain pounding against the windowpanes and thrumming on the roof. April was still sound asleep, and I decided to attempt something I’d never done before—make breakfast for someone.

I hadn’t been lying when I told her I had zero skills in the kitchen (I was probably a better dancer than I was a cook), but I wanted to do something nice for her. She’d made last night perfect for Sadie—and it hadn’t been too shabby for me, either. I had the feeling that she was always the one taking care of other people, and wanted to treat her for once.

I managed to get out of bed without waking her, found my boxer briefs on the floor, and tugged them on. Scratching my head, I looked around for my pants, but didn’t see them. Where the hell had they landed? Quietly closing her bedroom door behind me, I headed for the stairs and spotted them on the second-floor landing. I grinned as I pulled them on, remembering last night’s stairway striptease, and the grin widened as I made my way down the steps and saw the rest of our clothing tossed haphazardly to the floor—except for April’s bra, which I’d somehow managed to throw high enough to snag the light fixture, from which it now hung.

Guess my arm was good for something.

I used the downstairs bathroom, checking out my reflection in the mirror. I wasn’t sure what was more impressive, my messed-up hair or the scratches on my shoulders. Damn—the girl had gotten crazy with her hands. Actually, she was pretty unabashed in bed all the way around. Vocal and playful and not shy about letting me know when she liked something or wanted more, when she needed me to slow down or speed up, when she wanted it harder or a little less aggressive. It was the kind of thing you wouldn’t guess just by looking at her, with her buttoned-up blouses and knee-length skirts—I liked that.

I liked knowing her secrets.

I wandered into her kitchen and looked around for things I recognized. Okay, single-serve coffeemaker over there, I could handle that. I found a Cloverleigh Farms mug in the cupboard and brewed a cup for myself, and while the machine heated up, I poked around in her fridge and freezer. She had eggs, and I was fairly certain I could manage to fry or maybe scramble some, but I wanted something sweeter for her. Cinnamon rolls were out of the question, but I could attempt something like waffles or pancakes, right?

I was hoping to see Eggos in her freezer, but since I didn’t, I decided to try to make them myself. Pulling out my phone, I searched “easy pancake recipe” and clicked on the link for “Karina’s Best Fluffy Pancakes” because it sounded like something April would like and it also included a video. I’d need all the help I could get. After checking to make sure she had all the ingredients I’d need—what the hell was the difference between baking powder and baking soda anyway?—I got to work.

It took me a while, since I didn’t know where anything was and I was also trying to stay really quiet, but eventually I had a mixing bowl full of batter. I can’t say it looked exactly like the batter in the photos—mine had a few more lumps than Karina’s—but it was close. I found a pan that looked like the one in the video, took a guess that “low-medium heat” was maybe the number four on April’s stove, and said a quick prayer I wouldn’t ruin breakfast or set her condo on fire.