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One in a gray pinstriped suit with thinning gray hair she recognized as the Dodgers’ general manager.

The fit, youthful man speaking to him in beige slacks and a pastel pink dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up looked quite similar to Lucas’s friend—

Her eyes flitted to the third man in the huddle. Dark washed jeans hugged his hips while a brick red T-shirt emphasized olive skin and rich brown eyes.

Those same eyes traveled from her head to her heels and back again. He snared her gaze, sending her heart rate skyrocketing.
Caleb.

Caleb recognized the bald cameraman right away. Rod and Mr. GM remained engrossed in their conversation, but his attention wandered across the field. A stunning blonde appeared like a mirage in the desert. His breath hitched in his throat.
Britt?
He let his eyes roam over her. From the bright green dress that emphasized all the right curves, to the legs and sky-high heels—she looked stunning.

“Excuse me for a second.” He didn’t wait for Rod to respond. He jogged toward the wall. The expression that clouded her features—equal parts surprise and confusion—not to mention their surroundings, kept him from leaping over the barrier and pulling her into his arms. But, oh, how he wanted to.

“Britt.” He sounded downright pitiful. He cleared his throat. “What a surprise.”

She’d taken a few steps toward him and then stopped, twisting the bracelets on her arm in slow circles. A smile lifted one side of her mouth. “What are you doing here?”

He jerked his left thumb in Rod’s general direction. “My agent’s taking me to the game tonight. So we could … talk. I’m sorry I haven’t called … I didn’t know you were here.”

“Yeah, you too. I mean, me either.” She glanced toward Marne and Paul, her brow creased. “It’s been crazy, with Opening Day and all.”

“What are you doing later? I could—”

“Britt?” Marne turned back, caught sight of him and glared daggers. “Let’s go.”

“Great to see you. Enjoy the game.” Britt dismissed him with a little wave of her fingers and that megawatt smile.

No.
How could she just walk away? “Wait. Please.”

She stilled, eyes locked on his. The warmth of her gaze was like an electric current, zinging through him. He wondered if she felt it, too. “Meet me later. A drink, dinner, whatever you want. I need to talk to you.”

“Caleb, don’t. Please,” she whispered, tipping her chin up. Her lower lip quivered. “I—I’ve got to go. People are watching.”

The moment lost, she hurried away. He swiveled on his heel and watched her go, aching to climb over the wall and jog after her.
People are watching.
What was that about? Britt caught up with Marne and Paul, grabbed a microphone and stepped in front of the camera. All business. He heaved a sigh.

Rod, who’d probably watched the whole interaction, came and stood beside him. Amusement flickered over his face. “Everything okay?”

Caleb rubbed his elbow while he stared at the field. “Just saying hi to a friend.”

“A friend, huh? I’ve never seen friends look at each other like that. C’mon, I’ll buy you a beer.” Rod whacked him on the back and led the way toward concessions.

While they walked, Rod checked his voicemail and Caleb tried to formulate a plan.

“Sorry about that. I’m trying to get a kid out in Omaha called up.”

Rod pocketed his phone and rubbed his hands together. “So. Let’s talk. Wasn’t that Britt Bowen?”

Caleb nodded. “The one and only. Do you know her?”

“I know her brother Lucas pretty well. Incidentally, we were at the same Easter service on Sunday.”

“Really?” Britt hadn’t mentioned much about church before. Wonder what she thought about his so-called falling out with God?

When they stepped into the breezeway, the familiar crack of a bat against a ball made Caleb wince. This night would only get harder. He waited in line with Rod to order a beer, like an ordinary fan. A few guys cast glances his direction and then whispered to their buddies. Any minute now, he was certain someone would ask for his autograph. But if they recognized him, they kept their distance.

Rod handed him a plastic cup full of amber liquid, the foamy head beckoning. “Thanks, man. What do I owe you?”

“Don’t mention it. After all you’ve been through? I think you deserve a beer.”

