The warm, sweet smell of sugar hits me as soon as I’m out of the shower. It’s the same smell I’ve been greeted with every day since Miller made that banana bread. She hasn’t stopped baking, keeping my house constantly filled with fresh pies, pastries, and other desserts, and I’ve been bringing them to the field, needing to get them out of my house before I’ll no longer be able to fit into my baseball pants.
But I love it. I love seeing her work her magic in the kitchen. It’s as if she got bitten by the baking bug and can’t stop. Apparently, nothing she’s made so far is helping her with the recipes she needs to create for the Food & Wine article, but she’s genuinely happy in the kitchen again and I can’t help but note the difference on her face from the first night I found her in there, distraught from too many failed desserts.
Wrapping a towel around my waist, I turn the corner to find Max decked out in a tiny apron, sitting on the kitchen counter facing Miller as she talks to him while plopping dollops of cookie dough onto a sheet. She’s all denim today, back in her usual cutoff overalls. I’ve realized she only has maybe four or five pairs that she rotates through, but these ones might be my favorite, showing off her thick thighs.
Max catches me eavesdropping, making his blue eyes shine and his smile grow. I should go back to my room and put some clothes on, but I just want to be around them.
“What are we making today?”
“Chocolate chip cookies.” Miller keeps her back to me, continuing to portion out each one.
Cupping my son’s cheeks, I give him a kiss on his head before reaching over, about to do the same to his nanny until it hits me midair on the way to cradle the back of her head that I’m out of my fucking mind right now.
What the hell am I doing? Way too comfortable. Way too fucking comfortable.
Thankfully, she doesn’t pick up on any of that as I fist my hands back at my sides.
“Well, technically they’re M&M cookies.” She motions towards the cooling rack where a dozen cookies are ready. “You can take them to the boys at practice today.”
I’ll take them to my teammates, but no way in hell are they going to be the first ones to try them. It’s one of the perks of Miller living with me.
Next to me, I mean. Living next to me. Though I hate that she sleeps outside, and I’ve made that perfectly clear on multiple occasions.
Snagging a cookie from the cooling rack I take a bite and, not surprising in the least, they’re fucking amazing. “So good, Miller.”
That smile bursts on her face as she continues to work. I know this isn’t the high-end stuff she’s typically praised for, so the compliment might seem mute, but I see how proud she gets from knowing how much those around her love what she’s making.
There are perfectly placed M&Ms on top, and from a quick glance, you’d assume Max is helping with that part. But I’m certain, judging by his hands already inked in yellow, orange and green, that the M&Ms he’s helping with are going straight to his mouth.
I pick him up off the counter, hoping to pacify the sugar rush first thing in the morning, and finally Miller’s attention follows, looking at me for the first time today.
Her gaze starts at the arm my son is perched on, then it travels lower to where the towel meets the bare skin around my hips. I watch her trace my tattoos with her attention before her eyes bounce over my abdomen as if she’s counting each muscle on her way up to my chest.
“My eyes are up here, Montgomery.” “Yeah, I know.”
I chuckle. “You almost done sexualizing me?”
With her eyes, she retraces the same path. “You keep walking around here in nothing but a towel and the answer to that will continue to be a resounding no.”
Finally, her attention finds mine but all she does is bite her lip and waggle her brows, never one to shy away from letting me know how attractive she finds me.
It feels really fucking good to be looked at the way she looks at me, especially by a woman like Miller. Beautiful, successful, could have any
man she wants but is looking at me.
“So, what should I call these when I give them to the boys?” I change the subject. “M&M cookies?”
Miller brushes my son’s hair out of his face as he sits perched on my arm. “We’re calling them the Max and Miller cookie. The M&M cookie. Sorry, Baseball Daddy, but you’re out on this one.”
“Actually, I’m also an ‘M’. My full name is Malakai, so I guess I count too.”
“Your name is Malakai?” I nod.
“Malakai Rhodes,” she says, as if she were testing the way it feels on her tongue. “That’s a good name.”
It’s an especially good name when she says it in that deep, raspy tone I look forward to hearing every day.
