Scoring the One, page 11
“Mom,” I groan.
“What? I like how he treats you. He’s good for you.”
I shrug. “He’s younger than me and famous and he sort of has a reputation, so I’m not counting my eggs before they hatch. This could just be a phase for him.”
Mom pats my shoulder. “Can I give you a little advice?” she says.
I groan again. “Mom, I…” I trail off and nod, pressing my lips together because even though I don’t really want to hear her advice, I’m glad she’s around to give it to me.
“That boy is falling for you, Bailey. Harder than you even know. I know you don’t believe that right now, but just trust your old mom on this one, OK?”
I roll my eyes, which is becoming a bad habit. “Fine.”
“Good. Now take me back to the farm. I have some packing to start on.”
I drive her back, and as I’m helping her set up some boxes, my phone pings again.
Bishop: Game just finished. I’ll be up your way in about two hours. Up for date #2?
Me: Absolutely. I’m over at Mom’s helping her pack. Just text me when you get here.
Bishop: Will do.
I finish setting up a dozen boxes and Mom and I start to go through her kitchen items. I’m so engrossed in the activity, I don’t even notice the time until I hear my phone buzzing.
Bishop: Small hiccup. I have Hattie for the evening. Steph got called in for some work tonight.
Me: That’s OK. We can do it another night.
Bishop: You want to babysit with me?
Me: Wow. When you say it like that.
Bishop: You want to babysit me?
Me: (laughing emoji)
Bishop: Is that a yes?
Me: Someone needs to be in charge.
Bishop: Exactly. Hattie and I can swing by and pick you up in an hour.
Me: See you then.
I finish packing five more boxes by the time Bishop texts me. He and Hattie pull up twenty minutes later.
“Hey, Hattie,” I say as I get in the car.
“Hi, Miss Bailey.”
“What’s on the agenda for this evening?” I ask.
“We thought we’d go for burgers and then maybe we can walk on Main Street,” Bishop suggests.
“Sounds like a plan. Can I make one suggestion?”
“Sure,” Bishop says as he pulls down the long farm driveway.
“There’s a vineyard just down the way that has a great burger food truck. Lots of families go there and let the kids play in the field. I’m sure some of Hattie’s future classmates will be there.”
“Let’s go,” Bishop says as he steers us down the country road to a vineyard about ten minutes away. Sure enough, the burger truck is parked out front and kids are playing tag out in a field.
“I’ll introduce Hattie,” I state.
“I’ll order dinner. Any suggestions?” Bishop asks.
“Their number two is the best,” I say.
“Great. I’ll get us that.”
I take Hattie’s hand and walk her over to the kids. Three of them are former students of mine who are in first and second grade. And one of them is a kid that will likely be in Hattie’s class. I leave her to play and walk over to where Bishop is sitting.
“You’re so good with kids,” he says as he watches his niece.
“I love kids. That’s why I teach.”
“Any plans for moving out yet?” he asks.
I shrug. “No. I packed up my things. I guess I could live with Mom for a few weeks. We just got her squared away.” I pause before I say my next thought. Normally, I wouldn’t share such personal things with a guy I’ve just started dating, but something about Bishop makes me want to share it. “I wish we could have saved the farm. I haven’t broached the topic of selling it yet with Mom. It’s going to be bad.”
Bishop places his hand over mine and squeezes it. “Maybe it’ll work out. You never know.”
“I doubt it,” I mutter as I hear our order called.
We eat the burgers and laugh with Hattie about her messy burger face. She falls asleep as we drive back to town.
“Think we should take her home?” I ask, looking back at her.
“I’m not asleep,” her sleepy voice croaks up from the back seat and we both laugh.
“OK, we can go for a short walk, then,” Bishop says. He parks at Stephanie’s house, and we begin walking.
“I’m named after wine,” Hattie says matter-of-factly as we turn onto Main Street.
I nearly choke. Bishop reaches over and pats my back. “I—I’m sorry. What?” I ask.