Caleb snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“Seriously.” Rod showed his tickets to the attendant, who nodded with approval. “Most guys would give up right about now.”

“I thought plenty of guys my age had multiple surgeries?” Caleb took his time walking down the shallow steps toward the first row of seats.

“Repeat surgeries aren’t the issue. It’s the rehab that appears to be the problem.” Rod stopped in front of two empty seats straight behind the batter’s box.

“Is this okay? I can get us into the owner’s suite if you’d rather be up there.”

“No, no.” Caleb shook his head. “This is fine. It’s great.” He eased down into the wide, padded seat and sipped his beer. The cool liquid slid down his parched throat. He studied the pitcher warming up on the mound for the Arizona Diamondbacks. A young guy from the Dominican Republic, hurling a fastball that made everyone sit up and take notice. Jealousy twisted his gut into a hard knot.

“Don’t be too impressed,” Rod muttered. “He’s all smoke and mirrors. They’ll send in relief by the fourth inning.”

Caleb cocked his head and gave Rod a careful appraisal. “Is that right?”

“You can count on it.” Rod took a long pull from his beer. Then he nested the cup in the holder on his arm rest. “So give it to me straight. Weaver thinks he can fix that arm of yours?”

Caleb nodded. “He wants his radiologist to read the films I brought from Japan. But he thinks he can do it, if I’m willing to put in the rehab time.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Willing to put in the time. Expectations have changed, my friend. They don’t stick you in a sling and tell you not to move for five weeks. It’s all about core strengthening now and early mobilization, on top of the PT and pain management stuff. Six days a week, multiple sessions, for the next twelve months.”

“Geez, Rod. When you say it like that, it’s almost irresistible.” Caleb had Googled a few injury protocols from the best of the best. It looked pretty intense.

“And the sportscaster? How does she factor into the equation?” Rod freed his buzzing smartphone from his pocket and glanced at the screen.

“Britt?” Caleb shifted in his seat. “I-I don’t know. Things are ... uncertain.”

“Uh huh.” Rod studied the phone for a minute. “Well, how about that. I can’t help you with your girlfriend problems, but I might have some news you’d like to hear.”

“What’s that?”

“Do you have any interest in joining the Colorado Rockies? They need a special assistant to the GM.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Britt limped toward the players’ exit, her briefcase bobbing against her hip. That went well. She’d spent a few minutes talking to broadcasting legend, Henry Whisenhunt, after the game. He’d shared great advice.
It’s a like a little conversation with your best friend—who happens to love baseball as much as you do.
She smiled at his pithy words of wisdom. Apart from the blisters on her feet from these ridiculous shoes—and her awkward encounter with Caleb before the game—tonight was a smashing success.

She fumbled for the keys to her rental car. His appearance had thrown her off her game. Dang, he played that wounded, brooding thing so well—sent her right into a tailspin. She’d failed miserably at hiding her surprise. Instead of looking happy to see him, she probably looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Then Marne intimidated her into cutting the conversation short. She didn’t even get a chance to ask about his arm.
Nice
.

“Seriously.” She dug deeper inside her purse until the key fob appeared.

“Everything okay, miss?” The security guard posted by the door studied her, hands propped on his waist. In his navy blue uniform and shiny black shoes, it was clear he felt very official. But he didn’t look a day over twenty, and two baseball players could probably stuff him into a trash can if they wanted. Britt wondered what exactly he was guarding.

She nodded. “I’m good, thanks. Just needed to find my keys.”

“All right, then. You have a great night.” He swung the door open for her and she stepped into the cool night air.

A charter bus idled behind the stadium and several of the Diamondbacks players mingled nearby, still high-fiving and celebrating after their win.
Oh boy.
They were dressed for a night out. She could tell by their expensive pants and silk ties, damp hair slicked back. Not to mention the cologne and aftershave wafting her direction. One of them noticed her and elbowed his teammate. She wasn’t in the mood to chat. About the time the door clicked shut behind her, she wondered if maybe she should go back inside. Even if she had to walk the long way to her car.

