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A crew of professionals had painted the exterior of Sarah’s antique house back when Jim was still paying half the expenses. It was a massive project, but the ornate pattern of teal-blue fancy trim and aqua fish-scale details against the main color of dark-purple clapboards was utterly fabulous. The front door was violet, and the ceiling of the wide, curling front porch was a serene light blue. When she reclined on a chaise and looked up, she felt as if she were floating in the sky. Some of her favorite afternoons had been spent out on the porch with a good book and a pitcher of iced tea—when she could take the time off from renovation work, which was a never-ending process.
Sarah scrutinized the front porch as she rolled into her driveway, noting the area near the wisteria vine where paint had started to flake. Her fingers twitched, longing to attack it with a scraper. She pushed the thought from her mind and parked in the driveway. Stepping out of the car just as Devon erupted from the front door of the house like a yellow cannonball, already wearing his baseball T-shirt, she steeled herself for his well-meaning onslaught.
“Mom, hurry. We gotta go!” He bounced up and down, on a hyperjag.
“Okay, sweetie. We’re right on time. Take it easy.” She soothed him as she walked toward the house, and he hopped alongside. “I just need to change and get my things. We’ll be fine.”
“But HURRY UP! Please?” He grabbed her arm and yanked it up and down as he jumped.
“I will, Devon. Calm down. Now.” Sarah struggled not to drop the bags of food she was carrying, tempted to snap at him. She knew he was just excited about the game, but it was a challenge to hold her temper. Using her foot to prop the door open, she successfully maneuvered everything and the two of them inside the front hallway.
Devon looked at her wild-eyed and scrambled off toward the TV room. Sarah ran upstairs and quickly changed into jeans and a hoodie, pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and grabbed a yellow baseball cap with the team’s logo on it. She hurried down to the kitchen to help Miki stock their cooler with drinks and snacks, then they all piled into the car, including Hershey.
“You guys are totally gonna tear ‘em up, dude.” Miki sat in the back seat to help reassure Devon, who was practically bouncing off the ceiling. Her hat matched Sarah’s, and the streaks in her hair today were yellow, in honor of the occasion.
“YEAH,” Devon shouted, “we’re gonna murder ‘em.”
“Quiet down, honey. And don’t forget good sportsmanship.” Sarah hoped he would be able to concentrate on the game. His position in the outfield wasn’t high pressure, but he did have to focus on the ball. At the moment, he was so worked up she doubted he could stand still. “Miki, why don’t you give him a protein bar and some water?” The pediatrician had warned Sarah that valleys and spikes in Devon’s blood sugar made his excitability much worse, and he’d recommended frequent high-protein snacks. It did seem to help.
“Okay, here you go, kiddo.”
He settled down to chew the treat, but in the rearview mirror, Sarah could see his legs still jiggling.
Devon and Sarah had gotten used to being a family of two. She knew that her son missed having a dad around to cheer at baseball games, take him on camping trips, and squeeze into the teeny tiny elementary school chairs for parent–teacher conferences. But Devon wasn’t the only one in this situation, and that helped.
It had surprised Sarah how many of the students at Devon’s school were being raised by single parents. The motley crew of grown-ups all sat together at the baseball games and cheered for each other’s kids, filling in for the missing ex-spouses. There was a real sense of belonging to a community. The kids blossomed, and the parents felt supported. Sarah had good friends to count on when she felt like talking. She’d become buddies with some people she would never have dreamed of befriending otherwise. Sticky Mason, for example.
Sarah was afraid to ask how he’d gotten the nickname. The balding, stocky, middle-aged guy with bushy black eyebrows wore a dark-blue windbreaker with his name embroidered on the pocket and “Mason Foreign Autos” printed on the back. Big and loud, Sticky goaded the other team—and the other team’s coaches—with obnoxious remarks. Occasionally he was thrown out of the bleachers. Supposedly he had a wife, but she never showed up for any of the games. Rumor had it that she was a Russian mail-order bride. His son, Jimmy, was on Devon’s team. Tall and wiry, the kid ran like a rabbit and was impossible to tag out. During tryouts, the two boys had competed for the same position. Sticky had called Devon every borderline-profane name imaginable. Her son was so shaken up, he dropped the ball.
