Hawk (The Boys of Summer 4)

“What?” he asks, shrugging. “It’s a valid question.”

Rude or not, he’s right, the question is valid. “Hawk is signing autographs this Saturday at the fields. He has a few teammates coming to town. It’s mostly for kids, but I have a feeling I can get him to make an exception for you.”

Mr. Pearl smiles brightly, that is until I look at his wife and say, “And for you, I’ll make sure he and his buddies take a picture with you. Word on the street is the other players coming are . . .” I pull out my cell phone to read Karter’s comments verbatim, “…hotter than hot, delicious and lickable.” My cheeks flare up again as Mrs. Pearl fans herself.

“I’ll be there,” she says, much to her husband’s dismay.

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nbsp; I motion for them to walk toward the door. I put my code into the lockbox, wait for it to open and pull the key out. After I open the front door, they step inside.

“I’ll take it,” Mrs. Pearl says immediately. Oh, how I wish selling houses was this easy. She looks at her husband. “I want this house.”

“You barely stepped inside,” he points out.

“I don’t care, I’ve seen all the pictures.”

“I’m going to be in the kitchen. Go ahead and look around. If you need me, just holler.” I leave them in the entryway to duke it out. I met them last year when they sold their home, bought a motorhome and set off into the sunset. Mrs. Pearl called a few months back saying she was tired of living on wheels and wanted a house again. I don’t know why they came back to Richfield when their children are spread out across the country, but they had and asked me to find them a home. This is the first one we’ve looked at with four more on our list for the day, and I have a feeling she’s going to want all five of them.

I’m going through paperwork when my phone vibrates against the granite countertop. I look down and smile at Hawk’s name.

Hawk: I’m so happy I saw you. You look so hot in that skirt.

Everything he says or does makes me blush. I send him back the emoji showing my red cheeks.

Hawk: I love that I make you blush.

Love . . . that four letter word that lingers between us. It sits on the tip of my tongue. There are times when I want to blurt it out in the middle of a conversation, like when he’s sitting next to me on the couch and we’re watching a movie. He’ll look over at me and move a stray piece of hair away from my face. I want to tell him then. Or when I stand in the doorway of Chase’s bedroom, spying on him while he reads some baseball magazine to my son who is focused on Hawk and not the magazine. I want to tell him right then and there, and I know Chase would echo my sentiment. But making such a profound declaration will muddy the waters. Deep down I think Hawk knows how we feel, but I can’t let my emotions ruin everything. For my sake and that of my son’s, I have to make these last days count.

I contemplate what to say back. My fingers hover over the predictive text. Right in the center is the word love, and to the left of it is “I”, to the right, “you”. I could easily press the three and not type a single word but telling him I love him for the first time over text is not how the words should be said. Instead, I keep it normal.

I’m thinking ribs for dinner?

Hawk: Need me to stop at the store before going home?

My day brightens when he calls my house home. Hell, he brightens everything about my day. That would be great, I text back.

Hawk: I noticed we are low on dish soap. I’ll grab some.

I stand there, starring at the text. In all the years Greg and I lived together, I can’t recall a single time he noticed we were out of something and went to the store to buy it. Sure, he’d tell me we were out of toilet paper or that Chase needed diapers, but he never took the initiative to restock. Again, I find myself wanting to tell Hawk that I love him, but in this case it’s because he’s so aware of what’s going on around him.

You’re the best, I text back, and I mean it. He really is, and in a few weeks when he leaves, I’m going to be a wreck.

The Pearls finally make their way to the kitchen and I pretend I’m reading an email instead of summarizing my relationship in my head. I grab my things and move to the other room, giving them a chance to look around. This house has an amazing kitchen, everything is brand new and state of the art. Mrs. Pearl loves to cook, which is another reason why I think she wants a home. This house is too big for the two of them, but I imagine she’s looking toward the holidays when her children will come back to Montana with their children. I believe she told me she had nine grandchildren with three on the way. Her eyes light up every time she speaks about her family.

“Bellamy?” Mrs. Pearl’s voice rings out from the kitchen. I walk in and find Mr. Pearl standing at the sink, looking out over the yard. The previous owner left the custom swing set when they moved, and it would be perfect for the Pearl’s grandchildren.

“Mrs. Pearl?”

“I love this house,” she says, warmly. “It’s big with the four bedrooms we’re looking for.”

“It is.”

“And the basement is perfect for a game room.”

“I agree.” I’m not sure where she’s going with this and Mr. Pearl is doing his best to ignore her. She keeps looking at his back and sighing. “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

She smiles. “It’s the price. It’s out of our budget.”