Someone broke away from the huddle and moved toward her, cat calls and guffaws trailing him. Her heart thudded in her chest as she recognized Caleb’s dark red shirt
.

He sauntered over, a playful smile dancing on those amazing lips. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she said, casting a nervous glance at the players. Their huddle had grown as more players came out to the bus and they were all very attentive to her and Caleb’s conversation.

“I haven’t seen you since we said goodbye at the airport and all I get is, ‘hey’?” His dark eyes smoldered in the dim light of the parking lot.

“I don’t want to give your friends anything to talk about.”

“They’re not my friends. I don’t care what they think. You’re what matters to me.”

She ducked her chin. “I’m sorry about earlier. I couldn’t believe it when I saw you standing there. Then I let Marne intimidate me and—”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re here now.” He reached for her hand and proceeded to kiss each of her fingertips.

All of her determination to keep things professional under the watchful eye of the other players vanished.

“Let me take you to dinner. Please? I’ve missed you.” He smiled again and her knees trembled.

“I—” She shook her head, trying to regain her composure. Those eyes, his touch—she couldn’t think straight.

“You have to work tomorrow, I know. I won’t keep you out all night this time.” He pressed her hand against his chiseled pecs, twining his fingers over hers.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” A rivulet of doubt trickled in, although it barely stood a chance in the midst of all the hot-and-bothered that threatened to slay her.

Caleb’s chest expanded under her hand as he drew in a deep breath. “That’s a fair question. Look, I know this is unexpected. You’re trying to work and I’m supposed to be in Japan. But here we are. Can’t we just pretend this is Tokyo?”

Britt worried her lower lip, searching his face. Part of her wanted to slip from his grasp, climb in her car and drive off, without looking back. She had to be in Anaheim tomorrow, Sacramento the day after that.

Then they shot their last West Coast show in San Francisco and then headed back to Newark.

Production meetings happened on the fly this week, a barrage of texts and emails that made her head spin. The news about Kate’s resignation weighed heavily on her now, too. But she couldn’t pull away. Call it fate, divine intervention …whatever. They’d crossed paths again and the hope of what-might-be kept her Jimmy Choos rooted to the asphalt.

“Dinner. That’s it. No all-nighters in the park or Ferris wheel rides,” she said.

He waggled his eyebrows. “Your wish is my command.”

“Oh, brother.” She rolled her eyes. “Let’s go, before I change my mind. Am I driving?”

“I hope so. I took a cab here.” Caleb squeezed her hand then released it.

“Wow. Feeling confident, are we?” She clicked the key fob and her rental car chirped nearby.

Caleb dropped his head back and released a deep laugh, a refreshing sound that made Britt’s heart sing. She hadn’t heard him laugh since their date in the park.

“I didn’t know you were here. Honest. So, no, it wasn’t about post-game plans. My hotel’s pretty close, and driving in LA wears me out.”

“Likely story.” Britt deposited her briefcase and purse in the back seat and then slid behind the wheel.

Caleb settled in the passenger seat, trying to tuck his long legs under the dashboard.

“You can adjust the seat, you know.” She put the key in the ignition and started the engine.

He shrugged. “No worries. I’m fine.”

“So you like to ride in a car with your knees up under your chin?”

Silence hung between them. He didn’t even crack a smile. “I can’t. It hurts too much.”

She palmed her forehead. “Listen to me. Cracking jokes when you’re in pain. I’m sorry. Here, let me help.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it.” He twisted away, reaching for the seat belt with his left hand and tugging it across his body. Clicking it in place, he met her gaze and winked. “All good.”

She secured her own seat belt and then shifted into ‘drive.’ “Are you in a lot of pain?”

“A little. I’m thinking Italian food might improve things.”