The Good Wife (24 page)

Bullshit,
she thought, squeezing her eyes shut. He didn’t miss them. He probably didn’t miss them at all because he probably had a whole other family when he was on the road like this. A wife and kids. A girlfriend. He might even travel with his girlfriend for all Sarah knew.

“Sarah.”

She shook her head, back and forth, back and forth, grinding her forehead against her knee. “I’m just . . . lonely,” she whispered when she trusted herself to speak.

“It’s only ten days, hon.”

Only ten. Piece of cake. “I’m . . . not . . . doing well, Boone,” she said huskily, struggling to keep her voice from breaking.

“This is a tough time, but you’re doing fine. You’re strong.”

He didn’t know. Because she didn’t tell him. She didn’t like telling him the truth, because she didn’t like thinking about it in the first place.

Her fears. Her worries. Her pain.

No, better to be positive. Better to focus on the good, and the healthy, and the happy. It was her job to keep them together, as a couple, and as a family. If she lost confidence in him—in them—they’d never make it. Never. “I just wish . . . I just wish . . . I could see you.”

He didn’t answer.

She continued: “I want to see you when we get there. I want you to pick us up from the airport. I want you to be . . .”
there,
she silently added.

For me.

“Time will pass quickly,” he added firmly, adopting the authoritative tone he’d take with whining kids. “And you’ve got a lot to do when you get to California. You’ve got to find us a place, and get us settled, and then all the bad stuff will be over, behind us.”

She said nothing, resenting that she had to find a place, and she had to get them settled, and then, and only then, would the bad stuff be over.

Personally, she’d rather go out and play ball. And sign autographs. And head out to have drinks in some hot nightclub with the guys.

“Right,” she said grimly.

“There’s light at the end of the tunnel. I’ll be home with you for Father’s Day. I’ll be off the next day. We’ll be able to hang out and relax—see your family, and your dad.”

Great. She couldn’t wait for that off day. “And when is that?” she asked, checking her sarcasm.

“The eighteenth, I think.”

The eighteenth. Sarah balled her hands into fists. Just two weeks from now. No problem. She’d wait.

But then, she really didn’t have a choice, did she?

Fifteen

W
ednesday, June 6, was another spectacular morning in Alameda, and business was good at the café, so good that customers were on a twenty-minute wait list for a table.

Lauren liked a busy morning. It was how it was supposed to be. Only problem was, she, and the other waitstaff, were all moving so fast it was hard to say more than two words to their regulars.

Boone hadn’t been in yet, though, and it was getting late enough that Lauren didn’t think he’d show. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing either.

She lined up her order beneath the warmer, making sure everything was there even as she tried to convince herself that she didn’t need to see Boone.

He didn’t matter.

He couldn’t.

“First Spartacus, and now Thor,” Bette said, whistling under her breath as she joined Lauren in front of the grill. “Things are getting exciting at Mama’s Café.”

“What?” Lauren asked, adjusting the fruit garnish on one plate before letting Bob know she needed another short stack of blueberry pancakes.

“Coming,” he answered.

“Thor’s here,” Bette repeated, still waiting on an order herself.

Lauren frowned, her brows tugging together. “Who? Where?”

Bette nodded at the counter. “There, at the counter. Thor. See him? He asked to be seated in your section. And if that ain’t Thor, I don’t know who he is.”

“Thor,” Lauren repeated dumbly, glancing over her shoulder, her gaze sweeping the expanse of dark gold counter.

Then her eyes widened. She’d spotted him.

Immense shoulders. Huge biceps. Thick blond hair caught in a ponytail, a strong tan jaw, high cheekbones beneath blue eyes.

She immediately understood the reference.

She also had a sneaking suspicion she knew who he was. She hoped she was wrong.

“Humph,” she said.

“Humph,” Bette echoed, mocking her. “Don’t act like your eyes didn’t bug out just now. ’Cause they sure did.”

Ignoring the waitress, Lauren stacked the warm plates on her arm, delivered the order to her table, returned for additional butter and syrup, delivered that, then headed to the counter, where someone had already taken care of getting her big, brawny, blond customer a menu, coffee, and water.

“Good morning,” she said, pulling out her notepad. “What can I get for you?”

“What do you recommend?”

She glanced up and her gaze collided with his. He had piercing blue eyes. Blue, blue eyes. She looked swiftly away. “Everything’s good. Just depends on what you’re in the mood for.”

“I’m hungry. Want serious food.”

He had a very deep voice, which matched his deep chest, and his arms. And suddenly she flashed to Monday night’s game, remembering that he batted before Boone. She recalled how he’d hit a double just before Boone’s first home run, which had put all the fans on their feet. She’d been one of them. “I’d recommend our steak and eggs, then,” she said, fixing her gaze on his strong chin. “I’m also partial to our corned beef hash. It’s homemade and you can get two or three eggs with that, prepared any way you’d like them, and a side of toast, biscuits, or a short stack of pancakes.”

