Unforgettable (Cloverleigh Farms #5)(91)

We’d politely declined. (And secretly I still hoped she’d get a wart on her face, or even just a really bad zit.) Was there judgey hate mail too? Sure. But we didn’t let it take away from what we’d won—a relationship with Chip and his family, the certainty we’d done the right thing, and each other.

Always and forever, each other.





“Hey, handsome. You need a ride?” I approached the backstop and grinned at him through the chain links.

He grinned. “Actually, what I need is a catcher.”

I laughed. “You’re funny.”

“No, I’m serious.” He jogged over to the home team dugout. “Come here.”

I made my way over slowly. “You can’t be serious.”

He was on one knee, rummaging in a big duffel bag. “Actually, I am. Could you just put this on?”

“What?” I stared at the catcher’s mask and mitt he held up. “No.”

“Please, honey? I feel like I’m on the verge of this major breakthrough.”

I groaned, even as I let him put the mask over my face. “Tyler. Don’t do this to me. I love you, but this is, like, a lot to ask.”

“Why?”

“Why?” I gaped at him through the mask’s cage. “I am not athletic! You throw ninety miles per hour! Don’t you like my face?”

“You’re wearing the mask. And you’ll have this.” He scooped something out of the bag that looked like a turtle shell.

“What’s that for?”

“To protect your chest.” He moved closer and put it on me. It was so big it went on over the mask.

“Oh my God.” I took the mitt from him and put it on. “I’m going to die.”

“You won’t. I promise.” His expression was earnest. “Please, April. Please. You’re the only one who can catch this pitch.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Is that a sexual joke?”

“No. I swear.” He held up his hands. “It’s the truth.”

Sighing heavily, feeling like I was wearing a hundred pounds of body armor, I waddled toward home plate. “How do I even stand?”

“Well, you have to sort of crouch down.”

I glared at him. “Crouch?”

“Yeah. Like this.” He dropped down so his butt was nearly on the ground.

“Oh, Jesus.” I was probably going to pull a muscle. But I supposed I could try. After this, he’d have to get Mack or Noah or anyone else to practice with. But I made it to home plate and hunkered down, glad I’d chosen the ugly sweats and not the cute skinny jeans.

Tyler went out to the mound and assumed the badass pitcher stance, the one he’d perfected years ago with the downward tilt of his head and the menacing glare. I have to admit, it turned me on. But it also scared me a little.

He wound up, complete with the leg up and everything, and I called out.

“Hey, you’re not really going to throw at me, are you? Like, not all the way, right?”

Stopping his motion, he hollered back, “I have to mean it when I throw it, April. Otherwise, it won’t be real.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Just relax, okay? You have to trust me.”

“I do trust you, I’m just—”

“Do you? Trust me?” He started walking toward me.

“Of course I do.”

“With anything?” Now he was within fifteen feet.

“Yes.”

He stopped about ten feet from me and gave me the grin. “Catch.”

Then he tossed the ball at me, and I squealed loudly, but I actually caught it inside the mitt, my right hand covering it protectively. “I caught it!” I shrieked, jumping to my feet. “I actually caught it!”

Tyler was laughing as he closed the distance between us. “You caught it.”

I uncovered it with my hand—but it wasn’t a ball at all.

It was a box.

A ring box.

I looked up at him. “Oh my God. Tyler, what is this?”

He pushed the catcher’s mask up onto my forehead and took the box from the mitt. Turning it in my direction, he opened the box.

I gasped at the giant diamond winking back at me in the morning sun. It was almost blinding. “What is happening right now?”

Tyler got down on one knee. “April, I know I took the longest possible detour to get to this place, but believe me when I say there is nowhere else I’d rather be. You let me go when I needed to be free, and you pulled me in when I needed to belong. I never want to wake up another day in my life not knowing what it is to be loved by you.”

A sob escaped me. Then another. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too. And I’m about ready to get on with that second act. Let’s fill that new house up. What do you think—will you marry me?”

“Yes,” I said, weeping openly. “Yes.”

He glanced at my left hand. “You know, this would be easier if you took that mitt off, babe.”

“Oh! Sorry.” I dropped the mitt and held out my hand, fingers spread. He slipped the ring on—a perfect fit. “I can’t believe it. How?”

“You can thank your sisters for that,” he confessed, rising to his feet. “They helped me choose it and told me your ring size.”