Sarah had changed seats and moved over to sit right next to Sticky, tossing her hair and batting her eyelashes as she smiled at him. She’d put her hand on his leg above the knee and leaned over, getting his full attention.
“You see that boy,” she’d said sweetly, “the one with the blond hair and glasses?”
“Yeah. Puny little runt can’t run for shit.”
“That’s my son.” Sarah had put her mouth right next to his ear. “And if you don’t shut up and let him have a fair turn, I’ll knee you in the balls first chance I get, do you hear?”
Sticky had turned and looked at her with new respect. “Yes, ma’am! I hear you, that I do. And some great ball player he is too. Look at the arm on that kid!”
He’d whistled and cheered when Devon successfully blocked the next hit, catching the ball before it hit the ground. After that, Sticky was Sarah’s admirer and Devon’s loyal supporter. She was looking forward to his running commentary on the first game of the playoffs today.
When they pulled into the line of cars parked at the school playing field, the place was bustling with families unloading folding chairs and picnic baskets. A game was just ending between two of the other teams in Devon’s league. Sarah saw green T-shirts that said Sheehan’s Pub on the back and purple ones bearing the familiar name Blake’s Ice Cream.
Devon ran to join his team, while Miki stood on the sidelines with Hershey on a leash, and Sarah dragged the cooler up into the bleachers, where the whole gang was already seated.
“Blondie!” Sticky greeted her with a wolf whistle. “Where ya been? I was gettin’ lonely with just these Desperate Housewives for company.” He gestured toward Sarah’s pals, who were neither desperate nor housewives and who booed and showered him with popcorn. They greeted Sarah and offered her hot coffee from a thermos bottle.
Ellen was a loan officer at the local bank, divorced mother of Jenny, the red-haired spitfire in pigtails who played shortstop. Bailey was a speech therapist, widowed since her husband had passed away from cancer last year. Her son Ben played center field. Several of the single fathers had shown up as well, and the group was obviously well on its way to a hot dog high. Sticky leaned over and offered Sarah a shot of whiskey from his flask, to spice up her coffee, which she gratefully accepted.
The kids who had just finished were leaving the field. She noticed Blake passing the stands, wearing his team’s purple T-shirt, a whistle hanging from the lanyard around his neck. Sarah caught his eye and waved. He climbed up the stairs to chat, and her friends watched with interest, listening to every word.
“Hey, Sarah! Thought I might see you here. Your boy plays for Bob’s, right?”
She caught a whiff of something sweet on the breeze that blew toward her. “Right,” she said. “How did your team do? I just got here. Are you coaching?”
“We won. I have fun helping out... assistant coach. If you guys win this game, we’ll be up against each other in the playoffs.”
“Holy crap,” Sticky interrupted. “Who knew? A juxtaposition of opposites! Be still, my heart.” He clutched his chest dramatically.
The women one row up hooted and showered him with popcorn again.
“Just ignore him, Sarah,” Bailey advised. “You go ahead and chat with the hot guy all you want. And if you’re not interested, send him over to my house.”
“Yeah,” Ellen called. “Has he got an older brother?”
“No, but maybe his dad might be available,” Sticky shot back. “Or his grandfather.”
More popcorn throwing ensued.
Sarah winced and looked at Blake. “Sorry about that. I think the junk food has gotten to them.”
“No problem.” Blake grinned. “Room for one more?” He raised his eyebrows, and she moved over.
Sarah introduced him to the gang, and they all turned to cheer as the yellow team ran onto the field to warm up. The opposing team, wearing navy-blue shirts that said Lions Club, was huddled with their coaches for a last-minute pep talk.
Blake sat down, and his thigh lined up parallel to Sarah’s. There was plenty of room, but his warm, solid bulk pressed up against her like a Labrador begging for attention. She glanced at him from under her lashes and saw he was pretending not to notice, his eyes fixed on the field ahead. Then he reached down and very deliberately placed his hand on her knee, turning his head toward her.