Bishop laughs. “Hats, you are not named after wine. You are named after a woman who owns a vineyard. Your mom used to work for her.”
“Oh. Whatever. Can we get ice cream now?”
“Kid, do you ever not want ice cream?” Bishop asks with a raised eyebrow.
Hattie cocks her head to one side and considers the question, placing a hand on her chin and looking up at the sky. Finally, she nods. “Yep, I don’t want ice cream when I’m sleeping.”
“You little punk,” Bishop growls as Hattie squeals and takes off running. She makes it about five paces before Bishop scoops her up and tickles her. She screams in delight.
“Unca B!” she yells as she laughs. Suddenly, her laughter pauses, and I glance over at her. She’s staring intently ahead at the ice cream shop. “Unca B? Do horses like ice cream?”
“What?” Bishop asks as his gaze follows hers. He stops, and I nearly run into him. And as I look up, I realize why we are stopped. Hank is eating the flowers in the window box of the ice cream shop.
“Can I ride him?” Hattie asks as her eyes grow big.
“Uh, crud. I should take care of that,” I mutter as a small crowd begins to form around Hank.
“Iris? Yeah, he’s down at the ice cream shop again,” Mrs. Miller is saying into her phone as I walk up and glare at my mom’s horse.
He has the audacity to glance over at me before going back to eating the petunias again.
“Hank Orwell Landon! You are in so much trouble!” I say loudly.
“Oh, Bailey’s here,” I hear Mrs. Miller saying.
I hop up on the bench next to Hank and throw my leg over his back.
“Miss Bailey is gonna ride the horse,” Hattie whispers, her eyes wide with shock.
“I’ll be right back. Get me a mint chocolate chip waffle cone, please,” I say to Bishop as I grab fistfuls of Hank’s mane and pull his head back from the flowers. “You are in big trouble, mister.” I lead him away and we trot down the sidewalk. I can tell who is new to town because most people just give me a wave as if riding a horse bareback down Main Street is a daily occurrence, but a few people stare at me bug-eyed.
I turn back to see Hattie waving at me and Bishop fighting a grin as he shakes his head and ushers Hattie into the ice cream shop. I smile like a fool the entire ride to the farm and then make Cliff, our farm hand, drive me back to the ice cream shop.
I find Bishop and Hattie sitting at a small bistro table just inside the door.
“Sorry about that,” I say as I sit down and accept a waffle cone from Bishop. I quickly lick the dripping ice cream and glance over to see Bishop’s eyes darkening as he watches me. Now, I’m not one to always put on a show, but I suddenly feel the need to be extra messy. I let a little ice cream dribble down my chin.
“Miss Bailey! You’re making a mess,” Hattie says as she takes a spoonful of ice cream from the cup in front of her.
I dart my tongue out to catch some of it, purposefully leaving a little behind.
“Did I get it all?” I ask.
“Nope. You want a napkin?” Hattie asks as she holds up a small mountain of them in front of her. I laugh. Clearly, Bishop is well-acquainted with the type of mess a four-year-old can make.
I bring my finger up and catch some of it. I slowly bring my index finger to my lips and suck the offending mint chocolate chip from it.
Bishop clears his throat and adjusts himself in the seat. “Still there,” he mumbles, but his eyes are fixed on my lips that are currently wrapped around my finger.
“Oh?” I say as I pull my finger free with a popping noise from the slight suction I used. Before I can play any more games, he reaches over and, using his thumb, wipes the last drop from my chin and places his finger in his mouth. Our eyes stay locked as he licks it clean. Fuck, he has insane tongue skills, and right now, all my lady bits are attuned to his display of expertise.
“All gone,” he says in a low gravelly voice.
“Unca B, you have some on your chin too! You guys are messy,” Hattie declares as she shoves the last bite of ice cream into her chocolate-covered mouth.
I reach over and wipe the strawberry cream from his face and suck my finger once again.
Bishop finishes his cone and slaps a hand on the table. “OK, we should get back,” he says quickly as his hand flies to his crotch before he stands.
