19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Charlotte

After our heartfelt conversation, Andrew and I came up with some fantastic ideas for the school carnival. He's offered his services in any way that can help us bring in more money, so when I step into the meeting with the headmaster, Destiny, a few other instructors, and the student council, I'm excited to get down to turning this plan into a reality.

"I must admit, Miss Clarke, that when you first approached me with this idea, it seemed too daunting to consider. I'm excited to see what you've come up with," Headmaster Charles says as he slides his glasses back up his nose.

I can't hold in my smile. "Well, first off, a friend of mine, Andrew Rossi, has volunteered his time and resources. I think that will go a long way toward bringing in a crowd."

"You know Andrew Rossi? Like, personally?" Matt, the student council president, sits in disbelief with wide eyes. "Like the Andrew Rossi who ditched the major leagues to come down to Savannah?"

"Well, yes." My cheeks warm and I know I'm blushing. All I can do is hope the children don't notice. I had all but forgotten Andrew had played in the major leagues.

"Will he come? I have so many ideas now if he can come," Matt adds while the rest of the student council whips out their phones, presumably to look him up. A few giggles and whispered accolades are all the confirmation I need to know they found his picture. Why haven't I done the same? Looked him up to get an idea of his life and what he's been up to? I bite my lip and try not to show how interested I am in what they've found.

"Miss Clarke?" Headmaster asks.

"Oh, yes. He expressed his willingness to appear. We just need to figure out the best attractions, so that we're utilizing his time wisely. Does anyone have any ideas?"

"Dunk tanks!" Quinlyn yells but I'm almost positive this is because she wants to see Andrew soaking wet. I must admit having seen it once myself, it's got a nice appeal, but she's only seventeen so she needs to keep those peepers to herself.

"Miss Martin, I'll remind you this is a Christian preparatory school and we will act accordingly." Headmaster Charles frowns and pushes his glasses back into proper position again. "However, I do agree that Mr. Rossi's attendance can only help."

"He also said he'd ask some teammates to pitch in for set up and maybe volunteer in some areas. He's going to ask the Savannah Sharks owners for a donation as well. I'm not sure if you know about Dawson Drift Club, but they are a team of racing brothers who—"

"Are basically billionaires who buy sports teams. Yeah, we've heard of them," Matt says. He's not trying to be rude. I can tell. He's hanging on the edge of his seat, and I realize I've just discovered his favorite pastime. The kid clearly likes sports. These are the most words he's strung together in full sentences without grunts and groans I've heard since I met him.

"Exactly. If they offer a donation, that would be fantastic." According to Andrew, the brothers enjoy giving their money away, and if that's the case, then boy have I got a school in need for them to throw it to.

"Wow, I never expected this idea to take off like this," Destiny admits. "Andrew must be an amazing guy." She gives me suspicious side eye. She doesn't know the latest about our relationship status—not that I'm too clear on it myself—but her assessment of him is correct. Andrew is amazing, and I've been sort of foolish to pretend otherwise.

"What if he can offer coaching to some of the kids? I think parents would pay for that for sure," Mr. Moore, the physical education instructor and the coach for almost every sport on campus says.

"I'm not sure. He's sitting out with a shoulder injury, but I can ask." I pull out my phone to take notes but poor Matt leans so far forward to inspect what I'm doing, he falls from the seat as I suspected he would. The kid is bullied almost all the time outside of school. His father was killed in a helicopter crash when he was only two, and his mother has struggled to keep him in our school to avoid public school. I get the feeling Andrew showing up will mean the world to him.

I debate my options. Andrew is home right now, at least, he said he would be. I take a chance and call him instead of making notes. He answers on the first ring.

"Hey, beautiful. What's up?"

My cheeks flame again and I try to hide it from the students. "I'm sitting in the planning session, and I thought we could run some ideas by you if you're up for it." I realize I didn't ask permission from Headmaster Charles, so I glance up and raise my eyebrows. He nods, so I breathe a sigh of relief. You never know with him.

"Sure, put me on speaker and hit me with your ideas."

I press the speaker phone button. "Okay, so far we have dunk tank and personal coaching, but I didn't know what you'd be up for since your shoulder is healing."

"Uh, I don't mind a dunk tank. I can do coaching depending on what's needed or if it can be at a later date," he says. "Wait a sec. Koa's just arrived."

We wait patiently—at least, I do. The girls are googling Koa, and I know what that's going to lead to. As expected, they practically squeal and swoon over his image. I roll my eyes, but I get it. I really get it.

"I can do coaching!" Koa hollers from the background.

"Koa says he can do coaching. Maybe a per hour intensive?" Andrew asks, then adds, "He says he can do ten of them."

"That is exceedingly generous," Mr. Moore says. "Sorry, I'm Frank Moore, the physical education instructor. I really appreciate your willingness to help our little school."

"Anything for Lottie. Just name it, and we'll get it done," Andrew says.

The girls go gaga again while I try to shrink into my chair. There is no way this doesn't devolve into a deep dive into my personal life, which is both improper and not going to happen.

"This is Koa Keaton, Andrew's teammate. What other ideas do you have, kids?"

