Fourth Down (Portland Pioneers 1)

For the longest time, I thought Camden and I would get married and start a family, but he’s out living his best life, chasing storms, and doing what he loves. I love my job too, but I’d give it up to be a full-time mother in a heartbeat. For this to happen, I have to start dating or go to a sperm bank. Neither idea seems ideal. Dating scares me. I see the tweets I get from random men and the stares when I’m out alone. The double-takes are what get me. Believe me, I’m not looking at men on the street wondering if they’re the next man in my life. And the idea of going to a clinic to comb through a million profiles to find the right combination of eye, hair, height, and intelligence is such a turn-off. It’s like dating, but without any commitment from the other party.

After watching the action in front of me for a few minutes, I decide to close my eyes and tilt my head back to enjoy the sun. It’s in the mid-fifties. Not too warm, but not cold enough where you have to wear a parka either. I know many will disagree with me, but I find this weather perfect.

I listen to the chatter around me. Someone is talking about going out to dinner and mentions a place I haven’t heard of. As tempted as I am to open my eyes and pull my phone out to put the name of the restaurant in my notes for reference later, I don’t. If I forget, there are hundreds of other places I can try. Another voice piques my interest. It’s a male, and if I had to guess, he’s on the phone. I hear bits and pieces of his conversation and quickly deduce that someone in his life has had an affair. I tune him out, not wanting to feel like I’m a creeper and eavesdropping, even though he’s talking about personal things in a park where anyone can hear him.

I settle deeper onto the bench and relax, knowing that I could easily fall asleep right now, except something is touching my leg. I open my eyes and sit up, startling the little girl next to me. “Hi,” I say to her.

“Yous the lady from TV.”

“I am. My name is Autumn.” I hold my hand out for her, but she jumps at what I suspect is her name being frantically yelled. I glance around the play area, looking for her parent, only to find Julius storming toward us.

“Roxanne Cunningham, you know better than to run off.”

“Is that you?”

She nods but doesn’t seem fearful of her father. I would be, but he probably likes her.

“Daddy, wook.” She points to me while staring at her looming father.

Julius and I make eye contact. I give him a soft smile and wave. “She yours?” It’s a stupid question, but I have nothing else to say to the man. Much to my surprise, his daughter climbs onto the bench and sits next to me. Her little legs are bouncing up and down with excitement.

“Roxy, you shouldn’t bother people,” Julius says. “Come on, let’s go.”

She shakes her head and hides her hands under her legs. “I stay.”

“She’s not bothering me,” I tell him, meaning every bit of it. I glance down at her and match her toothy grin with one of my own. “Hi, Roxy, it’s nice to meet you.”

“I see you on the TV.”

“Well, I’m happy that you watch my weather reports. Now tell me, Roxy, do you like the rain or the sun?”

“The sun,” she says.

“Roxy, we should go.”

I turn my attention toward Julius and shake my head a bit. “Honestly, she’s not bothering me, Julius. I don’t mind talking to her.”

He nods but says nothing. He stays nearby, undoubtedly watching us like a hawk.

“How old are you?” I ask Roxy.

“Dis many.” She holds up three fingers. “How old is you?”

Wow, I didn’t expect her to come back with this question. I hold up both hands and say, “I am many more than this.”

“Yous old.” She laughs. If she weren’t so cute, I’d be insulted.

“Sorry,” Julius says. “She doesn’t have a filter, so she says whatever comes to mind.”

I wasn’t aware he was close enough to listen to us, but it makes sense. He probably doesn’t want me asking his daughter anything he would deem inappropriate. Not that I would.

Another child comes up to us. He looks to be around Roxy’s age. I’m about to ask if she knows him when she yells out his name.

“Henry, she is on TV.”

“You famous like her dad?” the little boy asks.

“No, I just tell you what the weather is going to be like.”

“I don’t like the weather,” he tells me. “It’s stupid. Sometimes it rains and then I can’t go to the park. This one time, it snowed, and I got to stay home with my mom, but she was mad.”