“I guess these could be named after you two then,” she continues. “M&M. Max and Malakai. That has a nice ring to it.”
And Miller.
Max and Malakai and Miller.
But I don’t say that out loud because my mind is already creating too many ridiculous scenarios seeing this woman with my son in my home, especially when she has no desire to stay.
Sundays without a game are always nice, but there’s rarely a day that goes by during the regular season that I’m not at the field. Today is an easy practice day, everyone coming to the field to work on what they need. Most of the guys get a bit of batting practice in, but I have a designated hitter who takes care of those duties for me, and I’m sure as shit not the guy who is going to be throwing out 50–60 mile per hour lobs over home plate.
These days are typically spent with me rushing through a bit of physical therapy in the training room after flying through a handful of pitch sequences, trying to get back home as quickly as possible. At least, that’s how it used to be. But over the past month, I’ve taken my time, watched my teammates bat while we all shoot the shit before I sink into my PT, letting it do what it needs to do.
There’s been a shift. I’m enjoying the game again, every part of it. I’m content, which is an odd thing to feel after stressing for the last ten months, convinced I wasn’t doing enough as a parent.
But Max is happy. I’m happy, and there’s a common denominator as to why.
“Goddamn, Trav,” my brother says in disgust. “You look like you’ve never swung a bat in your life.”
“It’s Sunday,” Travis calls over his shoulder as he squares up at the plate once again. “I’m over this. I’m tired and ready to go home.”
“New rule! You hit a homer, you get a cookie.” Cody holds up the Tupperware container full of Miller’s cookies from our side, behind the batting cage.
Travis’s brows shoot up from under his helmet before pointing his bat to left field and the next pitch that comes his way is sent sailing into that exact section. Travis tosses his batting gear and jogs over to snag a cookie, his eyes rolling back with an over-the-top moan when it melts onto his tongue.
“If I knew my daughter’s baking would’ve had you guys hitting like this, I would’ve had her overnight me desserts years ago.” Monty joins us, taking a cookie for himself.
“Hey!” Isaiah calls out. “You’ve got to hit a homer for a cookie.”
Monty levels my brother with a look. “I don’t have to do shit. I raised the girl, and I could bench your ass if I felt like it, Rhodes.”
Isaiah gestures towards the Tupperware. “Have all the cookies you’d like, sir.”
Cody guards Miller’s cookies, treating them like a sacred prize to be earned as the team turns back to face home plate, watching the next batter.
I find my way next to Monty. “You gonna ever stop scaring the shit out of my little brother?”
“Nah. That’s just how our relationship works. I love the little shit, but I don’t need him to know that.” He takes a bite of the cookie in his hand. “Goddamn. I almost forgot how good she was at this.”
“Yeah,” I exhale. “For a moment, I think she forgot too.”
I can feel Monty’s stare lasering into the side of my face as I watch the field, pretending to not be acutely aware of Miller’s father watching me.
“What made her start baking her old recipes again?” His tone is laced with suspicion.
“Not sure.”
“Why aren’t you looking at me?”
I shake my head, eyes on home plate. “Still not sure.”
Monty is my friend, but I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t intimidating. I’m already paranoid he’s going to accuse me of getting too attached to his daughter or think I’m trying to convince her to stick around town when the last thing she wants is to settle.
“Ace, why is my daughter baking this kind of stuff every day instead of working on her recipes for the article?”
He’s clearly not going to let this go, so finally, I turn to face him. “I think maybe it’s Max.”
Monty squints in confusion.
“I think she likes showing Max the basics, letting him help in some capacity. He’s been in the kitchen with her every day.” A smile cracks on my lips. “She even got him his own little apron with dinosaurs all over it. I’m sure she’ll get back to working on the other stuff soon, but for now, they’ve been having fun doing this together.”
A soft grin slides across Monty’s face. “Good. This is the stuff that makes her happy, not all that frou-frou bullshit people pay her to make.”
Huh?
My brow lifts in realization. “Were you planning this?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He takes another bite to keep himself from speaking as he faces the field, pretending to study the batters.
