Day One Page 8

  Before our food is ready, I remove silverware and a plate from the dishwasher, holding a clean towel to grab each item and setting it aside, being careful to not touch anything he will be using.

  My text goes off with the familiar baseball-hitting sound just as I take the lasagna out of the oven.

  Drew: I’ll bring wine. Red or white?

  Me: Great! Red for sure.

  I snap a picture and send it his way.

  Drew: I’m literally drooling right now. Lasagna is my favorite. How’d you know? ;-)

  Me: Good guess. See you soon!

  I head outside and set up our makeshift picnic in my front yard. With two blankets, I place his spot and then mine, keeping them spread apart. Next to each blanket, I place boxes that I stuff with books to give us each a little table to eat our dinner on.

  As he pulls up, I stand and hold out my hands, showing off the work I’ve done.

  “Well, aren’t you cute?” he says as he exits his car.

  “I even made our little tables more stable with books.” I lean on them to show how they won’t collapse.

  “I meant, you.” He grins. “But, yes, this all looks great as well.”

  I try to hide the blush his words caused before turning and saying, “I’ll go get the food.”

  I swear I hear him chuckle at my awkwardness. When I turn around, I see him checking me out.

  “You like what you see?” I ask coyly.

  “You have no idea.”

  I grin and continue my way to the house. When I come back, he’s sitting on his blanket with two glasses of wine already poured.

  I set the lasagna down with a proud expression.

  “That smells amazing,” he says.

  “Wait until you try it. Now, I made sure to take your plate, silverware, and glass straight out of the dishwasher, holding them only by a clean towel so I didn’t touch anything and—”

  “You didn’t have to go through all that trouble,” he says.

  I can tell he wants to reach out to touch me to make sure his words are meaningful, but he holds back and grins instead.

  I shrug. “I just wanted to make sure you knew I was taking this seriously. I know you have a reason to worry about it, so I am too.”

  He smiles bigger, and I look down, grabbing the spatula to cut him a piece.

  “Now, how much do you want?” I place my tool on top of the lasagna, asking him with my eyes where I should cut the food.

  “Right there is good,” he says.

  “Obviously, there’s plenty, so you can always come back for more too. Here, hold out your plate.”

  He does, and I dish him up before getting mine. We both sit at our spots a few feet away and eat our dinner.

  “Have you seen how bands are doing covers of other bands’ songs and posting them to Instagram?” I ask.

  He shakes his head after he takes a bite and wipes his mouth with his napkin. “No. Any you like?”

  “Yes!” I say dramatically. “Jen Ledger from Skillet did a cover of ‘Gravity’ by Papa Roach with a band called From Ashes to New. It. Was. Amazing! I shared it to my stories, so you can check it out later.”

  “What makes you think I’ve viewed your stories?” he teases.

  “Don’t lie. You have totally been checking me out. You do realize that accidental heart you gave on a photo from a year ago still notified me even though you took it off really quick, right?” I say with a smirk.

  “Busted,” he replies playfully. “Then, you’ve been checking me out too?”

  “Uh, duh! I’ve seen everything. Your Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, ESPN, MLB Network—”

  “Okay, okay, not fair. You have more avenues to cyberstalk.”

  “Yep, sure do. Don’t be jealous. Sorry I’m not as famous as you are.”

  He takes an extra napkin I have sitting between us, crumples it, and throws it at me.

  I laugh and dodge the object just in time. “And you say you’re a baseball player.” I make a tsk-tsk sound with my tongue.

  Once we’re done with our dinner, I bring everything inside as the sun starts to go down. When I come back, he’s lying on his back, staring up at the stars starting to shine through.

  I take a moment to check him out before making my presence known. His interest in the stars is obvious. He even lifts his arm like he’s measuring something between the tips of his fingers.

  “Are you a star buff?” I ask as I make my way back to my blanket.

  “I’ve always been fascinated by them. Don’t know a ton though. I try to find the Big Dipper and stuff like that. I wish I knew more. How about you?”

  I lie down and stare up at the vast sky. “Me too. I took a few classes in college though.”

  “Then, what’s that?” he asks, pointing to five stars that make a W image.

  “That’s Cassiopeia. Greek mythology says she thought she was the most beautiful thing around, so she was placed in the sky as a punishment. The W makes up her crown.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that name before.”

  I show him a few other things as we take in the night sky.

  As the darkness surrounds us, he turns his head, so he’s looking at me instead of the sky. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer. Squirting some on his hand, he lays his arm out flat toward me.

  “Give me your hand,” he says.

  Our eyes meet, and my chest tightens. When I reach out, he rubs the sanitizer between our fingers and then keeps them there, holding my hand as both of our arms are stretched out. We’re keeping our distance yet touching each other for the first time.

  Feeling him sends a zing through my body. His hand is warm, and I can feel the slight callus he has from swinging a bat.

  I keep my sight glued on his.

  I want so badly to touch him more.

  I want to feel his lips and know what they taste like.

  I inhale a deep breath as we stay like this. For now, I’ll take all I can get. For now, this is our own version of being alone together, just like the hashtag keeps saying.

