View With Your Heart (Heart Collection #5) - L.B. Dunbar Page 0,8

Her eyes were innocent as she looked at me. My response was a smile.

“Guess you’ll just have to find me,” she said, her voice dropping as she teased. At least, I thought she was teasing me, but as she started walking backward out of the aisle, holding the popcorn tub like a shield before her, I realized she was serious.

“Ah, a mystery to solve? This will be my summer goal. I’ll get your name, my pretty, your tub of popcorn and a second date, too,” I warned, poorly imitating the Wicked Witch of the West and wringing my hands together. Way to frighten her, Gavin, I told myself, but a smile broke out on her face, wide and bright in the dim light of the closing credits, and I was the one gotten.

“I look forward to you accomplishing your goal,” she said, turning her back to me, spinning out of the row and rushing up the aisle before I realized what she said.

She welcomed the chase.

My thoughts return to the woman I saw on the beach earlier. Britton. It was an unusual name. Where has she been? How has she been? It’s obvious she has a child, so she must be married, maybe. The idea saddens me. It’s not that another man doesn’t deserve her, but for some reason, I wonder if she’s happy. Of course, she’s happy, though, why wouldn’t she be? More questions haunt me. I wonder if we ever could have worked somehow . . . if we could have been happy.

The probability doesn’t seem likely.

When I met her at eighteen, I was hell-bent on getting out of here.

When I saw her again at twenty-five, I only wanted to have sex with her.

What a reckless, wild weekend that had been. Her body. My hotel room. She let me do everything and anything to her.

I give into the smile curling my lips, recalling those forty-eight hours. My team played in Detroit, and after the three-day series, we had a short break. Only a few hours from the largest metro area in Michigan, Traverse City had the lake, good bars, and the prospect of getting away. It was supposed to be a quick trip in and out. I didn’t bother telling my family I was close. When I ran into Britton, all my plans changed anyway.

Take 4

Scene: The Baseball Field

[Gavin]

The following day, I’m in Traverse City most of the afternoon, viewing films, attending panels, and sitting on a few myself. It’s been exciting to be on the other side of the camera and do something I feel has been worth the time, effort, and money, despite what my agent thinks of the project.

My ex-girlfriend doesn’t support it.

Her father hates it.

Zeke Steinmann owns Steinmann Studios, and his daughter works for Imperial Sports Management. She picked me up, overrunning my first agent with promises of more sponsorships. At twenty-five, I was a baseball player on the edge of becoming someone. She hooked me up with a few modeling gigs and endorsements. A watch company. A men’s clothing store. A sports shoe. I had a face, Zoey thought, and that face attracted her as well as sealed deals. She even got me a cameo role in a movie about baseball.

Me? I’m not an actor.

Gavie, anybody can act. People do it all the time by pretending to be someone other than who they are.

We became a couple. It was a farce as well.

As the day draws to a close, I have late-night dinner plans with a couple of indie film directors and decide I need a shower. Again, I curse myself for not renting a place closer to Traverse City as I make the long trek up the highway back to Elk Lake City. As I drive north, my thoughts wander, and I turn off on a road I recognize. It’s an inner drive circling Elk Lake, and I follow the path until I find what I’m looking for. As the road winds around the lake, the land to my left dips toward the water, and built into the rise are stadium seats behind a backdrop. A baseball diamond angles toward the lake. To my surprise, a woman and a boy are on the field.

My rental car tires crunch over the gravel as I pull into the small lot beside the field and park. The spaces force vehicles to face away from the field, mainly for protection against foul balls. As I exit the convertible, more memories wash over me of pickup games