She looked directly into those cool green eyes as the heat between them began to travel up her body, past her chest, and into her cheeks. As he watched the blush rising, his face flushed too. Her mind went completely blank.
* * *
BLAKE SAW SARAH’S FACE get redder and redder and finally took pity on her. He started the kind of casual conversation he’d been instigating with her recently as part of the master plan. “I’m glad we ran into each other, Sarah.” He turned to look out at the field.
“Me too,” she croaked then cleared her throat.
He gave her knee a squeeze, and she quickly took a sip of coffee. Blake saw that Bailey and Ellen had noticed his gesture. They mugged at Sarah, and Bailey fanned herself, pretending to faint. Sarah stuck her tongue out at them and turned to give Blake a friendly pounding on the back. Then the game started, and they were all swept up in the action, hooting, whistling, and hollering.
It was a close contest, with several tense moments, but in the end, the yellow team prevailed. Devon didn’t get a hit when it was his turn at bat, but he didn’t disgrace himself, either. In Blake’s book, it was a good day. Sitting next to Sarah, sniffing the occasional hint of flowers that radiated off her hair, made it even better. Her friends seemed to like him. Even Sticky Mason, who slapped Blake a high-five whenever the team scored and offered him a swig from his flask.
By the time the game ended, Blake felt as if the two of them had become fused at the hip, and when they stood up to walk to her car, his left side felt oddly cold, exposed and vulnerable.
Sarah seemed thoughtful, her eyes downcast, and then she spoke. “We have plenty of chocolate chili from the restaurant at home. You’re welcome to come over. It’s my night off.”
Score! he thought, careful to keep his expression bland.
“Sounds great.” He grinned then remembered his obligation to run the tenants’ meeting at Riverside Commons that evening.
Crap, there’s no way I can get out of it. Jordan’s on the road.
But he could still see Sarah online later. She had mentioned a “cute guy” she’d met at work, and it seemed possible she meant Blake. Tonight she might reveal more, something he could use. “Wow, really sorry, I have another commitment. How about a rain check? I’d love it another time.” He sounded, and was, genuinely regretful as he opened the tailgate of her car to load Hershey inside.
Miki and Devon jumped into the car, and Sarah started the engine. Leaning in through the driver’s window, Blake wished them all good night. His face swooped closer, and for a second he considered kissing her on the cheek, but then he stopped himself and said goodbye instead. From the expression on her face, she was disappointed. He stepped back to wave as they drove away.
Blake whistled as he walked to his truck. He was getting to her. It wouldn’t be long now. He really liked this woman. His hurt feelings over Mandy’s desertion had begun to fade into distant memory. It felt good. In fact, he hadn’t been this happy in a long time. Now he just had to be careful not to drop the ball.
* * *
SARAH DROVE HOME WHILE Miki sat in the front passenger seat, texting on her phone. “That guy is cute,” she observed while Devon listened to his iPod, oblivious. A jagged lock of yellow hair hid her eyes.
“I know him from the restaurant. It’s a business thing.” Sarah shook her head, trying to snap out of it and get a grip on herself. She needed to focus on work, not daydreams. Emile had given her a huge amount of reading to cover tonight.
“Oh, he’s not one of them, then.”
Sarah stopped at a red light and turned to look at her. “One of who?”
“The guys you and Paisley were messaging the other night.” Miki spoke casually.
The light changed, and Sarah drove on, a puzzled frown on her face. “How did you know about that?”
“Oh, I hang out at dating sites sometimes too. Mostly the ones for gamers. You probably wouldn’t recognize my user name, but I noticed yours in the list of new members the night she came over and set up your account. You two were pretty loud, so I couldn’t help hearing. Unless CocoLvr is her account?”
“No, it’s mine,” Sarah muttered and felt her face getting hot. It seemed her cyber-flirting was not so private and anonymous after all. How humiliating to be caught by her babysitter! But Miki didn’t seem to think much of it. Maybe in her circle, an internet social life was normal.
“You can meet some cool people online,” Miki said, her fingers flying across the tiny keyboard on her phone. “But you gotta watch out too. My girlfriend met this guy who turned out to be a real creep. A creepy creep, if you know what I mean.”