  14

  Day 14

  April 9

  It’s a damn good thing I fixed my sink because I went to run my dishwasher and realized I had zero soap. When I thought about running to the store, I had to be real with myself. If I were to get this virus just because I was too lazy to wash these dishes by hand, I’d never forgive myself.

  So, instead of running to the store, I blast some music and go to town on washing an entire load of dishes by hand. When I think about how most of these are dirty because I made dinner for Drew last night, it makes it all worth it.

  Once I’m done, I curl up on my couch with a cup of coffee and turn on the TV. Scrolling through the channels, I see MLB Network is replaying the 1977 World Series and turn it on just for the laugh.

  When I see SportsCenter is airing still, I click on it, wondering how they’re running the show now and if it’s broadcast live or through Zoom and people’s houses.

  I’m not lost on the fact that I turned on SportsCenter—a show that I’ve only seen when my sister’s husband has it on at their place. And, yes, it’s all Drew’s fault.

  The show is breaking news of an NFL team trading some guy named Brandin Cooks and a future pick to the Texans for a second-round pick, and within seconds, I’m lost on who’s who and what team they’re referencing.

  I go to change the channel when they tease the upcoming touching story about the newly signed San Francisco Giants player Andrew Miller.

  My eyes bug out of my head as I sit up straighter, almost spilling my coffee. I grab my phone, thinking I should call Drew to tell him, and then I pause and want to smack myself in the head. Obviously, if there’s a touching story about him, he knows about it.

  Then, a small pang hits me in my chest. If he knew about it, then why didn’t he tell me?

  I wait—not so patiently, I might add—for the show to come back on. When it does, the host introduces an organization c
alled More Than Baseball. Their spokesman tells us about the minor league and how things work behind the scenes. I’ve always thought if you’re a baseball player, you make money. Boy, was I wrong.

  They talk about all the different levels before you get to the majors and how some of these guys make as little as one hundred dollars a week. My mind is blown. They have to travel all over the country for days at a time. How can they possibly hold down another job as well?

  They also mention how the players have to provide all of their own equipment and housing. When the spokesman said there are players who are hungry and sleeping on air mattresses, only to wake up and play for thousands of paying customers, it breaks my heart.

  Included are stories of Adam Wainwright, a veteran St. Louis pitcher, and his wife donating two hundred fifty thousand dollars to Cardinals minor leaguers and the Colorado Rockies player Daniel Murphy donating one hundred thousand dollars in the past few days to the organization.

  I’m so engrossed in their conversation that I totally forgot that Drew was coming on until they split the screen and welcome him to the discussion.

  Seeing him on-screen melts my heart in ways I didn’t know possible. Every day, I feel more for this man, and just the sight of him brings those emotions deeper.

  “We want to welcome Andrew Miller to the show, who is the newest San Francisco Giants first baseman. Thanks for joining us, Andrew.”

  “Thanks for having me,” Drew says.

  “I hear you were a recipient of More Than Baseball’s program. Can you tell us more about that?” the host asks.

  Drew starts with a slight chuckle. “Recipient is probably not the right word. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for More Than Baseball. I was that guy who was sleeping on an air mattress after each game. I had to make my way up through the ranks of Single-A to where I am now. I didn’t go to a fancy college or get drafted right away. I started at the bottom, and to say it was a struggle is a bit of an understatement.”

  “Did you really not have a normal bed?” the host asks.

  Drew runs his hand down his face like he’s embarrassed and doesn’t believe he’s saying this all on national television.

  He lets out a deep breath and continues, “I was lucky that I was moving up through the ranks pretty fast, but that meant, I had to move a lot. It was easier to throw my mattress in a box because I couldn’t afford the big trucks every time I moved. My mom was battling cancer during my time in the minors, so I wouldn’t dare to ask my parents for money.”

  “How’s your mom now?” the host asks, obviously concerned.

  Drew’s face lights up. “She’s great. In remission now. Thanks for asking.”

  “Glad to hear it. So, how did More Than Baseball help you, and why did you donate one hundred thousand dollars to the organization?” the host asks.

  My mouth falls to the floor as I blink my eyes wide. Did he just say one hundred thousand dollars?

  Drew grins from ear to ear. “My life changed once someone introduced me to More Than Baseball. I was able to get help with buying food, living a normal life, and they gave me hope. I barely had my contract signed before the pandemic happened. If the lockdown had happened a month later, I’d have been back with all my friends, making four hundred dollars a week. It just didn’t seem right. I had a signing bonus that was supposed to be the down payment on my new apartment, but the shelter-in-place order here in California made that purchase fall through just the other day, so I figured there was no better place for the money to go. I’m lucky enough that my parents live close to San Francisco, so I’m staying with them. I know there are a few guys who aren’t so lucky and could really use the help.”

  “So, you’re bringing the program full circle?” the host asks.

  “Exactly.” Drew nods.

  “Well, I’m sure the players who will benefit from your generosity will appreciate it. Thanks for coming on.”

  “Thanks for having me,” Drew says.

