Enzo laughs, and Ace flips the waffle iron.
“Who was the all-time hits leader in 1985?”
Ace is quiet, and I think Enzo may have finally stumped him. I watch as Ace’s face twists, like he’s deep in thought, and then I realize he probably knows the answer, he’s just putting on a show for Enzo’s sake.
“I don’t know, kid. I think you got me with that one.”
“Ha!” Enzo drops the cards on the table and points to Ace. “It was Pete Rose.”
Ace smacks his forehead with his hand and pretends to be disappointed in himself. “Ah, that’s right. Pete ‘Charlie Hustle’ Rose. Didn’t think you could stump me, but you did.”
“What’s going on in here?” I strut out from the shadows of the hallway with my hand on my hip and take a seat beside my nephew, who’s grinning. It doesn’t hit me until now that having some famous ball player making him waffles is probably going to be one of the biggest highlights of Enzo’s childhood.
“Ace is cooking waffles,” Enzo says, smiling ear to ear.
“Aren’t you special. How’d you talk him into that?” I ask him, winking at Ace.
“It was his idea.” Enzo says, pointing at Ace as he carries a plate to the table. Enzo’s waffle is drenched in syrup, and he wastes no time digging in like an eight-year-old caveman.
When Ace takes the chair beside mine, he slips his hand under the table and rests it on my knee, and I slide my palm over his. He leans over, kissing my forehead.
“Thank you,” I mouth.
He nods.
He has no idea how much this means to Enzo. Wearing a warm smile, I rest my head on Ace’s shoulder.
“I hope it’s okay, but I made a phone call this morning,” he says.
Sitting up, I turn to him. “Yeah?”
“Called up the manager for Millenium Park, the Firebirds’ stadium in Baltimore,” he says. “Got us three tickets to today’s game.”
Enzo’s jaw hangs and he drops his fork mid-bite. It hits his plate with a single clink.
“You guys want to go?” Ace asks, dark brows lifted.
I turn to Enzo, who’s so elated he can’t speak, and he shakes his head up and down, side to side, and around. Silly boy.
“It’s a four-hour drive,” he says. “I’ll have to line up a rental, but we can make a day of it. I know Enzo’s got school in the morning. If that’s going to be a problem, we don’t have to go.”
I place my hand on his arm. “We’re going. We’re going to make this work. Enzo can sleep in the car on the way back. Seriously, you just made this kid’s life.”
Enzo shovels the last bite of waffle into his mouth, and I tell him to get in the shower ASAP. When he’s gone, I climb into Ace’s lap, straddling him in my kitchen chair, draping my arms over his broad shoulders.
“You okay going back there?” I ask. “Can’t imagine it’s the easiest thing for you to do.”
He rakes his white teeth across his bottom lip. “Yeah. It needed to happen sooner or later. Can’t stay away forever. Besides, I’m looking forward to reliving that excitement through Enzo.”
“God, you have no idea what this means to him. He is a diehard Firebirds fan.”
Ace smiles, wide, and my heart flutters as I realize I’ve never seen him smile like this before. He’s truly happy, and that makes my heart want to sing like Maria in The Sound of Music, spinning through the hilly Bavarian mountainside.
Kissing his mouth, I move to his ear, nibbling before working my way down his neck, breathing him in all the while.
“You smell like me.” I straighten my posture.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s not a bad thing. I happen to think I smell like a desert sunset.” I smirk, giggling.
“What does a desert sunset smell like, exactly?”
“Jasmine . . . lily . . . cactus flower.”
“That’s . . . very specific.”
“It’s my soap, okay? Jeez.” I graze his mouth, depositing a kiss, tasting a hint of maple syrup on his lips. He must have gotten some on his fingers and licked it off earlier. “I just like it when you smell like . . . you.”
“What do I smell like?”
I pull in a long breath and grin, my eyes resting in his. “Like a man. Cracked leather and musk and testosterone.”
I’ll bet once upon a time, he smelled like baseballs and dirt and sweat. I’m momentarily jealous of the woman who had him all to herself during those years. I’d have loved to see him in action, but instead I’m relegated to thirty-second highlight clips on the Internet.
Oh, well.
Something tells me I’d prefer this Ace over the other anyway.
“I don’t think you can actually smell testosterone,” he teases gently.
“Whatever. I’m going to jump in the shower,” I say, climbing off my ridiculously sexy boyfriend and brushing messy strands of bedhead from my face.
“I’m going to head home and get ready. I’ll pick up the rental car and call you on the way.” He stands, hooking his hands on my hips and pulling me against him to give me another kiss. He’s addicted to me, but I don’t mind, because the feeling is severely mutual.
Maybe it’s crazy, because he’ll be back here in such a short amount of time, but I feel it necessary to tell him I can’t wait to see him again.
I watch from the kitchen as he swipes his keys off the ledge and jams them in his pocket before slipping his shoes on. He’s still wearing last nights’ clothes: black pants, a white button down. His black jacket is draped over his arm.
His hand rests on the doorknob as he turns to look at me, like he needs to steal one last glance before he goes. But I go to him, throwing my arms around his neck again, smothering his handsome face with kisses like it’s the last time.
Only this time, I know damn well it won’t be the last time.
I love this man.
I love him from the seat of his soul to the depths of his blue-green eyes.
Thirty-Seven
Ace
* * *
“I wonder if we’ll see Rodrigo Gutierrez?” Enzo hasn’t stopped talking since Aidy buckled him in the back. “How many fastballs do you think Brandon Sousa’s going to pitch today? Can we get a souvenir? Like a cup or something. Something I can show Owen next door because he’ll never believe me when I tell him . . .”
Aidy turns to me in the front seat and we exchange smiles, heading toward the New Jersey Turnpike. Reaching across the console of the rental car, I take Aidy’s hand, giving it a squeeze.
I thought going back to Baltimore would be harder than this. I thought it’d be unpleasant. Honestly, if it weren’t for Aidy and Enzo, I’m not sure this trip would be happening. At least not yet. All I wanted was to make it up to the kid for blowing him off a couple months back and making him cry.
This morning, I woke before the sun came up and headed to the living room because I didn’t want to wake Aidy. Within twenty minutes Enzo came out, staring and blinking and rubbing his eyes. He’d passed out last night at the reception, before we even made it to the cab. The kid had no idea that I carried him or that I stayed the night.