“You put a lot of work into this,” he said sincerely as he reviewed her plan. He was surprised when he saw her cheeks turn pink. Was she blushing because he complimented her, or because he was standing close to her? “I want you to know I appreciate it.”

Tugging on a sweatshirt, her head popped out of the neck opening, and she grinned as she yanked it down around her hips. He almost reached down to help her, but stopped and contented himself with just looking, aware that she was adorable, like a little girl in a too-big hoodie.

“We’ll see what you think when you’re done. Let’s go.”

“You are going with me?”

She stared at him as if he had two heads. “Of course. That’s my job. I want to see how you move, if you have any pain and what effect it has on you. You don’t have a problem with it, do you?”

When she put it like that, he sounded like an idiot. “No, of course not. I just assumed you had other things to do.”

“Nope. You are my priority right now.” He got the quirky grin again. “God help you.”

—

“So is it always this cold in April?”

They were walking around the ballpark, slower than Gavin would have liked. But she’d insisted that they go at a pace that was a leisurely stroll, and she held him to it. Whenever he would get a few steps ahead, she would deliberately stop and fiddle with her jacket or her shoes, and he would be forced to wait.

She understood he was eager to get going, and competitive. But she also knew how easy it was to reinjure the knee. And it was true what she’d told him, that she wanted to see him in action and observe his stride to see if he favored his good leg, or showed any signs of discomfort.

“No,” she said in answer to his question. “Sometimes it’s warm and beautiful. That’s one thing New Jersey has going for it. We get a real spring.” When he gave her a dubious look, she had to laugh.

“So you’re from around here?”

“Originally. I grew up in Cherry Hill with a bunch of brothers who are all athletes.”

“That makes sense,” he said, glancing at her and smiling. “I can picture you roughhousing with the boys, and them getting the worst of it.”

“Oh, they absolutely did. I gave as good as I got.” She grinned at the memory, tying her hood against the chill. When she glanced up, he was staring at her in a way that made her suddenly self-conscious. She wasn’t used to focusing on her appearance, or fussing with makeup and jewelry. Tucking a curl behind her ear, she continued conversing about the weather, hoping he didn’t notice the flush she felt staining her cheeks.

“Yeah, so it might seem a little chilly now, but you will see.” She went back to the weather. Safer. “Give it a few weeks. We get everything—tulips, narcissus, daffodils, and grape hyacinths.”

“So you cook and you like flowers.” She glanced at him in surprise, and it was his turn to grin. “No one fusses that much over coffee if they don’t cook. Do you garden?”

“No. At least not now. I’ve been living in a condo since I got this job, but the landscapers have been out there for weeks getting everything ready. I can’t wait for the explosion.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he said, but she saw that glimmer of a smile.

“The cold is good for you.” She pounded him on the back, laughing at his astonishment. “I think it’s invigorating. Mornings like this remind me of Ireland.”

“You’re Irish,” he stated.

Jessica nodded. “Three-fourths. I’ve been there a few times.”

“The hair is a dead giveaway,” he admitted. He reached out as if to touch it, and then stopped himself, awkwardly blowing on his knuckles from the chill, as if that had been his real intention. “I’m only half. The rest is Italian and God knows what else.”

“If you drink beer, you’re admitted to the club.” She glanced across the lawn as they reached center field, and then turned toward home plate. “Isn’t it gorgeous this time of day, everything painted with frost? I love the way it glitters on the grass.”

He shook his head in wonder. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a romantic.”

She barked out a laugh. “I’m not. At least not anymore.”

She could have bitten her tongue; she didn’t want to tell him about Zach, and her stint as a major league fool. Her ex-boyfriend was playing in San Francisco this week, and she was grateful to have the country between them.

Worst of all, Gavin reminded her of Zach. At least the things she liked about him. They both were strong, handsome, charismatic, and…sexy. Yet Zach Holden had shredded her heart as easily as if it were his breakfast cereal. “So do you have a girlfriend?”

Not surprisingly, he nodded. “I do. Her name is Kristin. She’s a swimsuit model.”

Of course she is. Jessica couldn’t imagine having the confidence to be photographed in a swimsuit, and then plastered all over every newsstand for national distribution. And even though she’d asked about her, something inside of her sank as she pictured his girl:

Gorgeous. Blond. Knockout body.

Your basic nightmare.

It all made sense. He came from Los Angeles. Beautiful women grew on trees out there. And she’d seen this before with pro athletes, especially the stars. It was all part of the package: the big salary, the elite team, the actress or model on his arm. “That’s impressive,” she replied.

“Yeah, it kind of is. Maybe you’ll meet her at some point. She gets out to New York quite a bit for her job.”

“Sure. That would be great.” Like swallowing acid. Jessica was quiet for a few minutes, thinking of what he’d just said. She wouldn’t want to gamble on the chances of a long-distance relationship working for either of them, but it wasn’t any of her business. She also didn’t like the emotion roiling inside of her. Why should she care that he had a gorgeous girlfriend?

“You okay?” He was looking at her, obviously concerned about her silence.

Jessica nodded. “Sure.” Shaking off her thoughts, she indicated home plate and looked up at him with a smirk. “Think you can walk faster than me without breaking into a jog?”

His eyes lit up at the challenge. “You’re on, babe.”

Chapter 6

She was right, Gavin thought when he returned to the bench. He was winded after the walk and realized he was badly out of shape.

It had been only a month since the surgery, maybe eight weeks since he’d gotten injured. Yet it seemed like a lifetime ago. With the confidence of youth, he’d assumed he’d be able to get right back into his routine, and it was humbling to see that he’d have to build his body back up.

As he stretched his legs to watch the game, he realized she knew. He’d insisted he was fine, that nothing hurt, but she had her assistant put ice on him anyway after his workout to prevent further swelling. It was humiliating to think that he must appear so weak to her, so much less than who he had been.

And now not only was he tired, but he ached. He felt like an old man watching kids play ball, and he didn’t like it one bit. He remembered that she recommended elevation, so he discreetly propped the injured leg up on the bench in front of him, and discovered it did feel better.

Observing the game helped, too. Brett Kirby was pitching. He was okay, but relied too heavily on his fastball. Gavin couldn’t help but compare him to Chase, who had pitched a couple of days ago. Not only did Chase have total command of the zone, but he obviously had a strategy in mind for every player who approached the plate. It was a pleasure to observe an athlete like that, and he realized that as good as the Dodgers pitchers were, maybe only one of them was in the same league as Chase.