  His window closes, and the host fills the screen.

  “There you have it. From veterans of the game to their newest players, everyone in the baseball family is helping one another.”

  I have to wipe the tears from my eyes that kept popping up as Drew spoke. He went through all of that while his mom was fighting cancer, and I’m sure it was very hard. Knowing he was able to make it this far proves the fight he has in him.

  He’s a determined man, and it makes him even sexier than I thought before. Both inside and out.

  I pick up the phone and dial him right away.

  “Hey there, cutie,” he says like he’s been chilling, watching a movie, and not giving a huge interview.

  “Drew …” I say, trying to hold back the tears again.

  “You saw, didn’t you?” he says, and I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

  “I did. I’m just blown away. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He laughs nervously. “Which part?”

  “All of it. Your struggles. Your place falling through. Donating the money …”

  He sighs. “I didn’t do it for the recognition. When they asked me to do the interview this morning, I originally said no, but the guys from More Than Baseball said it would have more of an impact for the organization.”

  “It so did. You did great.” He’s silent, and I can tell he’s uncomfortable with the attention it brought, so I change the subject. “Then, tell me about your place.”

  “I was purchasing an apartment in the city. When the shelter in place started happening, the people I was buying it from lost their jobs and pulled out of the deal. It was technically too late to do so, but I couldn’t take their home from them, so we canceled it on both ends with no big deal.”

  “Will you find another place?”

  “Who knows? Maybe I wasn’t supposed to live in the city. I mean, you’re here, so …”

  “Drew …” I say, tears filling my eyes again, but I try to hide them.

  “Is that weird? Did I just scare the shit out of you? I mean, fuck, I guess it has only been a few days. Maybe I’m just jumping to conclusions. There are always places I can find there.”

  “Hell no, you won’t.” I laugh. “Like you said, I’m here, and, yes, we definitely need to see where this goes before you go off and buy a place too far away from me.”

  He laughs, and I can hear the relief in his voice. “You know, dating a baseball player isn’t easy. I’ll be on the road a lot.”

  “And I don’t work over the summer. So, who knows? You might open your hotel room to find a naked girl sprawled on your bed, waiting to thank her favorite player for giving her such a great show on the field.”

  “Sprawled on the bed, huh? Are you trying to kill me right now?”

  “Nah, just trying to give you visuals for your spank bank when you go to bed tonight.”

  His voice comes out as a growl. “You are. You’re trying to kill me. I knew it.”

  “It will all be worth it. I promise,” I say with the cheesiest grin on my face, glad he can’t see me.

  “Believe me, I have no doubt.”

  15

  Day 15

  April 10

  A knock on my door shocks the hell out of me. I reach for my phone and check my Ring app. As it comes on, I see a delivery vehicle parked in my driveway and a guy taking a picture of whatever he left on my porch before walking away.

  Since I didn’t order anything, I approach the door with caution, as you can never be too careful these days.

  Wait, who am I kidding? I can see on my app that no one is there anymore.

  I open the door and see a very large box. I lean down to pick it up, figuring it’s going to be heavy, and I almost topple over when I give it way too much effort and find out it’s only a pound or two.

  Questioning it even more now, I take it inside—after I’ve wiped it down, of course, with the Clorox wipe I grabbed from my entryway.

  After I open the box, I’m even more confused when I see a
pillow inside. I close the lid again and check to see if it was delivered to the wrong house. When I verify that it is indeed my address and name printed on the label, I open it again and pull the pillow out.

  To my surprise, the thing keeps coming and coming, and I have to stand up straight to get it all the way out of the box. I hold it up to see it’s a body pillow.

  I definitely did not order this.

  The order form is in the bottom of the box, and when I flip it over, I see it’s from Drew.

  As I walk back to my couch, I think about what to say to him.

  Um, thanks for the body pillow. Can I ask why you sent it to me though?

  Would that be rude?

  I click his name, which is now on the top of my Favorites screen, and wait for him to answer.

  “Did it arrive?” he says.

  I let out a laugh. “So, you did in fact send me a package?” I ask, wondering if maybe he ordered the wrong thing.

  “You don’t like it?” His voice sounds a little hurt.

  “Um, I think they sent me the wrong item.”

  “Oh no. Really? Jeez, how can you possibly mess up a body pillow? It’s not like there are similar things. It’s a really big—”

  “So, you meant to send me that? Because that’s what I got,” I say, a little confused.

  He laughs out loud. “Yes, I meant to send you a body pillow.”

  “Uh, can I ask why?” I try to sound happy but still uncertain.

  “Since I can’t be there to cuddle up with you tonight when we watch a movie, I wanted you to cuddle up with the pillow and pretend it’s me.” His voice is uplifting and adorable.

  I can’t help the giggle that escapes my lips.

  “It’s lame. I’m sorry.” He sighs.

  “No! Oh my God, it’s the cutest thing ever.” I unwrap the plastic wrap from the pillow and curl up with it on my couch. “It’s my own personal Drew. And it’s something I’ll be able to use, even after this quarantine is over and when you’re gone for away games.”