Fireside by Susan Wiggs (pdf e book reader txt) 📗

AJ hurried to the door and pulled on his snow boots. “Time for the bus,” he said.

“This might turn out to be a long day,” Bo warned him. “If I’m not here when you get back, Dino is in charge.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll have my phone with me, although if she’s serious about the dentist, I’ll probably be in a dead faint.”

“It’s no one’s favorite thing,” she agreed. “Is it, AJ?” If she could get his support, this would go easier. Where AJ was concerned, Bo clearly wanted to do the right thing.

“I guess.” AJ offered a vague shrug.

Oh, Lord. An alarming thought struck her. “What about you, AJ? When was your last visit to the dentist?”

He shrugged again. “Never been. Never had a toothache.”

This was incredible to her. Everyone went to the dentist, didn’t they? She considered the thousands of dollars that had gone into her mouth over the years, from regular checkups to the best orthodontics money could buy. She’d taken it all for granted.

“Well, there’s good news for you both, then,” she said.

They regarded each other with expressions of stark terror.

She offered a reassuring smile. “Think of it as a form of male bonding.”

Agreeing to coach Bo Crutcher was like making a deal with the devil. Kim betrayed her own vow to get on with a different life, a different career. But in exchange, she would be helping AJ and also earning money—always a good thing after leaving a job without notice.

She was surprised to discover how important this project was to her. Perhaps it was because she had something to prove in the wake of the Lloyd Johnson fiasco. Yet one undeniable aspect of the business was that her success was inextricably tied to her client. And so was her failure. She tried to work with Bo on things that would make him seem polished and confident—fast. They went to Avalon’s premier restaurant, the Apple Tree Inn, so she could help him with his skills in a social setting. Preparing for the evening, she’d dressed carefully in a form-fitting black jersey dress and burgundy patent leather high heels. The belongings she’d had in storage had arrived from L.A., yet this didn’t feel like a step back into her old life. Everything about this felt new. She told herself she was simply trying to appear professional, but it was more than that. She wanted to look good—for Bo.

When he helped her off with her coat at the restaurant, the gleam in his eye told her she’d succeeded. “I’m starting to like this part of the training,” he said. “Maybe we could skip dinner and—”

“No, you have to learn how to use the right fork, eat like a gentleman and say all the right things.”

“Hard to see how this stuff matters,” he said.

“Trust me, it matters.”

“Baseball fans won’t care which fork I use.”

“News flash. You’re not going to have any fans unless you get picked up. And sponsors do care about this stuff. Members of the media—whether they care or not, they’re going to notice everything about you. You’re not just playing baseball for the fun of it. And it’s not just for the money, either. This is about your place in the sport, your image, and—” She stopped, pursed her lips. No point in getting into a philosophical debate with him.

The waiter arrived and she insisted that he order something he’d never tried before, which he did, gamely enough.

“You’re being a good sport,” she remarked.

“No, I just don’t know what half this stuff is.”

When their meal arrived, he scowled down at his plate.

“Is something wrong with your trout?”

He poked at it with his fork. “Looks like a mullet out of Galveston Bay.”

“It’s truite au bleu, and it’s delicious.”

“They couldn’t be bothered to take the head off before serving it?” he asked.

“Watch and learn,” she said, sitting back as the waiter neatly boned the fish and served it.

Bo sampled the fish. “Doesn’t taste like much,” he said. “A lot of lemon and butter, and that’s about it.”

“You know, it’s all right to pretend you like something even when you don’t.”

“I thought you said I should be honest. You know, show my passion and my heart and all that.”

“I said you should have judgment. There’s a difference.”

He leaned back in his chair, his posture deliberately loose, she suspected because he knew it would provoke her. He couldn’t seem to resist teasing her. “How do I know when you’re being honest, and when you’re being diplomatic?”

“You’re not stupid,” she said. “I think you’ll figure it out.”

“I’ll never figure you out. Now every time you say something to me, I’ll wonder whether or not it’s the truth.”

That stung. “I’ve never lied to you. I never would.”

“But you’ve been diplomatic with me.”

“Is that some crime?”

He smiled. “No. But I do want complete honesty from you, Kim. And believe me, I can take anything you can dish out.”

“Fine. I feel like dishing out some dancing lessons.”

“I don’t dance.”

“Not yet, anyway. Now, get up and ask me to dance.”

“I’m eating my trout.”

“You don’t like the trout.”

“But—”

“Ask me, Crutcher.”

To her surprise, he did so smoothly, holding his hand out with the palm turned up. “Hey, I’ve been known to watch Dancing with the Stars,” he explained.

She walked him through some basic dance steps. He kept trying to hold her close; she kept insisting he needed to hold a dance frame, which he claimed wasn’t nearly as much fun. A natural athlete, he was a quick study, and after just a few tries, he was able to get around the dance floor.

“How am I doing, coach?” he asked, navigating around a middle-aged couple who seemed blissfully lost in each other.

“You’re not humiliating yourself, so that’s good.” Kim watched the other couple a moment too long, and her heel wobbled through a turn.

She would have stumbled, except Bo caught her against him. “Whoa there. I got you,” he said.

Kim let herself enjoy the feel of his arms around her for about three seconds. It felt…exquisite. She was startled