Page 10 of The Catch

He pushes one of the mugs to me, and the other to the place next to me. I sniff the chocolate in my cup and detect a few spices. Cacao, cinnamon, and cloves are the strongest notes.

"I'm making you chocolate chip cookies and chocolate con queso." His Spanish is just as clear as when he said my name. He adds a few paper napkins to the arrangement. "I thought you'd enjoy a sweet treat tonight."

The timer goes off and he takes the tray out of the oven with swift moves. It looks graceful, just like when he's maneuvering to catch the ball in the middle of a game, or when he dances after a touchdown.

I may have watched the Strike play once or twice out of curiosity through the years. It's never been a big deal. I've always known I have to be careful with my feelings around Saint. Not because of what Pablo said years ago, but because I've always known Saint and I look for different things. My brother just happened to have the same take as me. And a secret part of me, one I keep hidden and away from sight, has always known I could easily let things get complicated with my brother's friend.

Soon there's a plate of cookies between the two spots, and he sits next to me. He throws a few cubes of cheese into my mug, and then some into his own.

"Cheese in chocolate?" I ask.

"Colombian treat. My mom made it for me often." He puts a teaspoon in each cup. "You scoop it out and let it amaze your palate."

I copy him and try the mix of spiced chocolate and melty white cheese together… and moan.

"Wow," I say. "Salty, sweet, flavorful…"

"Right?" He smiles.

Finally. Those dimples make an appearance.

"This is very nice of you, Saint. Thank you."

"Hey— I can be nice." He offers his mug for a clink, like we're toasting something. "In fact,niceis my brand. Until I'm not nice, if you get my meaning."

He winks, his dimples dangerous as ever.

I laugh. "I'm sure that's right."

"Try a cookie. I can't wait to hear what a trained chef has to say about them."

They're as good as the hot chocolate he made.

"This is wonderful, Saint."

"Thank you." He leans back on the barstool. With an elbow over the back of the leather seat, he watches me thoughtfully.

It's a gesture that shouts his openness to me, to life, or to both. It's a way of living that has always seemed so far away from me. So different from how I've been feeling all day.

It heightens the crushing feeling in my chest, that my life could be falling apart. A break up, my business at risk, no home to call mine. With most of my things still at Aidan's condo, it feels like my life is what I carry in my suitcase and nothing else is certain.

His eyes narrow, as if he can sense the thoughts running through my head. It's like he's tracking if the weight in my chest shifts and softens… like he wants it to. Almost as if opening the door to me, baking me cookies and making me a comforting drink from his childhood were only a small part of what he'd like to do.

The wide receiver, ready to catch— me.

My heartbeats drum at a faster pace, to have his attention on me that way. I'm too raw, and reading too much into it. If I grab onto reality, it's more likely he's doing this because he's friends with my older brother. That's always been the way between us.

I cast my eyes to the chocolate in my hands and sigh. "Can I stay with you, Saint? I'll leave as soon as I can. I'll figure out my business, find my own place, and get out of your hair, I promise."

I'll try to fix the pain and doubt this morning caused me, too, but I don't mention that part.

"Of course you can stay," he says. "Make this your homebase as long as you need to. There's no rush."

"You have to let me know if I'm overstaying… or overstepping in any way. Please. I can't take advantage of your generosity. That would be wrong."

"You won't."

"But if I do—"