“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.