7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Andrew

I'm internally freaking out that someone is going to recognize and approach me, so when Charlotte suggests we go for a walk and watch the sunset in one of the most romantic places in Savannah, I leap at the chance. When I first spied her standing by the fountain, my heart skipped. Her quirky and fun profile picture does not do her justice. It misses all of her more subtle freckles, the faint scar that runs over her chin, the brightness of her eyes when she smiles, and it definitely does not tell me how she smells.

Charlotte's smell is undeniably intoxicating, but it also reminds me of my Nonnie in some ways. Dating a woman who reminds you of your Nonnie is probably a turn off, but my grandmother's rosewater perfume is so vividly ingrained in my memory, I can't help but breathe it in every time Charlotte brushes her hair over her shoulder.

She smells like soft baked cookies and rose gardens and the sort of comfort you can't explain. You just feel it when a scent triggers it. Charlotte—Lottie, which is the best name for her with her cute nose and dimples—smells like the best kind of memory.

"Is school out? Are you off for the summer?" I ask. It's been a quiet walk thus far, and I remember I'm supposed to be impressing her, not reminiscing about rosewater perfume. So far, I don't think she's enjoying our date despite her reassuring smiles.

"Not quite yet. We still have about a month, but I can't wait. Statistics isn't exactly a fun subject for most people," she admits and glances up at me, no doubt to judge my interest in her work.

"I can appreciate how hard you must work. Teaching is a difficult profession, and mathematics takes brains." This earns me a sweet smile and a giggle. Dang this girl is too sweet, too dainty, too perfect. There must be something wrong with her, and I'm kind of eager to find out what it is so she'll seem more real. Whatever it is can't possibly deter me from pursuing her.

Slow your roll, Rossi. You just met her.

And…she's kind of distant.

My brain works in overdrive to control my frantically beating heart. There is beautiful, and then there is Lottie Clarke beautiful. Her pink lips are almost a perfect Cupid's bow, and I swear if she pulls that lip balm out one more time, I'm not sure I'll be able to control my urge to kiss her. But looks aren't everything, so I commit to seeing past her face and into her heart. If what Owen says about the app's success is true, then I have to put in the effort to get to know this woman.

"Thank you," she says, but I'm so distracted by her lips I've forgotten what I said to earn her thanks. Fortunately, we approach the lot, so I fish for my keys to change the subject. This seemed easier when we were messaging. Even the phone conversation flowed better, but I think it's on me. It's me that's the problem here, not her.

I think. I don't remember how to do this.

"There's mine," I say and point toward the monster black truck parked in the shadiest spot I could find. I dump the empty basket in the rear seat and slam the door shut. After locking it, I do something really forward. And dumb. I offer my hand to her and she stares down at it as if I'm debating whether to smack her or run off with her.

My ego takes a massive hit, not because she rejects me, but because I can't figure out why I would even put myself out there like that on a first date. Isn't that something teens do? College aged maybe? How do people in their thirties even date? What is expected? All sorts of questions bombard my brain while I stand like a fool with my hand out, palm up, waiting for her to decide to take it or run.

The sweet sigh of relief that slips from my lips when she slides her fingers over my palm is almost audible. She's hesitant, but links her fingers with mine and lets me maneuver her to the inside part of the sidewalk as we head toward River Street. It's been ages since I held a woman's hand, but it feels nice. It feels good, and I think maybe I owe my best friend an apology. If nothing else, I get to see what it's like to go out with a woman who has zero expectations from me as a ball player.

"How did you get the scar on your chin?" I ask, desperate for more conversation with her.

"Oh, gosh. An incident with a hockey stick a few years ago. I got three stitches and everything."

I want to ask her more about it, especially get some elaboration on the hockey part of it, but she seems to tense after she mentions it. She clears her throat.

"We better hurry or we'll miss the sunset," she says and looks up at me. This is a sight I can get used to.

I pick up the pace because missing out on that would be a shame, especially when all I want to do is sit on a park bench and talk to Lottie until the stars come out. We've only barely scratched the surface, and I want to know everything there is to know about her. I pray it isn't one sided. Maybe she's nervous?

"Tell me about your family. You said you have a sister."

She tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles. She's got a bright white set of teeth, like an actress, and it only makes her smile more stunning. "I do. She's five years older than me. Stay at home mom of two, and her husband is in the Navy."

"Really? That's cool. I have a sister too, but she's single. She's a lot younger than me, though. She's only twenty and she's in college studying culinary arts."

"Did she pack the dinner?" With a sly smile, Lottie skips over a crack in the sidewalk and taunts me at the same time.

"She did not. I can make sandwiches, believe it or not."

"Ah, he packs a mean picnic basket, has good manners, and likes dogs. So how are you still single?" she asks, narrowing her eyes. "Are you a closet serial killer?"

Oh, now I get it. The banter. We are missing the flirty banter from our texting and phone call. This, I can do. She makes me laugh without even trying, but her joke isn't going to encourage me to spill the beans about my profession just yet. "No, not a serial killer. I'm just picky about dating."

"And yet you let your friend convince you to join a dating app?"

"Yeah. Something like that," I say and try to think of ways to change the subject. "Want to go on a riverboat ride? I've heard it's a lot of fun." A lot of fun? Where did I hear that? I haven't, but it's all I can think of to steer the conversation away from work and toward that touch and go style of flirting we established early on.

"I think they're reservation only for evening rides. Maybe another time?"

I squeeze her hand and nod. "You're probably right. I guess strolling and talking it is. We can plan those next few dates we've already committed to," I tease.

She blushes and ducks her head. "Depends. A strike and a near miss with the juice box? I might get a real injury on the next date."

"Ah, but you forgave me for the juice box incident, remember? Said it could happen to anyone."

She arches her eyebrows and the left side of her mouth pulls into a smirk. Well. I did not expect her to throw snarky facial expressions my way. Not this sweetheart, but I like that I'm getting to see another side of her.

"Tell me more about yourself. Your profile was sparse," she says. "You said it was accurate, which is great, but I'd like to know more."

I try to think of myself and what I like, but baseball really does eat up my life. "I spend a lot of time at home with my dog. I like hanging out, mostly. I'm kinda boring I guess, but I did buy a drum set a few months ago. I've wanted to learn since I was a kid, but so far I stink at it. I'm trying to self-teach by watching videos."

Lottie beams again and swings our hands between us. "I've played since I was eight."

"What? No kidding?" Is there anything this woman cannot do? Is she gorgeous? Check. Smart? Double check. Talented? It looks that way. Where is her fatal flaw? There must be one, but the longer this date lasts, the less I care what it might be.

"I haven't played in a long time, but my parents made my sister and me learn an instrument. Neither of us wanted to, but they insisted we needed to be well rounded, whatever that means. Rebecca, my sister, chose the xylophone to be annoying, and I one-upped her with drums."

I raise an eyebrow. "I bet that frustrated your parents."

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "You'd think, but they called our bluff. That's why I am a pro on the drums and Rebecca can play xylophone like it's a full time job."

I can't help laughing again. There is nothing about this date that I don't enjoy, especially now that we seem to be moving into a comfort zone. The company is perfect, the pacing is slow but sweet, and I'm genuinely enjoying my time. "You'll have to show me sometime."

"I could teach you. I've done lessons before." Lottie wiggles her hand free and pulls a hair tie from her pocket. She locks her long, wavy tresses into a high ponytail, and little wisps of hair curl at the nape of her neck. I swallow hard and note that there is a perfect line of freckles from her jaw just under her ear, to the damp hair.

"That could be fun," I say and shove my hands in my pockets. This was an epic mistake because she had, apparently, intended to take my hand again. When it's not available, she drops her hands to her sides in an awkward plop that makes her cheeks redden.

"Sure. Hey, do you hear that?" she asks, pausing to crane her neck. In the distance, an outdoor band plays and just down the street, people gather around and dance. "Want to dance?"

Do I want to dance? Yes, if it gets her into my arms. Absolutely. Even though I'm not the best dancer, I figure I can't botch a slow dance too badly.

"I'm not great at it, but absolutely. This is a date, after all."

Lottie slides her hand around my bicep and lets me lead her down River Street toward the music. Along the river, the boats are loading up for their dinner cruises. I make a mental note to reserve one for us. The sugary maple scent of fresh pralines drifts through the air from the candy shop, mixing with the salty aroma of the river. The lapping of the water against the barrier blends with the music, creating a calm rhythm.

