up next to her. As Hannah and Jake squeezed in, he found himself very close to Keira, so close he could smell the scent of her perfume, and every nerve in his body tingled.
"There's Chelsea," Lizzie said, waving her hand toward the TV.
He directed his attention to the screen. A stunning dark-blonde woman showed off a strapless gown, which seemed like a stunning cloud of turquoise and silver, the front shorter than the back, revealing a pair of what looked like diamond-studded boots.
"She looks amazing," Hannah said. "You got her exactly right, Keira."
"You did," Lizzie put in, others murmuring their agreement.
"I wanted her to be her bohemian self but also kind of fancy," Keira said. "But she's so beautiful, she looks good in anything. I just hope she wins."
"Well, her award won't be coming up for at least thirty minutes," Lizzie said. "We'll have to wait on that."
"I'm going to get another margarita," Keira said, getting to her feet.
"I'll join you." He was eager to get off the couch. He couldn't care less about the red carpet. It reminded him of Nikki, and he didn't want to think about her.
They moved to the bar and filled their glasses, and then Keira led him through the dining room and out the door to the patio, where white lights twinkled through the trees surrounding several tables and a fountain. Everyone was inside the inn, so they had the patio to themselves. They took a seat. It was a warm night, perfect to be outside.
Keira took a long sip of her margarita. "I feel so weird being the center of attention, everyone making such a big deal about a dress I designed. It's Chelsea's night, not mine."
"It can be about both of you."
"I guess, but I'm not big on being in the spotlight." She gave him a thoughtful look. "I bet you love the spotlight."
"You'd win that bet. Thirty thousand screaming fans, bottom of the ninth, two outs, one more batter to strike out for the win. That's the moment I live for."
"That sounds incredibly stressful."
"That's the best part of it."
"How do you stay calm enough to throw your best pitch?"
"I breathe deep. I shut out everything else in my head. It's just me and the hitter. It's a battle between the two of us. I want to get him out. He wants to hit a home run. Only one of us will come close to what we want."
"How many of those moments have you had?"
"A lot."
"Does one in particular stand out?"
"Yes. Last year in the final game of the World Series. I was the starting pitcher, and I was pitching a no-hitter, so the coach let me keep going past where he'd normally bring in a reliever. It was going to be the last game of the season. I'd have plenty of time to rest, and I wanted to pitch the whole game. We went into the ninth inning with a one-zero lead. I struck the first two batters out. But the third batter got on base with an error by the second baseman. On the next pitch, he stole a base. I lost my concentration for a split second, and I threw a wild pitch. That moved the runner to third. I had a full count. One more pitch. I could walk him. And it wouldn't be the end of the world. I could get the next guy. But I wanted to end it right there."
"What happened?" she asked, completely caught up in his story.
He could remember the moment so clearly, the feeling of purpose followed by triumph. "I struck him out. We won the World Series. It was the greatest moment of my life. My teammates were jumping on me. Fireworks were going off, or maybe that was just in my head. It was everything I ever dreamed of."
"Wow. That must have been an incredible feeling. I had no idea your team won the World Series, or that you pitched the final game and got the win. You really are a superstar, aren't you?"
"I was. I don't know what I am anymore." A somber feeling ran through him.
She gave him a searching look. "Because of your injury?"
"Yes. I don't know if I'll be able to come back. Even if I can come back, I don't know if I'll be able to regain the form I had."
"That must be scary."
"I don't like to admit that."
"Is that part of being a pitcher? Never let them see you sweat?"
"It is, but I learned