“You want Miller to quit her job, don’t you?” “I didn’t say that.”
“But you’re thinking it.”
“I want my kid to be happy, just as you want yours to be. Do I think she’d be happier making this kind of stuff every day instead of living in the stress of high-end restaurant life? Yeah, I do. Did I know she wouldn’t be able to help herself from feeding the people she loves? Also yes. Did I think spending a whole summer with your sixteen-month-old would make her go back to the basics, knowing he wouldn’t eat any of that fancy stuff? Maybe I did.”
I burst a laugh. “You’re a shit disturber, you know that?” “I’m a dad,” he corrects.
Crossing my arms, we mirror each other, both of us staring out at the field. “She named those the Max and Miller cookies. M&M.”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“Didn’t say anything.”
“You hummed.”
“A man’s allowed to hum.” “That was a suspicious hum.”
“It was a normal hum. You’re just being paranoid and want to find ways to keep talking about my daughter.”
I scoff. “You were the one who brought her up first.” His mouth curves slightly on one side.
“Hot Nanny alert!” Cody calls out. “Did you bring us more cookies?”
I follow his line of sight to find Miller frantically racing up the stairs of the dugout and onto the field with my son slung on her hip.
My heart instantly sinks at the sight.
“What’s wrong?” I shout. “What happened?” I run to her, meeting her in no time though it feels like forever before I can get my hands on them both. Panic laces my veins as I check my son up and down. “Is he okay?” My attention flips to her, my palm brushing over her hair. “Are you okay?”
“Max is fine.”
My stomach drops in relief, like I just plunged from the top of a roller coaster, and I have to let it level out before I can speak again. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”
“I think he’s about to walk.” She sucks in a deep breath which tells me she ran here from the parking lot. “We were playing outside, and he was using the water table to balance when all of a sudden he let go and looked like he was going to take a step in my direction, but I scooped him up before he could. I don’t think I was supposed to do that. All those online mommy groups would probably berate me for it, and I’m pretty sure every one of your parenting books would call me unfit, but I couldn’t let you miss it.”
Miller is frenzied, her words stumbling out without a single breath as she searches my face for my reaction, as if she truly thinks I might be upset over her stopping him.
“Jesus.” Flipping the brim of my hat to the back, I drop my forehead to hers, half-heartedly laughing in relief. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“You’re not going to call me unqualified and refuse to let me watch him for the rest of the summer because I stopped him from walking?”
Pulling away, I brush her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “If you’re unqualified then so am I.” My brows furrow. “And do you really think I own a single parenting book?”
A laugh bubbles out of her.
“You drove all the way into the city?”
She nods against my palm as it rests on her cheek. “You can’t miss his first steps.”
Fucking hell.
Now that the adrenaline is settling, my chest physically aches because of this woman. She’s too good to us, too good to me.
“Maxie!” my brother calls out, breaking the spell of being around her and reminding me my entire team is watching, including Miller’s dad. “What are you doing here?”
I exhale, finally looking away from her and back to the guys behind me. “Apparently, he’s about to walk.”
There’s a frenzy of noise stirring by home plate. This team has been there since the day I found out my son existed. They’ve been stoked for every milestone, and this one seems no different.
“Bring him over here and let’s see it!” Travis shouts in our direction.
“Yeah, let him feel like his uncle, walking onto home plate after running the bases!”
“Well, if we’re shooting for accuracy,” Monty cuts in. “Maybe let him step onto second since Isaiah hasn’t rounded that base once in the past five games.”
The team bursts again, giving my brother shit.
“Geez, Monty.” Isaiah holds a hand to his chest. “Go ahead and admit that you’re obsessed with me, keeping track of my stats like that.”
A slight crack of a smile tugs at the corner of Monty’s lip.
Miller hands my son off to my brother before she finds Kennedy with an adorably excited wave. She takes her place with her dad, and Monty slings an arm over her shoulders, standing together to watch. The rest of the boys can’t resist, leaving their spots behind the batting cage to create a half circle around home plate.