"Do you know there are bull sharks in the river?" It's one of the few things I know about Savannah and the surrounding area. That, and sometimes alligators like to hide under cars, but that seems less interesting than the shark fact at the moment.

"I do, actually, but I've never seen one." She veers to the railing and we're walking closer to the river. Periodically, she peeks into the water. After a few strides, she nudges me. "Should we throw you in as bait and test the theory?"

I grin and tug her a little closer. "I think I'm going to have to pass on that offer. What else have you got?" We dodge a few people on our way to the dancing crowd.

Lottie's full lips turn into a pout but only for a moment before she's laughing again. "I guess we'll stick to dancing."

The music is loud enough now that I can barely hear her over it, so I turn back to the brick walkway and take her hand, spinning her out and away from me. She giggles and lets me pull her back. Her free hand settles on my shoulder and she presses against me. Not too much, but enough for me to know she feels secure enough to let her guard down. To let me lead this dance. I wrap my arm around her and we sway to the music. Fortunately, I do not step on her feet, but we do stumble a few times. No one seems to notice as they dance and laugh, keeping time with the band.

Dancing with Lottie is easy, simple, and she fits so well in my arms. This woman has my full attention, which is not only surprising but also terrifying in many ways. I'm not supposed to like her this much already, not when I have a secret that might turn her into an entirely different sort of woman—the kind that only sees fame and fortune instead of a real person. But she makes me smile and laugh, two things I want in a companion. I don't want this to end, and it could if she discovers I'm a pro ball player. I push the thought away, not wanting to even consider it. She is the first woman I have dated since college that doesn't know I play ball for a living, and I need this time to get to know her—the real her—before that knowledge comes into play.

I spin her around and admire how tendrils of her hair fly out of the ponytail and frame her angelic face. Her freckles, I have noticed, tend to lead to places whose softness I want to test with my lips…the corner of her mouth, her jaw, the nape of her neck, the inside of her wrist. These are not first date thoughts. I shove those away too.

"Are you having fun?" she asks, pausing before putting her hand back on my shoulder.

"Hmm?"

She furrows her brow. "I asked if you're having fun. You look like you're being tortured."

Oh. Shoot. "No, I'm having a blast. You should know up front that I look that way when I'm thinking. My friends all say the same thing. Evidently, I have that kinda face when I'm focused."

"Ah, okay. I thought maybe I was terrible company." She smiles, then immediately frowns. "Unless that's what you were thinking about that made you look grumpy."

"What? You? No, not a chance. You are not terrible company. I don't think I've ever enjoyed a first date like this with anyone before." My confession only seems to lessen her worry a smidgeon. "I mean it, Lottie. I've enjoyed spending time with you. I'd love to see you again very soon. If you want to, of course."

"Even though it was a little…stifled? At first, I mean. It's not now."

Ouch. But yeah, she's right. "Even though I was nervous and made it boring at first, yes."

She swats me. "I did not say that. I was nervous too."

"Well, let's chalk it up to a brave fa?ade thanks to the app and remember that the banter we had there is still here, just…" I have no idea what to say now, but she picks up where I left off.

"More difficult in person? Yeah. It's harder to flirt with you while you're a living, breathing person beside me."

"But," I draw out, "that means you want to flirt with me?"

I'm rewarded with yet another of her glorious smiles, sparkling eyes and all. Her cheeks pink, but to her credit, she maintains eye contact. "Maybe. Will you have time for another date tomorrow?" she asks, head tilted in question.

I tug her a little closer and she lets me. "Will you have time for another date tomorrow?"

"I could be persuaded," she says with a slight shrug. "I have some free time after church."

"How about I make us a dinner reservation on the riverboat? Then maybe next weekend we can get together with the dogs?"

"Hmm, we really are planning two dates ahead aren't we?" The way her eyes widen is a surefire sign she's digging to discover what I really think of her. She's not quite sure where this might lead, and to tell the truth, neither am I but I'm more than willing to find out.

A wide grin tugs at the corners of my lips and I can't help myself. I have to flirt back with her, really lay it out there so she does not mistake that what I said on my profile is true—I'm looking for something long term. I lean in close and she stiffens, but not in an I'm afraid of what he might do sort of way. I gather this when I start to pull back and she squeezes my hand, holding me close.

