Only with You (The Best Mistake 1)

“Good night, Will,” she said stonily as she climbed out of the car. “If you’ve given me some sort of disease, you’ll be hearing from me.”

She’d barely slammed the door before he peeled away from the curb with a squeal of tires. Typical, she thought. Slowly her snarl faded as she stood hunched in the rain, staring after his long gone taillights.

That was a mistake. The realization came as a shock.

Because Brynn Dalton did not make mistakes.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I didn’t even know Seattle had a baseball team,” Gray said under his breath, as he studied the elaborate retractable roof of Safeco Field.

“Easy, there,” Ian said as he handed Gray another beer. “I’ll have you know that the Mariners are well ahead of your White Sox this year.”

“They used to be your White Sox too,” Gray said, taking a sip of beer.

“Sure, but then I moved here. And now I’m a Mariners fan,” his best friend said succinctly.

“That’s just as well—you’ll never have to worry about the hassle of getting World Series tickets.”

“You just wait,” Ian said, his eyes tracking a line double into center field. “This team will become your favorite.”

Gray shook his head. It seemed like yesterday that he and Ian had been buying nosebleed tickets to White Sox games when they needed a break from studying for their Northwestern finals. Like Gray, Ian was a Midwestern transplant in the middle of Seattle’s greenery. He’d moved to the Pacific Northwest several years prior.

As two of Gray’s closest—okay, only—friends, Ian and his wife, Ashley, had been a major factor in Gray accepting a job in Seattle.

Them, and an intense desire to get away from a toxic ex-fiancée.

Ian’s son squirmed impatiently in his seat. “Dad, can I have some pizza?”

“Now? You just finished your pretzel.”

“I know, but I’m hungry again. And the pepperoni looks really good,” said the perpetually hungry-for-junk-food Ryan.

“He has a point,” Gray said, not taking his eyes off the field. “The pizza looked awesome.”

“Ashley’s going to kill me,” Ian said with a shake of his head. “She hates when he eats crap.”

“It’s a ball game,” Gray replied. “What are you supposed to feed him, kale?”

“What’s kale?” Ryan asked, thumping his baseball glove with his tiny fist.

“My point exactly,” Gray said. “Get the man some pizza, Dad!”

Ian sighed. “I’ll be back. Ryan, make sure your godfather doesn’t drink my beer.”

“Beer’s gross.”

“Totally,” Gray replied, taking another sip of his “gross” beer.

As Ian went to fetch the offending junk food, Gray watched his godson out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t know Ryan well. They saw each other every couple years or so, but that was practically an eternity to a kid. Ryan was a new person every time Gray saw him.

When Ian had invited Gray to tag along on the father-son outing, Gray had waited for the usual rush of apprehension. Small talk was hard enough without figuring out what to say to a first grader. But instead of making a polite work excuse, Gray had found himself accepting. Wasn’t this why he had moved to Seattle? To make connections with people?

“How’s school?” Gray asked, realizing he’d been brooding.

“Good,” Ryan said with a small shrug. “My teacher’s pretty cool. And I got second in the science fair.”