I get down on my haunches right behind it, facing the third base line when Isaiah puts Max down only a few feet from me. My son has still got a death grip on my brother’s fingers, using them to balance himself, but he’s staring right at me all giddy with baby teeth.
“C’mon, Bug, let’s see it.” I hold my arms out wide for him. “Come get me.”
Isaiah pries his fingers away, but holds on for a moment, letting Max balance himself before he fully lets go. This is typically the time Max crumbles to his butt to crawl, but he keeps his eyes right on me, wobbly knees trying to keep him upright.
No one speaks. It’s utter silence on a field that only moments ago was rowdy as hell with a baseball team giving each other shit. Now, they simply stand behind me, waiting on pins and needles for a sixteen-month-old to make his move.
“Max.” I gesture with my hands. “Come on. You’ve got it.”
Hands in the air to balance himself, he shakily steps his right foot forward. It touches the ground before he does the same with the left.
I can feel the smile widening on my face. “There you go. You’re doing it!
Keep going!”
The boys behind me are stirring with excitement. The anticipation feels similar to that of an important ninth inning when we’re down with our best batter at the plate, looking for a walk-off win. I figured for them, it’s simply a toddler’s first steps. But for me, it’s the not so gentle reminder that he’s good. He’s growing and I’m not messing everything up. So, even though I’ve been waiting for this day for months, I didn’t realize the boys would be just as excited as I am.
I once assumed I didn’t have anyone there to celebrate the good moments with, and I couldn’t have been more wrong. I’ve had these guys the whole time.
Max is flailing about like one of those blow-up guys you see at a car dealership, but he’s able to maintain his stability. He steps forward with his right foot, wobbles, and steadies himself before bringing his left foot forward too.
“Yes, Max!” The first cheer resounds behind me.
“Good job, Max.” The smile on my face is splitting. “Two more big steps and you’re here.”
God, my chest could burst from the amount of pride that’s flowing through me. He’s doing it. He’s really fucking doing it.
Then his little feet, decked out in checkered Vans, take two more steps onto home plate, right into the cradle of my outstretched arms.
The team goes nuts behind me.
“So good, Bug!” The laugh I exhale is full of relief as I hug him close to my chest, covering him in kisses.
When I stand with him in my arms, the boys cheer louder than I’ve ever heard. The noise is almost deafening as they jump onto each other, pushing one another in the chest like we just won some massive game or something.
“Let’s fucking go!” Isaiah tosses his head back, arms out wide.
I’ll remind him about cussing in front of my kid later; for now, I want to celebrate.
The noise is too much for him and Max’s face melts, his lower lip wobbling before he lets out a giant wail.
“Oh buddy,” I soothe, trying to cover up my chuckle. I pull him into my chest, running a hand over his hair. “It’s okay. They’re just excited for you.”
The cheers settle immediately. It takes a second but soon enough, Max’s face pops off my shoulder to look at them all once again and his chubby- cheeked smile is back, though his blue eyes are rimmed in red.
The boys cheer again, keeping their volume at a less frightening level, and as they smother my son with attention, I glance over my shoulder, looking for Miller.
She was standing with Monty, but now he’s alone.
“Take him for a minute,” I tell my brother, handing off my son.
I slip behind the batting cage, headed straight for my coach. “Where’d she go?”
An annoyingly knowing smile lifts on his lips. “She just left. Asked me if practice was over and said she figured you wanted to take Max home with you.”
Before he can add any more, I take off to the dugout, jumping over the stairs and jogging down the hallway where she originally came from. I can see the frayed hem of her cut-off overalls as soon as I’m in the tunnel that leads to the offices, clubhouse, and eventually the parking lot.
“Miller! Hold up.”
She turns on her heel as I continue to chase after her, the spikes from my cleats clattering against the floor.
“Where are you going?”
She throws a thumb over her shoulder, gesturing towards the parking lot. “Home.”
Home.
“I mean, to your house,” she corrects from down the tunnel.
I keep jogging and as soon as I can reach her, I pull her into my body, both arms wrapping around her shoulders. “Did you see him?” I ask, my
words slightly muffled against her hair. “Did you see him walk?”