“Like, creepy how?” Sarah glanced at the girl as another flurry of keystrokes erupted from her slender fingers. Miki stared at the small screen and smiled, reading. Sarah snapped her fingers to get her attention. “Hey, Miki, like what?”
“Oh! Sorry. Well, she made a big mistake. After they’d been sexting for, like, a year, she agreed to meet him IRL—in real life. It didn’t go well, and he found out where she lived. Then the guy stalked her for months. She ended up getting a restraining order to stop him from coming to her apartment in the middle of the night.”
Sarah turned in to their driveway. She noticed the peeling front porch again and was distracted by a vision of her new paint scraper. “Really?” she mumbled, not paying attention. “She gave him her address? That seems unwise.” Sarah pulled into the garage.
“Well, yes. But that’s easy for anyone to find, Sarah.”
“It is?” She was paying attention now.
Devon burst out of the back seat and flipped the tailgate open, releasing Hershey. They raced into the yard.
Miki looked at her askance. “Sarah, don’t you know there are a million cyber-search tools out there that can find anybody from just a name, a place, a phone number, or even an email?”
Sarah met Miki’s eyes and swallowed, thinking of all the personal information she had shared online. For example, that she lived alone with her young, vulnerable son.
“Tell me.”
“I’ll do better than that,” Miki said. “I’ll show you.”
* * *
AFTER THE DINNER DISHES had been cleared away, a load of laundry was in the washer, Hershey had been walked, and Devon was settled down in front of the television for his favorite shows, Sarah crawled up the stairs to her bedroom. What Miki had shown her online was a real shocker, and the sickness in the pit of her stomach wouldn’t go away.
Flopping onto her bed, Sarah moaned and pulled a pillow over her eyes. The chocolate books on her nightstand nagged at her, but for the moment, she needed to lie on her back and think about what to do.
Letting Paisley enter her favorite user name had been a huge mistake. The email address “CocoLvr@3Chocolatiers.com” was listed all over the internet as the contact for the restaurant. A quick search brought up a score of web pages where its physical address appeared. Busted!
Sarah and Miki had typed in the name of the restaurant, and on the first page of results was a link to an article in the Ashford Gazette. Sarah, Paisley, and Emile were all mentioned by name. There was even a photo of them standing in front of the pastry case.
Then Sarah found that her phone number and home address were listed in the Whitepages telephone directory online. When Miki copied the address into Google Earth, the view zoomed in from a satellite overhead, and Sarah could see her house in full digital detail. Her car was parked in the driveway, and Hershey was standing in the yard. He looked like a smudgy brown cigar, but it was definitely her dog.
Big Brother was watching Sarah.
Who knew? Everyone else, apparently. She felt stupid for not being better educated.
Hopefully, HotNCold wouldn’t put it together. He’d never pressed her for information or indicated he knew where she was. He certainly seemed more interested in talking about other things, especially what they intended to do when they met later for their fourth cyber-date. Sarah would be much, much more careful from now on. In any case, the cat was already out of the bag if HotNCold was motivated to chase her down IRL.
She switched on her bedside table lamp, plumped up the pillows, and settled back against the headboard. Time to read up on the technical details of cooking with chocolate. She was scheduled to meet with the wedding clients in a few days. They were paying a bundle for something totally unique, and she had to make sure they got it. She stared at the pages until her eyes glazed over, and she drifted off, her head nodding. When the home phone rang, she thought it might be Paisley and answered groggily, but nobody was there. Probably a wrong number.
Too tired to resist, Sarah closed her eyes again. Just a quick nap, until it was time to put Devon to bed. At least she didn’t have to shower and get all dolled up for her virtual date. That was convenient. No worrying about which jeans made her butt look fat. She flashed back to the last time she had met HotNCold online, and a burst of affection washed over her.
He was a genuinely nice guy, not a weirdo. He sounded so lonely and sweet. Her instincts told her everything was okay. But now that she had seen the big picture regarding online relationships, she certainly wasn’t going to tell him anything that might lead to trouble.
Thank goodness Miki had educated her about how easy it was to track someone down, before it was too late.