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Authors: Georgia Beers
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him hop over the
chicken wire. He ran right to the rope toy, Steve hot on his
heels. I returned to my seat to watch them. “Does your
mom know where you are?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
Of course I didn’t believe him, but we were within
shouting distance of his back door, so I let it go. I worked
on my ai and watched him play with Steve for a while.
When I was just about finished eating, I said to him, “Hey,
I make the best chocolate chip cookies around.”
“I love chocolate chip cookies!”
“Do you?” I held one out to him. “Here you go.”
Max turned to me, chewing. “Wow. is is really
good.”
ough I didn’t think that six years on this earth
warranted him to be any kind of cookie connoisseur, I was
still inexplicably flattered. “anks. Glad you like them.”
60
Starting From Scratch
We heard somebody call his name. Twin grimaces
crossed our faces. His because he didn’t want to leave Steve
and mine because I didn’t want to deal with Cindy. She
called again and Max looked at me. I gave him a shrug and
a half-grin.
“I’m over here,” he said loudly and—his inflection told
me—grudgingly.
I could hear footsteps brushing through the late-
spring grass a couple of yards down, and knew it was too
late to do anything but be neighborly. Bolstering myself
with a big breath and a bite of chocolate chip goodness, I
was ready. But when the figure finally came into view, I
nearly choked on my cookie, stunned into speechlessness.
Elena Walker—Smokin’ Hot Bank Manager, as Josh
liked to call her—stood on the other side of my chicken
wire fencing. “ere you are,” she said to Max, hands
parked on her hips.
“Hey, Mom,” Max said.
61
CHAPTER SIX
If I found Elena Walker incredibly sexy in the
business suits she wore to the bank every day, it was an
enormous treat seeing her in worn jeans and a plain white,
long sleeve T-shirt with Life Is Good printed across the
front in faded green ink. Good Lord, was it ever. Her hair
was tousled and the color of blackstrap molasses. She had a
smudge of what I assumed might be newsprint along her
jawbone, and she looked absolutely exhausted.
She was the most invigorating sight I’d ever seen.
With her eyes on Max, she said to him, “Are you
bothering our neighbors?” but when she looked up and saw
me, her faced changed from gentle embarrassment to stark
surprise. “Ms. King,” spilled from her mouth.
“ Coach King, Mom. Coach ,” Max corrected.
“Wait, wait, wait.” Elena waved her hand in front of
her face as if trying to erase what she thought she knew.
“ You’re Coach King? You coach Max’s tee-ball team?” e
corners of her mouth lifted in an easy smile, telling me she
liked that idea.
I’d managed to swallow my fortifying bite of cookie
without finding myself in need of the Heimlich maneuver,
and for that I was grateful. I stood up and crossed to where
she stood on the other side of the chicken wire. “Guilty as
charged,” I said, hoping I came across as charming, rather
Georgia Beers
than dorky as I suspected. “And… you’re his mother?” I tried
to phrase my question in the right tone so as to not be
insulting, but to let her know I was slightly confused.
“One of them. I think you’ve probably met Cindy.”
I nodded. Okay. Max had two mommies. Who knew?
I tried not to dwell on the one question that was certainly
going to torment me for the rest of the evening and
beyond: where the hell was the justice in this world when a
self-absorbed creep like Cindy Johnson could land a catch
like Elena Walker? It was so not fair.
Pulling myself back into the wonderful arena of small
talk, I rested my hand on Max’s head and noticed his hair
was exactly the same rich color as his mother’s. When he
glanced up, I realized his slightly almond-shaped eyes were
just like hers. No wonder he’d looked familiar to me. “He’s
got some potential,” I told her.
chicken wire. He ran right to the rope toy, Steve hot on his
heels. I returned to my seat to watch them. “Does your
mom know where you are?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
Of course I didn’t believe him, but we were within
shouting distance of his back door, so I let it go. I worked
on my ai and watched him play with Steve for a while.
When I was just about finished eating, I said to him, “Hey,
I make the best chocolate chip cookies around.”
“I love chocolate chip cookies!”
“Do you?” I held one out to him. “Here you go.”
Max turned to me, chewing. “Wow. is is really
good.”
ough I didn’t think that six years on this earth
warranted him to be any kind of cookie connoisseur, I was
still inexplicably flattered. “anks. Glad you like them.”
60
Starting From Scratch
We heard somebody call his name. Twin grimaces
crossed our faces. His because he didn’t want to leave Steve
and mine because I didn’t want to deal with Cindy. She
called again and Max looked at me. I gave him a shrug and
a half-grin.
“I’m over here,” he said loudly and—his inflection told
me—grudgingly.
I could hear footsteps brushing through the late-
spring grass a couple of yards down, and knew it was too
late to do anything but be neighborly. Bolstering myself
with a big breath and a bite of chocolate chip goodness, I
was ready. But when the figure finally came into view, I
nearly choked on my cookie, stunned into speechlessness.
Elena Walker—Smokin’ Hot Bank Manager, as Josh
liked to call her—stood on the other side of my chicken
wire fencing. “ere you are,” she said to Max, hands
parked on her hips.
“Hey, Mom,” Max said.
61
CHAPTER SIX
If I found Elena Walker incredibly sexy in the
business suits she wore to the bank every day, it was an
enormous treat seeing her in worn jeans and a plain white,
long sleeve T-shirt with Life Is Good printed across the
front in faded green ink. Good Lord, was it ever. Her hair
was tousled and the color of blackstrap molasses. She had a
smudge of what I assumed might be newsprint along her
jawbone, and she looked absolutely exhausted.
She was the most invigorating sight I’d ever seen.
With her eyes on Max, she said to him, “Are you
bothering our neighbors?” but when she looked up and saw
me, her faced changed from gentle embarrassment to stark
surprise. “Ms. King,” spilled from her mouth.
“ Coach King, Mom. Coach ,” Max corrected.
“Wait, wait, wait.” Elena waved her hand in front of
her face as if trying to erase what she thought she knew.
“ You’re Coach King? You coach Max’s tee-ball team?” e
corners of her mouth lifted in an easy smile, telling me she
liked that idea.
I’d managed to swallow my fortifying bite of cookie
without finding myself in need of the Heimlich maneuver,
and for that I was grateful. I stood up and crossed to where
she stood on the other side of the chicken wire. “Guilty as
charged,” I said, hoping I came across as charming, rather
Georgia Beers
than dorky as I suspected. “And… you’re his mother?” I tried
to phrase my question in the right tone so as to not be
insulting, but to let her know I was slightly confused.
“One of them. I think you’ve probably met Cindy.”
I nodded. Okay. Max had two mommies. Who knew?
I tried not to dwell on the one question that was certainly
going to torment me for the rest of the evening and
beyond: where the hell was the justice in this world when a
self-absorbed creep like Cindy Johnson could land a catch
like Elena Walker? It was so not fair.
Pulling myself back into the wonderful arena of small
talk, I rested my hand on Max’s head and noticed his hair
was exactly the same rich color as his mother’s. When he
glanced up, I realized his slightly almond-shaped eyes were
just like hers. No wonder he’d looked familiar to me. “He’s
got some potential,” I told her.
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