Hattie tosses her cup into a trash can, and we follow her outside. I finish my cone while we walk down Main Street. Bishop slows his pace until we are shoulder to shoulder.
“I know what you were doing back there,” he says under his breath.
“Oh?” I ask as I glance over with a look of innocence.
He glares. “You are killing me. I could hammer nails right now. You suck!”
I bat my eyelashes. “I’ve been told my sucking skills are next level.” I wink as his eyes widen and I skip forward to catch up with Hattie, taking her hands and twirling her around while she giggles.
Hattie ends up between us and we each take one of her hands after I toss the wrapper from my cone. We swing her back and forth and she laughs.
“Again!” she requests.
The game lasts all the way home. When we arrive, we walk around back to find a swing set that is mostly assembled.
“Unca B, when are you going to finish it?” Hattie questions as she gets on the swing.
“Soon. I just need Mr. Kent to come over because that slide is gonna take two people, and your mom lacks skills,” he explains as he begins to push her.
“I can help,” I say as I examine the giant plastic pieces on the ground. It’s one of those circular slides that needs to be bolted together.
“Really?” Bishop asks.
“Yeah, this won’t take long. Do you have tools?”
Bishop gives me a look and I smirk.
“Unca B has tools,” Hattie says as she points to a toolbox.
“I bet he does,” I state with a grin. Bishop glares at me as his hand goes to cover himself.
He leans forward, and whispers, “Laugh it up, buttercup.”
I bite my lip and look up into his eyes. If Hattie wasn’t here, we would most definitely be breaking my three-date rule.
“Let’s finish it now,” I suggest, trying to get my mind off the hot man standing in front of me.
“We can do it later,” Bishop says.
“Unca B!” Hattie whines.
But I’m also not listening to him, so I walk over to the toolbox. Hattie pops off the swing and joins me and pretty soon the three of us are assembling the slide. It takes us an hour, but we finish, and Hattie gives it an inaugural use.
We cheer her on and then she makes us try it. Bishop doesn’t fit, and we both laugh hysterically as he wedges himself out while twisting sideways.
“Not funny,” he mutters.
“It’s kind of funny,” I reply with a smirk.
He leans forward again and whispers in my ear, “You are in big trouble.”
“Like the ‘principal’s office’ trouble?” I ask.
“That or a spanking,” he retorts.
I smirk as our gazes lock. “We’ll see about that.”
“Yes, we will,” he says just as Hattie grabs our hands to go play a game. We end up playing two games after she changes into her pajamas. By the end of the second game, she’s passed out on the floor.
“Let me get her into bed,” Bishop says as he picks up her limp body. She curls up against his chest as he adjusts her, and he places a kiss on the top of her head. My ovaries nearly burst.
“I can help,” I whisper as we walk upstairs. I pull back her covers and we tuck her in. She stirs as we adjust her pillow. Her little eyes open.
“Miss Bailey?” she whispers.
“Yes, Hattie?”
“Will you come play again with me?”
I smile and kiss her forehead. “Of course. Maybe you can come to visit Hank on the farm?”
“Really?” she says.
A part of me feels sad as I realize there are only a few days left of being able to do that. Thankfully, Cliff’s brother has offered to take our animals, but he lives farther out of town, so we won’t get to see them as often.
“Yes, really,” I answer before standing up and looking over at Bishop who is watching me.
“Goodnight,” Hattie says, turning over and curling into a ball.
“Goodnight,” Bishop and I say in unison as we close her door and head back downstairs.
Bishop walks into the kitchen and opens the fridge, grabbing a chilled bottle of wine. He holds it up and I nod.
I take a seat at the kitchen island and watch as he again expertly pours us glasses.
“You have to have gotten those skills from more than Stephanie working at a vineyard. Did you ever work in a restaurant?” I ask.
For the first time, I see him blush before he clears his throat. “I was a busser in high school and then in college, the owner opened a place by campus. I was old enough to serve alcohol, so I got to be a server. Just on breaks, and here and there when I needed some extra money,” he says with a shrug.
