Page 41 of Fair Ball

She’s here for me.

Decorating my home.

Making me food.

Staring unblinking at me as if what I say really matters to her.

“Thank you for everything you’ve been doing. I know you think I’m paying you too much and you’re not earning it, but, Mills…” I blink down to the floor, to where her cute bare toes wiggle, like she’s anxious about what I might say. I inhale some courage and admit the truth. “I hate everything. But I don’t hate you. You are the one good thing in my life. Sometimes it feels like the only good thing.”

She opens her mouth to speak a few times but doesn’t. And I don’t either.

So we stand in my bedroom, her hand in mine, breathing each other’s air. Eyes drifting back and forth. Taking each other’s measure.

Finally, she says, “Do you want to come to my house tomorrow? Since you have off.”

“As long as you let me bring dinner.” At her frown, I ask, “What?”

“It’s taco night. Monday is casserole, Tuesday tacos, Wednesday is breakfast, Thursday is slow cooker, and Friday is pizza. I can’t mess up the routine.”

I shrug. “Okay. I’ll bring tacos.”

Her dimple carves her cheek. “Okay.”

And if this is what it feels like to be respected, I think I might be open to more chances to earn it.

I want to be worthy of Millie.

CHAPTER 12

MILLIE

Noah had practice after school today, so there was barely any time after we returned home for me to clean, and I ran around the house like a madwoman, picking up dirty clothes and hiding anything I couldn’t find a place for. I don’t think I’ve seen the dining room table in five years, but I remembered what it looked like after I swept all the papers, toys, hair ties, and a random Gorilla Glue into a basket before tucking it under the curio cabinet with all of Mom’s china dishes that have never been used.

Our home is nothing special.

A row home in Mayfair with approximately 1300 square feet that could fit inside Austin’s condo, so when I invite him in, he appears completely out of place. The breadth of his shoulders fills the hall. His crisp, collared button-down looks more expensive than anything in this house.

But he sweeps his gaze around like he’s never seen anything better.

I cover up a stain on the wall that looks like blood but more than likely is some science experiment gone wrong. It’s been so long, I can’t remember. Although he pretends the way I’m leaning, totally conspicuously, is normal, and dips his chin in greeting at Mom. “Hello, Mrs. Sheehan.”

“Please, call me Shannon,” she says, struggling to push herself up from her chair, so he immediately crosses to her, offering his hand to help her.

Once she’s standing, she pats his arm. “Thank you, honey. Happy you could come over.”

He lifts a bag in the air. “I hope you’re hungry. Millie said you like tacos.”

Mom nods happily. “My favorite.”

“I brought a bunch of everything.” Then he turns to me. “Including sweet potato and cauliflower for you.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He frowns. “Why wouldn’t I?”

I stand upright, tangling my fingers together, leaving the murder scene wide open. He glances at the stain but has no physical reaction. Only waits for my answer. I shrug. “I’m used to making my own food.”

“I said I’d bring dinner. For you.”