Let Me Be the One (The Sullivans #6)(23)

“It was orange a couple of days ago,” Vicki said with a laugh. “She was probably the only person there tonight who didn’t care about people’s opinions of her work and wasn’t living and dying on every smile or frown.”

“Isn’t she up for a fellowship, too?”

“She is. And I know how much she wants it. But at the end of the day, the most important thing to her is that she’s proud of her work. Not whether a random group of powerful people think she’s talented enough to receive a grant.”

“Aren’t you proud of your work, Vicki?”

It was a good question. One she’d been trying to figure out the answer to for a very long time.

“I’ve had a few great moments,” she said slowly, “but sometimes I wonder if the in-betweens are enough to make it all worth it.”

Ryan put down his fork. “Do you know how many pitches I throw on average in a game?” When she shook her head, he said, “Almost a hundred and twenty. How many of those do you think are great pitches?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Twenty. Maybe thirty. Some guys beat themselves up for that, but my first Little League coach made sure I knew that baseball wasn’t about being perfect. It was about having fun first, winning second.”

“It sounds like you had a really great coach.”

“One day I hope I’m as good with my kids as my dad was with all of us.”

Vicki’s heart turned to mush. “I wish I could have met your father.” She looked at him and mused, “Although, I suppose in a way I have, just by knowing you and your siblings. He was obviously an extraordinary man to have created such a wonderful family.”

Ryan’s answering gaze was so intense she wondered for a moment if she’d said something wrong. Finally, he said, “As long as you love what you’re doing, Vicki, it’s all worth it.”

That flutter in her belly at the way he was looking at her had her feeling lightheaded as she took away their salads and brought over large plates of goulash and hunks of crusty bread.

“How was your meeting after the game?” He hadn’t told her what it was for, but she assumed it had something to do with the Hawks.

“It went all right. I thought it would be easier to get people excited about bringing sports back to schools, but it’s taken three months to pick up our first serious donor. Fortunately, I think this couple is pretty close.”

She couldn’t get over how different Ryan was from her ex-husband. If Anthony ever did anything nice for anyone, he broadcast it from the rooftops. Would Ryan even have mentioned his charitable work if she hadn’t asked about his meeting?

“You're raising money to bring sports back to schools?”

“Sports are my first target, and then the arts programs if I can pull in enough for both.”

She knew she was grinning at him like a fool, but he was that great. “I think that's so fantastic, Ryan. Because, honestly, I don’t know if I would be a sculptor if it hadn’t been for the class I took in eighth grade. Mr. Barnsworth told me the ashtray I made in his class belonged in a museum. Becoming an art teacher was always my backup plan. At least until the districts got rid of them all.”

“P.E. teacher was my backup plan.”

“You were thinking about being a high school teacher?”

“Until the scouts came calling, yeah, I was.”

How could she not have known this about him? And why did it have to make him even cuter? She could just imagine what it would have been like in the halls of their old high school if he had become a teacher instead of a pro baseball player. Every time Mr. Sullivan walked down the hall, the giggling from crushed-out girls would have been deafening.

“I substituted for a while,” she told him, “right after college.” Until she’d married Anthony and he’d supported them both with his sculptures. She’d been grateful, but not nearly as grateful as he’d expected her to be.

“Oh man, I’ll bet those lucky punks in your classes didn’t hear a word you said.”

She had never thought about herself as the object of teenage crushes. Was Ryan right? Had she been?

“That could explain why they all seemed so spaced out all the time.”

“They probably didn’t want to come up to the front of the class, either.”

She almost spit out her sip of wine. “Just eat already. It’s not nearly as good cold.”

Finally, Ryan took a bite of the goulash. And then another. And then one more before saying, with his mouth full, “I can’t believe you made this.” He shoved another bite in. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“Thanks, but we both know your mother’s straight-from-Italy spaghetti sauce is better. Just barely,” she joked, “but still better.”

It had been years since she’d sat down at the boisterous, crowded Sullivan dinner table, but she’d never forgotten how good the food had always been. Or how much fun it had been to be surrounded by all the laughter.

“By the way,” she said after they'd both eaten in companionable silence for a few minutes, “I was thinking more about the latest turn of events with Anthony joining the board. I really don’t think James is going to try anything again, not knowing my ex-husband will be coming in from Italy.” She put down her fork and pushed the rest of her goulash away. “You’re amazing for stepping in and pretending to be my boyfriend, but I can’t let you keep putting your real life on hold for me.”