Page 10 of Leave It On The Field (Grand Slam 3)
“Never. What time are you leaving for the sponsor party tonight?”
“I need to get there around six to help Dottie prep her speech.”
“I’m still confused.” Her forehead crinkles up. “Are you officially working for the team again?”
“No, but this is Dottie’s first year owning a team and she’s already hosting a World Series.” I give the island an extra wipe down before I place a charcuterie plate between us. “She’s freaked out. I told her I would help her through the postseason.”
“Dot seems like a tough old broad. I can’t believe she’s letting this rattle her.”
“She is tough, but I think since her husband died, she feels more exposed. You know? She doesn’t have that backup.”
Maisie grabs a piece of cheese. “Well, I hope she doesn’t die for a while. Seb seems to like her.”
“Loves her. The entire team does. She’s so sweet. She’s like a grandma to them. I was going to tell her no when she asked me to help out in the postseason. Seb talked me into it just so Dottie would feel more secure.”
She sticks out her tongue as she takes a bite of the Limburger. “This tastes like butt.”
“It’s Seb’s dad’s favorite,” I say, handing her a napkin. “It smells awful.”
She spits out the cheese and rinses the bad taste out with a swig of wine. “We’re sitting in a suite for the games, right?”
“Yeah, it’s so much easier than buying individual tickets for everyone. With our family and friends, we have twenty-seven people, and that’s after cutting the list several times.”
She drains her wine glass. “Don’t players get free tickets?”
“Only six for postseason games. Seb’s are right behind the dugout. He’s giving them to his parents, his high school coach, and his Michigan friends. They’ve been with him from day one. He said they deserve those seats more than anyone.”
She smiles. “That Seb is just a good guy.”
“Yes, he is. He’s the best guy.”
Maisie jumps when the security booth intercom beeps. “God, I don’t know how you’ve gotten used to that thing. It’s so loud.”
I shrug as I answer it. “Hey, this is Sophie.”
“Hey, Mrs. Miller. It’s Steve. Seb’s parents are at the gate. They’re on the permanent clear list, but they wanted me to call you before they came in.”
“Thanks, Steve. Send them up.”
“Done. They’re headed your way.”
“You drink way too slowly,” Maisie says as she grabs my wine, drains it, and then puts our empty wine glasses into the dishwasher. “Hide the evidence. I don’t want your in-laws to think you’re a drunk.”
“They both drink way more than I do. His mom always thinks I’m pregnant when I turn down alcohol. She can’t accept that I’m just a lightweight.”
“She hopes you’re pregnant,” Maisie says, rolling her eyes. “I’ve been married longer than you, but I don’t have near the amount of pressure you have to reproduce.”
“Right? And it’s from all sides. Everyone wants the heir to the great Seb Miller to be born.”
“Except for the great Seb Miller,” she says as we head toward the front door. “Does he still want to wait?”
“Yeah, and I get it. He wants to spend as much time as possible with our kids. He can’t do that while he’s playing. I’m ready now, but we’re waiting. We’re trying to time it with his retirement in a few years.”
I open the door just in time to see the Millers turning into our driveway. Seb’s mom, Adie, has her arm out the window—waving at us.
“I’m leaving,” Maisie says, hugging me. “I can’t take too much of Adie’s enthusiasm until I’ve had more to drink. I’ll see you at the game tomorrow night.”
* * *