After that, everyone starts shouting ideas at my phone while Andrew and Koa field their questions. Eventually, we have a list of twenty options that are workable, not to mention a possible meeting with one of the Dawson brothers about a donation. My heart warms when I think of how much trouble Andrew has gone to in just a day, if only to make me happy. But it isn't the only reason. It's because he cares about these kids he hasn't even met. He wants the school to succeed, and he's genuinely interested in my work.

Once Headmaster signs off on the necessary purchases for the carnival and things settle down, we go our separate ways. I hurry the parking lot so I don't have to take any questions about my personal life and sigh when I settle in the safety of my car.

My phone dings with a message from Andrew, but I ignore it and call him instead.

"Whew. I'm in my car trying to recover from that meeting. That was a whole lot of crazy in an hour. You so do not have to do all that stuff the kids asked for," I say instead of hello when he answers.

Andrew laughs in that deep, melodic way he does. I think it means he's comfortable and content, which makes me wonder what other things about him I've figured out.

"I'll do anything they want to help. I don't mind at all. Did you get my message?"

"I did but haven't read it yet. I wanted to call and give you an exit if you needed one." I giggle and bite my tongue to stop myself. Why am I so giddy? Ugh. Slow and steady, Lottie. Slow. Steady. Keep yourself together so you can see straight.

"Ah, okay. Well, that won't be necessary. I'm happy to do what I can. The team has two away games in a row, so I won't be home all week to finalize the coaching dates. Goblin is staying with my sister, but I didn't want to ghost you. I'll still be available a little, but usually Coach spends driving time doing ridiculous bonding games and telling us about the good old days when he played."

"Bonding games, what fun. So when do I get to see you again?"

"I'll be home Friday morning, but we have a game that night. Saturday maybe?"

"Saturday I'll have to go place orders at all of the supply houses for what we'll need, but I might be free Saturday night." It's kind of ridiculous how disappointed I am that I won't see him for six days, but my time will be filled with teaching, shopping for props and setting up a schedule, not to mention copious planning for the event itself.

Andrew is silent for a while, and with each passing second, tension grows over the line. I'm not sure why until he clears his throat and asks, "Would it be too forward of me to ask if you'd like to come to the game Friday night? I can get tickets for you and your friends. There's a private lounge, so…Yeah, if you want to, I can do it."

My heart races like a wild horse. It's been a while since I've been to a sporting event, and the last one was with the ex I don't want to think about anymore.

"I understand if it's too much. Just thought I'd put it out there. No pressure." There might be no pressure, but there is no mistaking that he wants me there. I can say no, too. I know that, because he hasn't tried to push a single thing on me that I haven't wanted. He's made it clear he cares for me and I do want to figure this out, make it work, and try to move on with my life with someone who might be the one.

I mentally chastise myself for getting too far ahead of myself, but Andrew makes it difficult for a girl not to think ten steps ahead.

"I'd like that, actually. Will I get to see you after the game?"

He chuckles. "I planned to sit with you during the game if that's okay?"

"Wait, will your coach let you do that?"

"Sure. I'll have to go down to the locker rooms during seventh inning stretch and any other time he waves me down, but I can sit with you during most of the game."

"In that case, count me in."

"Perfect. How many tickets? As many as you want, sweetness."

Sweetness. We have, apparently, reached the pet name stage of our relationship. It's way too early for that, but I can't complain. I like it, especially the fact that he doesn't seem to realize he said it.

"Just me. It's a date, after all." I press my hand to my cheek. There's no reason to blush when no one is even with me to be embarrassed in front of. My goodness, this man keeps me in a constant state of tomato redness.

"A date you say? I like the sound of that." A crashing in the background followed by Goblin's dramatic howling worries me. "This doofus. He just took a flying leap off of the top of the playset and now he's barking at it as if it's enemy number one."

"I'll let you go so you can check on him. Talk soon?"

"Of course. Bye, Lottie."

"Bye, Andrew." I reluctantly hang up the phone and put my car in drive. It's going to be a long week thinking about him, but it will give me time to figure out what to say to Rory and get things straight. I'll wish him the best, pray he'll change and be faithful in his next relationship, and maybe stop screaming whenever I see that white Arctic Fox logo on television. If I'm lucky, I'll also get the closure I need to dive into something more with Andrew.

Moving on.

Two little words with so much weight. It doesn't come close to carrying the load it represents. Soul-crushing disappointment, confidence-shattering betrayal, and second-guessing every moment of your relationship for starters. But it also carries some hope that the next time won't be the same. That I've scraped and clawed my way from the depths of depression and into the sun, with God's help, of course.

I tell myself it will all be okay. Andrew is honest, transparent, and has genuine interest in my well-being. I thought Rory had those same qualities, but if I'm honest with myself, I know I overlooked a lot of flaws that should have been warning signs. It's one thing to let it slide when he left his things all over, chewed with his mouth open, and laughed like a hyena at things that were more gross than funny. It's something else entirely to ignore when he failed to introduce me to other women, and when he did, it was never as his girlfriend.

And that was just the surface. Oh, the signs he gave me all along that I ignored in favor of focusing on the positive. There's no doubt that positive thinking is a good thing, but now I understand I used it as a crutch. I can't do that anymore, not this time. Not with Andrew, though I'm hard pressed to find anything about him this early on that I don't like.

"Where is your flaw, Andrew Rossi?" I answer my own question when the image of him in his baseball uniform flashes into my mind. He's an athlete, but if that's the worst I can think of, then I'm a lucky gal.