“It all sounds good.”

“It is.”

“So order for me.”

Startled, she opened her eyes wide. She looked up into his eyes. “What?”

“Surprise me. Bring me something you think I’ll like.”

Heat rushed through her, warming her, making her face feel hot. “But I don’t know you, and wouldn’t presume to know what you’d like.”

“But you know good food.”

“Everybody has different tastes.”

“Boone said I can’t go wrong here—well, except for something called grillades—but other than that, he said it’s all really good.” His blue gaze held hers. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t know you,” she reiterated, chin lifting a notch, hoping she sounded calm and controlled, because on the inside her heart was thumping like mad.

“I’m Chris.” He smiled at her, eyes crinkling, his eyes cornflower blue.

“Chris Steir, number seven, center field,” she answered, thinking he was definitely handsome, if you liked rugged, blond men who resembled superheroes. Which she didn’t, she mentally added. She’d always had a soft spot for brunettes. Brunettes with blue eyes. “Let me get your order in.”

She wrote his order up, standing in front of the grill, scribbling down the steak and eggs with country-style potatoes and a side of buttermilk pancakes. She had no idea if he would like any of it, but it didn’t matter. He’d told her to order what she thought was good, and she preferred simple home-style food that tasted good. So this was what he was getting.

With his order in, she refilled his coffee, careful to avoid eye contact, and it wasn’t until she served him his breakfast that she spoke to him again. “What else can I get you?” she asked, hands on her hips, tone brisk. “Ketchup, hot sauce, steak sauce?”

“Your phone number?”

Her head jerked up, her eyes met his. He was smiling at her, but she didn’t smile back. “I don’t know why you want my number.”

“I want to take you out.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because?” One of her eyebrows lifted. “That’s your answer?”

His smile was crooked and his eyes laughed at her. “Yes.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Doesn’t work for you?” he asked, reaching for his knife and fork and cutting into the steak. It was dark pink and juicy, and he looked up at her and nodded approvingly. “Just how I like it.”

“Medium?”

“No, feisty.” He winked at her. “And I will take some hot sauce, if you have Tapatio.”

She didn’t budge, just stood there, staring at him, telling herself she despised men like him. Arrogant. Overly confident.

He arched an eyebrow. “Or Tabasco. That works, too.”

“Do women fall for this? Mr. I’m-So-Sexy-You-Can’t- Refuse-Me?” she demanded tartly, reaching under the counter for bottles of A.1., Tabasco, and ketchup, and practically slamming them down at his elbow.

His blue gaze warmed as it rested on her flushed face. “Does it bother you that I find you beautiful?”

“Yeah. It does.”

He laughed, a big, deep laugh, and his white teeth flashed. “Why?” he asked, popping a generous bite of steak into his mouth.

“Because you don’t know me.”

He chewed, swallowed, his eyes never leaving hers. “But I know what I see. I like what I see.”

Just like John Meeks, she thought, drawing a quick, uncomfortable breath. “And I think that’s shallow.”

He cut another slice off the steak, shrugging, broad shoulders shifting. “Guess I’m shallow.” He stabbed the juicy steak, lifted the bite, but then hesitated, his expression turning thoughtful. “Is that
bad
?”

She opened her mouth to say something sharp and reproving, wanting to put him in his place, but then surprised herself by laughing.
“Yes.”
She choked on more smothered laughter. At least she could give him points for being funny. “Most definitely.”

Chris grimaced as he chewed, and yet his eyes danced, the brilliant blue depths bright, alive.

So alive.

A shiver raced through her. She felt the tingle from her nape to her breasts and then deep inside. Goose bumps covered her skin. And yet she didn’t like it, didn’t want to like him, didn’t want to feel anything for a person who reminded her of the high school boyfriend who’d fathered her child and then hadn’t even bothered to send a sympathy note when his son died.

Chris swallowed, took a sip of his water, blotted his firm mouth with his napkin. “Now I know this is probably going to sound shallow, too, and I’m sorry about that ’cause apparently shallow isn’t good, but you’re seriously sexy, and I really want to take you out.”

Before she could answer, he added, “By the way, can I get a milk?”

Lauren spluttered and, shaking her head, went to get him his milk. She carried it back, a large glass, and it was cold. Hopefully it’d cool him off.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he said as she put it in front of him.

“Not your darlin’.” She caught Phyllis’s eye, nodded, realizing she had a table waiting. “And I’ve got customers waiting. So you’re okay?”

“Come to the game tonight, we’ll go out after.”

“No.”

“Okay, I’ll pick you up after the game, we’ll go to dinner then.”

“No.”

“Come on, baby, you want to go out with me.”

“No.” And yet her lips were twitching. She was amused.

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“What kind of answer is that?”

She smiled, rolled her eyes, aware that he’d just thrown her own words back at her. “I don’t know you—”

“You kind of do—”

“I really don’t—”

“Then we’ll bring Boone along. You know him. He can be your chaperon.”

