Page 118 of Pitches Be Crazy
“Angel,” I said, sniffling back the cold teasing my nose. “I love you, but it’s fucking cold outside.”
“What happened to my New England boy?”
“Please, there’s a reason I left the East Coast.”
She laughed at my pain.
We came to an abrupt stop on the east side of the house. “So, what do you think?”
I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be looking for. There were no boxes or bows, no shovels for digging the buried treasure hidden beneath an imposing X. There was no X either.
“Will it do?”
I arched a brow. “For what exactly?”
“Your poison garden.”
“What?” I croaked.
She rubbed her hands down my arms. “You were going to give it up so Bella could have her bees. I couldn’t let that happen.” I was still trying to find the words to express my gratitude when she added, “Besides, it’ll be nice having easy access to toxic plants. You know just in case you piss me off one too many times.”
Something between a laugh and a sob bubbled out of me.
“Hey, I was just kidding.” She brushed away my tears. “We can find another spot—”
“It’s perfect.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I just—” I sniffled again. “Thank you. This is the best thing anybody has ever gotten me.”
“Well, shit,” she said around a smile. “Now your expectations are going to be high. What the hell will I get you next year?”
The fact that she could envision a future for us together lit a fire inside of me. That was all I really wanted, though a poison garden was a close second. We hadn’t officially moved in together yet, but it was only a matter of time. She already had an entire closet at my place, and soon enough, I would have a garden at hers.
When I cradled her face in my hands, the sun glinted off my ring. The one on my middle finger that signified I was a World Series champion. I had never been much for jewelry, and at first, the very idea of wearing a diamond-encrusted ring worth nearly six figures had given me hives. But Nessa had reminded me that the ring was more than a trophy or keepsake—it was a symbol of years of hard work and sacrifices finally paying off.
It was an honor to wear the ring, and if I had things my way—as I often did—I wouldn’t be the only one of the two of us with a diamond ring on their finger next Christmas.
“So, there’s going to be a next Christmas?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
“Well, baseball boy,” she said, nuzzling my neck with her lips. “That tends to happen every December twenty-fifth.”
“Smart-ass.”
“You love it.”
“I love you.”
She tilted her head back and searched my eyes. She must have found whatever she’d been looking for because her lips curled up into a devious grin, one that inspired wishful thinking and wicked promises.
A few of my favorite things.
She leaned up on her toes and brushed her lips over mine. “That’s my good boy.”