I smile. “I like that we both had summer jobs. It’s…something we have in common. Even though you were in middle school when I was working summers.”
He laughs. “So, you wouldn’t have dated me then?”
I try to stop the eye roll, but it happens anyhow. “Be serious.”
He leans forward. “I don’t care about your age.”
Now it’s my turn to blush.
“To…date number one and a half?” he offers with a raise of his glass.
“It was fun. Hattie’s adorable, and I’m glad we were downtown so I could get Hank home. I gotta get that hinge fixed. If he wiggles the door enough, the lock pops open,” I explain as I sip the wine. “This is good.”
He smiles before taking a long drink of his. Setting it down, he leans over the counter toward me. “Steph and I are pretty different, but we both like good wine. And your mom had mentioned the hinge issue. I said I could fix it, so I’ll help you do it.”
“If you want to help, you can, but I got it.” I pause as I think about his sister. “I wish I was as close to Colt as you are to Stephanie,” I mutter to myself as I sip the wine again.
“Were you ever close?” he asks as he walks around the island and leans against it, so our bodies are nearly touching.
I shrug. “There’s like six years between us, so by the time I was old enough to have fun, he was off to college, and then after our dad died, he just…ghosted us, sort of. I mean he comes home for holidays and if Mom needs him. We really only talk about Mom and the farm and on rare occasions he texts to make sure I’m alright.”
“Do you ever visit him?”
“Once in a while. Mostly, if I have something else to do in New York, then I crash at his place, and we grab dinner or brunch.”
“But you have good friends,” he points out as we both take another sip of wine.
I suddenly realize that I’ve been sort of a shitty friend the past two weeks. I’ve barely answered the group chat and I need to call Di and Fin back.
“Yeah. I do have great friends.”
The back door opens, and an older man and woman walk inside. The woman is wearing a flowy dress that makes me think of the nineteen sixties. Her hair is dyed purple, but not old lady purple. She doesn’t appear to be wearing makeup, but she doesn’t need to because she is beautiful. The man seems plain in comparison to the eccentricity of the woman. He is handsome, but not flashy in any way. Within seconds, I note his eyes match Bishop’s. Bishop frowns.
“What are you guys doing here?” he asks.
“Stephanie is going to be late and asked us to come over so you wouldn’t be stuck babysitting all night,” the woman says as she glances over at me. “Are you going to introduce us to your friend?”
Bishop sighs. “Mom, Dad, this is Bailey. Bailey, these are my parents, Margot and Toby.”
“Oh,” I start as I reach my hand out to shake theirs, “it’s so nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” Margot says with a warm smile.
“It’s great to meet you both. We just tucked Hattie in, if you want to go up and see her, she might still be awake,” I say as I motion upstairs.
Margot waves her hand at me. “Don’t worry. We didn’t expect her to be awake. Poor little thing must be tuckered out after a long day. You two go have fun. We got this.”
“You sure?” Bishop asks.
“Son, did we not raise the two of you? I think we can handle a sleeping four-year-old,” his dad says with a pointed look.
I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“OK, then. I guess that’s our cue to leave,” Bishop says to me.
Just as I go to grab my purse, I see a very disheveled woman walk in with a bag slung over her shoulder. It takes me a moment to realize she was the lady in the car the day I thought Bishop was being rude to the little boy outside the coffee shop.
“Sorry, that took forever. Thank you…oh, hey.” She stops mid-step when she sees me and her parents.
I wave. “Hi. I’m Bailey. I don’t think we’ve formally met.”
“The T-ball coach,” she states as we shake hands, and she drops her bag on the floor.
“Guilty.”
“Great to officially meet you. Mind if I pour myself a glass?” she asks as she eyes the wine.
“Go for it. Looks like you need it more than us,” Bishop states as we watch her.
“You got home early,” Margot says.
“Yeah, sorry. I tried to text you,” Stephanie replies as she pours herself a glass of wine. “Thanks for coming over. You want a glass?” She holds up the bottle and her parents shrug and take seats at the table. Stephanie pours them each a glass of wine.
