“That’s different.” He picked up his coffee and took a drink. “I was good at baseball. I have never been good at dancing.”

I tore off a doughy piece of cinnamon roll and popped it into my mouth. “Will it make you feel better if I show you a few simple moves to show her off so no one focuses on you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I can teach you a few easy, partnered dance steps so you feel like you know what you’re doing. I’ve done it for brides and grooms before.”

He looked confused. “Like, twirls and shit?”

Laughing, I took another bite. “Something like that.”

“Excuse me,” said a scratchy voice to my right.

I looked up to see an elderly man standing to the side of our table. He looked like he might be in his eighties or close to it—his posture was stooped, his belly was round, he needed suspenders to hold up his pants, and he wore thick glasses. His ears looked too big for his head, on which he wore a bright red ball cap. Tufts of white hair stuck out beneath it.

“Coach?” Tyler blinked at the old timer.

“Is that you, Shaw?”

“It’s me.”

“I thought so. But my wife says I can’t see shit, so I wasn’t sure. Came to take a closer look.”

Tyler laughed as he rose to his feet and held out his hand. “Good to see you, Coach.”

The old guy shook it but pulled him in for a hug too. Whacked his back a few times. “Good to see you too, son. You playing any ball?”

“Nah, I’m retired.”

“Where you hanging your hat these days?”

“I’m still in San Diego,” answered Tyler. “Just in town for my sister’s wedding.” He nodded at me. “This is April Sawyer. April, this is Virgil Dean, one of my old coaches.”

“His favorite one,” added Virgil.

Smiling, I stood and offered my hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Dean.”

He took my hand, and I noticed how his trembled. “Nice to meet you too,” he said. Then he looked at Tyler. “This your wife?”

Tyler shook his head, and we exchanged an amused glance. “No, just a friend.”

“I was gonna ask how you got someone like her. She’s too good-looking for you.” Virgil winked at me.

“She is,” Tyler agreed, folding his arms over his chest. “So how’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know. Got some back pain. Some blood pressure trouble. Had one knee and both hips replaced. Can’t see shit—my wife is right—but I don’t hear too well either, so mostly I can ignore her carping at me.” He shrugged. “I’m still walking around, so I guess that’s good.”

“Are you still coaching?”

“Not too much. I get out there every now and again and help my son David over at the high school—he’s the head coach at Central now—but mostly, I try to stay out of the way. He doesn’t like his old man to interfere too much.”

“He’d be lucky to have you interfere.” Tyler nodded toward his old coach and spoke to me. “You’re looking at the man responsible for my fastball. Taught me everything I know.”

“Really?” I raised my eyebrows. “I’m impressed. People are still talking about that fastball around here.”

“Hell of a pitch.” Virgil nodded proudly, then looked at Tyler. “Hell of an athlete. Say, you’re not sticking around here for any length of time, are you? They think I’m an old fart over at the school, but they could use a good pitching coach. The last one didn’t know his ass from his elbow.”

Tyler shook his head. “Nah, I’m leaving Sunday.”

“Why so soon?”

He shrugged. “I gotta get back.”

“Thought you said you retired.”

“I did, but—”

“So stay a while. What else you got going?”

Tyler paused. “Maybe you haven’t heard, but baseball just isn’t my thing anymore, Coach. I lost my arm.”

“Bullshit. Baseball isn’t here, son”—Virgil tapped Tyler’s shoulder—“it’s here.” He thumped a gnarled fingertip on Tyler’s chest. “And here.” He tapped his head.

Tyler pressed his lips together. “I’ll think about it.”

His former coach lifted off his red cap, scratched the back of his head, studied Tyler with a shrewd eye, and looked at me as he replaced it. “See if you can get this guy to stay a while, get over to the high school. The kids could use his knowledge.”

I smiled. “I’ll try.”

“All right, I guess I’ll go back and tell my wife she was wrong. I love doing that. Good seeing you, son. Don’t disappear so long.” Virgil patted Tyler’s shoulder and shuffled back to his table.

When we were seated again, Tyler dug into his breakfast.

“He seems like quite a character,” I said.

“He is.”

“Think you’ll go over to the high school like he asked?”

“Nah. They don’t want me over there.”

“I thought you missed baseball.”

“I do.” He picked up a slice of bacon and tore a piece off with his teeth.

“And you aren’t sure what the next move should be.”

He gave me his best menacing glare as he chewed.

“You don’t think you have something valuable to offer the next generation of players?”

“I know I do.” He quirked a brow at me. “I never said I wouldn’t be good at it.”

“So what are you afraid of?” I pressed.

“I’m not afraid of anything.”

I said nothing, just picked up my coffee cup and took a sip.

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve decided. You are officially worse than my sister.”

“At what?”

“Pushing my buttons.”

“Does that mean you’ll stop by the school before you leave?”

“If I do, will you stop trying to boss me around?”

I grinned and picked up my cinnamon roll. “I’ll consider it.”

Nine

Tyler

After breakfast, I dropped April off at Cloverleigh Farms and headed back to my hotel to get in a workout at the gym. It was still raining, and I wondered if Sadie was going to panic about that. April had been fretting on the ride back, checking the radar app on her phone with her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

I wanted to bite that lip too.

I hadn’t thought anything could be more difficult than keeping my hands off April in the car last night, but watching her lick icing off her fingers this morning made me want to flip the table between us, throw her legs over my shoulders, and bury my face between her thighs.

Probably not the kind of behavior the crowd at Coffee Darling was used to, but hey, it would have been fun.

I was hoping a good hard weight session and some serious inclines on the treadmill would help me work off some of the sexual tension, but they didn’t. I kept thinking about her while I worked out, imagining how she’d taste. Sweet, no doubt—like that cherry ice cream last night. But she’d be warm, not cool.