Lauren flushed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Then what is it?”

“I—” She opened her mouth to speak, but how did she tell him he reminded her too much of an ex? How could she tell him she was rejecting him for being big and brash and confident? She couldn’t. “I’m in bed by nine or ten every night.”

“What? Seriously?”

She nodded. “I open in the mornings. Come in between four and five to get all the baking done.” She gestured to the lighted display case filled with gorgeous pies and cakes. “Those are mine.”

His gaze swept the display. “You made those?”

She nodded again.

“How?” he demanded.

She shrugged. “How do you hit a ball?”

He shrugged right back. “Practice.”

“There you go.” And then she walked away to take care of her other customers.

But she’d walked away smiling.

* * *

T
he rain had finally, thankfully, stopped in Tampa. The weekend was supposed to be beautiful, too, which didn’t really impact Sarah as she’d be gone tomorrow afternoon, on a flight as soon as the kids were out of school.

With tonight being their last night in Florida, she invited Alyssa and the kids to come over, since Jeff was on the road with the Rays.

While the kids ate pizza in front of the TV, Alyssa and Sarah hung out in the kitchen, sharing a bottle of wine, nibbling on cheese and crackers and chocolate peanut butter cups from Trader Joe’s.

“My roof has a leak,” Alyssa said forlornly as Sarah popped a cracker covered with Brie into her mouth. “And of course Jeff is gone.”

Sarah swallowed and wiped her fingers on a cocktail napkin. “It wouldn’t leak if he were home.”

“It’s Murphy’s Law that things only break when the men are on the road.”

“But we like taking care of everything,” Sarah reminded her, lifting her wineglass. “It’s fulfilling.”

“So is raising four boys on your own.” Alyssa clinked her glass against Sarah’s. “To the good life.”

“The good life,” Sarah echoed before drinking.

Alyssa set her glass down abruptly. “Are you sure you have to go tomorrow? I’m going to hate it when you’re gone! You’re my closest friend here. The other wives are sweet, but they’re not you.”

“Grouchy and short-tempered?” Sarah retorted, taking another long sip from her glass.

“No. Funny and honest. You
are
honest. It’s tough being married to a baseball player. Tough being a good wife when a thousand other women want your man.”

“Women have just got to leave married men alone.”

Alyssa did another clink with her glass. “So . . . how’s your sister?”

Sarah glanced at Alyssa over the rim of her wineglass. “Which one?”

“The one who just lost her husband.”

“Meg.” Sarah gave Alyssa another searching glance, wondering if it was coincidence that they were discussing extramarital affairs and Alyssa was asking about Meg. “And she’s okay, I think. She isn’t talking much to anyone, just focusing on her kids.”

“And the other . . . three?”

“Two. Brianna and Kit, they’re the fraternal twins, but there’s also Cass, my sister-in-law.”

“And you like her?”

“I like them all. I’ve always gotten along with all of them.”

“Until Meg had the affair last year.”

So Alyssa
was
referring to Meg’s affair. Sarah realized now that it was something Alyssa would never forget either, which made her wish she’d never told her friend in the first place. Meg deserved to be remembered for all the good things she’d done in her life, not the one mistake.

A gigantic mistake.

Just like that, Sarah flashed to Boone’s affair three years ago.

No, affairs weren’t something one forgot.

Eager to think about something else, she grabbed her iPhone from where it was charging on the counter and flipped to her calendar. “So, when are you guys coming to see us?” she asked, looking up at Alyssa.

“I don’t know.”

“The Rays will be playing at the Coliseum July thirtieth, thirty-first, and August first. Come out with the kids. Stay with us. We can sightsee or just hang out. It’ll be really fun.”

Alyssa sighed. “Flying across the country with four boys isn’t my idea of fun.”

“I know, I hear that, but once you’re there, you’ll be glad you did it. You can stay for as long as you want, too. We can go up to Napa, do some wine tasting, visit the mud baths in Calistoga.”

“With all the kids?”

“No!” Sarah laughed and refilled their glasses. “You and me. It’ll be a girl thing.”

Alyssa considered the idea. “Maybe.” Then she grinned. “But only if I can meet your wicked sister . . . and her sexy vintner boyfriend!”

“They’re not together anymore.”

“Thank God! That means he’s free.”

* * *

C
hris returned to Mama’s Café for the second morning in a row, entering the restaurant with swagger, as well as some famous company.

Lauren had been making coffee, and she paused a moment as she spied Boone, and two other players, trailing after Chris. Four baseball players in her café now. Pretty soon she could be feeding the whole team.

Bette was nearly swooning. She led the men to a booth—Phyllis’s, since Bette’s were all full, talking to them a mile a minute.

Lauren shook her head, smiling, glad she didn’t have to wait on the guys today.

Phyllis walked past with four ice waters. “Hello, Oakland A’s,” she said saucily.

“Enjoy,” Lauren muttered, pushing Brew on the machine.