Reaching First by Mindy Klasky Page B

word, and I’ll set something else up immediately.”
    “No,” Emily said, too quickly.  
    The Rockets were back in the field. Atlanta’s strongest batter dug in behind the plate. Anna seemed reluctant when she turned her attention back to the game. The batter swung at the first pitch, sending a screaming line drive to first. Tyler had to leap from the bag, stretch his arm directly overhead, but he came down with the ball in his glove.  
    From the box, Emily could see his easy smile as he tossed the ball to the second baseman. She made out the victorious flash in his eyes as he settled back on the bag, ready for the next out. She saw the way he eased off, taking a few steps to his right to put himself in a better position to catch the next ball hit.
    And she saw his quick glance to the owner’s box, the tight nod as he found her in the front row. He touched a single finger to his baseball cap, and she knew he was as aware of her as she was of him.
    “No,” Emily said to Anna again. “Don’t change a thing.” She had the rest of his sentence to figure out what she wanted from Tyler. What she wanted from herself. It was time to ask herself the hard questions, and to listen to every answer.

CHAPTER 6

    Emily stared at the spreadsheet, unable to believe the totals displayed on her computer screen. Eighty-three. Tyler had already put eighty-three hours into Minerva House.
    She shouldn’t be surprised. He’d helped Will refinish all of the hardwood on the ground floor—sanding and finishing and sealing all four public rooms, along with the hallway. He’d painted the newels on the staircase, taking care that no drips marred the uprights. He’d installed the new wiring for the overhead lighting, and he’d tested the new circuits.  
    Of course, he’d also cajoled her into counting the hours he’d waited for the county inspector. And he’d ducked out of other things she’d asked him to do—organizing books on the shelves in the front room, sorting the brochures she’d picked up from the printer. He’d absolutely refused to go online when she asked him to double-check the website, saying he had to run errands before he hit the road.
    She’d been frustrated, but she’d gotten over it while he traveled, first to Miami, then Atlanta. They’d talked every night—sometimes until two or three in the morning. Yesterday had been a rare travel day. She’d thought about inviting him to stop by after he got back from the airport, but she’d decided not to. After their earlier fiasco, an invitation like that would come with too many strings attached.
    A week apart had been just the thing she needed to get over his stubborn refusal to complete the assignments she wanted him to do, the things that weren’t high on his personal to-do list. And Emily had to admit she was eager to see him. It certainly wasn’t the same, watching him on TV. He might have hit a game-winning home run in Florida, and a grand slam in Atlanta. He might be in the middle of a hot streak, with the cameras loving him every time he stepped to the plate.
    But Emily was interested in a lot more than his batting average when she opened the door on Tuesday morning.
    He leaned against the door jamb. “Hey, beautiful.”
    She ran her fingers through her hair and watched the motion kindle a hunger in his eyes. “Quit it,” she said. “Will’s right inside.”
    “Then maybe you should step out here, on the porch.”
    “Like that’s any more private.”
    “There’s plenty of room in the bed of my truck.”
    All she heard was bed. That was enough. She blushed, and he laughed.
    Cursing her fair skin and her shy reflexes, she held the door open wider. “Get in here. There’s a lot of painting to be done.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    He didn’t have to brush against her when he passed over the threshold, but he did. He didn’t have to let his fingers catch on the hem of her shorts. He didn’t have to pause, leaning close, as she caught her breath