She nods against me, her arms snaking around my waist. “He did so well.”
“Thank you. For bringing him to me. I’m so glad I didn’t miss that.” “I promised you.”
I linger a little longer than I probably should, but there’s no one around to remind me to stop getting so fucking attached to this woman, so I stay, holding her in a hug for another moment. Eventually I pull away, my hand still cupping the back of her neck just to give myself permission to touch her in some way. I don’t know what else there is to say, but I also don’t want her to leave.
“Cody wants you to give him baking lessons,” is what I come up with. “Really?”
“Yeah. You know how he is, always trying new things.”
“I’d love to teach him!” There’s so much excitement in her tone, so much eagerness on her face.
“I’ll let him know. You guys could do it at the house sometime.”
“That’d be great.” Her green eyes sparkle under the fluorescent lights of the hallway. “The only time I’ve gotten to teach people is in the kitchens I contract for but that’s all high-skill stuff. I think it’d be fun to teach someone the basics. Well, someone other than Max.” She finishes that with a soft laugh.
Miller is glowing. I mean, she’s beaming like a fucking glowstick at the prospect.
I stroke my fingers against the nape of her neck, reminding us both that I’m still touching her. My other hand comes up to cradle her jaw, my thumb brushing over the soft pillow of her lower lip as my body subtly slants over hers.
“Kai,” she whispers. “Hmm?”
“Are you going to kiss me?” “Thinking about it.”
“What happened to your no-more-kissing rule?” “Wanting to break it.”
She nods, the movement causing my thumb to tug at her lower lip, pulling it down, and fuck if I don’t want to slip that into my mouth and suck on it.
“I’ve always hated that rule,” she says.
But before I decide what I’m going to do, the tunnel fills with echoing voices from my teammates headed this way from the field. Miller takes my hand that was on her lips and places a chaste kiss on the inside of my palm before dropping it to fall back at my side.
We keep our attention on each other as bodies swarm past us, headed to the clubhouse.
I get a few taps on my ass as they walk by, Miller is given a few “Hot Nanny” calls which I hate, and my brother gives me a wink over her shoulder as he takes Max into the clubhouse with him.
I scratch the back of my neck, knowing I need to go. “So . . . um, Max and I won’t be home tonight. We have family dinner.”
“Oh, with Isaiah?”
“No, with my friends, but for some reason we call it family dinner. It happens every Sunday night and I go when I’m in town.”
“Okay. Well, have fun, and I’ll see you later.” She gives my hand a quick squeeze, turning back towards the parking lot.
“Hey, Miller.” She once again stops for me, and I’m stuck here rubbing at my neck like a nervous dork. “Would you want to come with me?”
That naughty smile is back. “In what sense are you asking me to come with you?”
“Get your teenaged-boy mind out of the gutter. Would you want to come to family dinner with me?”
“Do you need help with Max?” “No.”
I can see her tensing from here, maybe thinking my invitation means more than it should. Truly, I have no idea what it means other than I want her there.
“If it makes you feel any better,” I continue. “The only reason I want you there is so I can prove to my people that I can go a whole month without firing a nanny. It has nothing to do with me enjoying your company whatsoever.”
She bites back a smile. “And just how many of your people will be there?”
If she goes, all of them.
“Five or six. Give or take depending on if Isaiah shows. And they all assume we’re fucking so heads-up on that.”
“If it were up to me, they’d be right.”
I purposefully ignore her because I’m already battling with myself here and her constant approval isn’t helping me fight the urge.
“I’d have more fun if you were there,” I add. “Remember that fun you promised me? You know, because I’m an overworked and overtired single dad that doesn’t know how to let loose.”
“Cheap shot, Rhodes, but fine, I’ll go with you.” A way too satisfied grin lives on my lips.
“Stop smiling. It’s creeping me out.” She once again heads for the exit. “You’re driving. I’m much better as a passenger princess, so pick me up at home.”
I watch as Miller leaves, getting back into her van, and fuck do I love that the term home keeps slipping from her mouth.