"I have no less than a dozen dates planned with you, Lottie," I whisper in her ear, toying with those loose pieces of hair that dance over her cheeks.

She lifts her face ever so slightly and her breath tickles over my cheek. "You sure your work will allow you enough time for me?"

I run my hand up her back, tugging her still closer. Her pulse races, thrumming in her neck. "I'll make time. I've enjoyed every second of you."

She giggles softly and settles her hand on my chest. "I'm glad. I've enjoyed this time with you, too. You're making me hate my friends a lot less."

I laugh but don't pull back. She rests her head on my shoulder. I try not to wince as we glide into another slow dance. "You never told me why you're not taken yet." I look down at her, but only succeed in settling my chin on the crown of her head. "Are you a closet serial killer?"

"Nope, not a serial killer as far as I know. I've been known to put away a pint of ice cream like it's a felony charge, but other than that, not a killer."

"I can't figure out why anyone hasn't put a ring on your finger then. What are you hiding, Lottie Clarke?" It's meant to be a joke but it either falls wrong or she took it seriously.

She scoffs and pulls back a little. "My last boyfriend was a cheating jerk. I thought he was going to propose, but he ran off with his team's social media rep instead. And that's why I don't date athletes anymore. Never again."

Gut. Punch. No, not even that. It's a full-on knock out from out of left field.

And that is her fatal flaw.

It's not even a flaw. It's her preference based on personal information gathered from experience, but it has put a nail in my coffin. We just met. There is zero possibility she will want to give me a chance to prove not all athletes are unfaithful. But I can't lie to her. And I don't want to.

I open my mouth to finally admit the truth, but the music starts again and she twirls away from me. She giggles and before I know it, we're dancing again. I can't believe how fast this went from protecting my identity to get to know her better, to crashing and burning because I'm an athlete. Talk about a one-eighty.

Time passes, too much to just throw out that I'm a pro baseball player, so I decide I'll tell her on the walk back to her car. Right now, I want to enjoy this dance with her. Give her a good memory before breaking the truth. Besides, I want to deliver this in a way that might make her consider me differently. It's a shot in the dark, but I have to try. My heart sinks deeper and deeper into a pit of despair.

"So, what do you want to do after our riverboat dinner tomorrow night?" Lottie is light and happy. How am I supposed to burst her bubble and tell her that I'm the one thing she doesn't want? The kind of person she's written off thanks to a piece of junk ex-boyfriend who I can only surmise is an absolute moron. I'm one date in with this woman and cannot imagine why he would up and leave her for someone else.

"Um, what do you want to do?" Why did I say that? I should be saying hold your horses, I'm a pitcher for the Sharks, but I'd be grateful for one chance to prove to you we're not all lying scum.

"I haven't been to see a movie in forever. Want to go?" She links her fingers with mine again, offering me affection I do not deserve right now. That pit grows deeper and darker. Tell her now. Tell her now, you idiot.

"I'll take you anywhere you want to go."

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

We wander down the street back toward the parking lot, and all the time she keeps me in conversation about things like family, friends, and our likes and dislikes. And I'm emotionally numb. My mind is a hurricane, whirling with confusion. Frustration. Disappointment. And I'm angry because I cannot imagine a world in which a man would ever cheat on her. I haven't seen a single thing about her that isn't right for me…except that one thing.

And I have to tell her.

I have to. Right now.

I clear my throat and prepare to deliver the bomb. "Lottie, I need to—"

"Oh, there's my car right over there." She doesn't realize she interrupted me, but pulls me along toward her car. Once we reach it, she fishes her keys from her little purse and unlocks it before turning around to tell me goodbye. "I had a really nice time, Andrew. I have to be honest and say I didn't think I would because we met on a silly app, but maybe the algorithm knows what it's doing." She shrugs and tosses her bag into the passenger seat. "At any rate, I'm glad we found our rhythm again in person, so maybe the next date won't be so tense at first."

"Maybe." What am I going to do? Out with it, Rossi. Just tell her the truth. "About tomorrow, I should probably tell you something first."

"Oh, shoot." She presses her hand to her forehead and groans. "I totally forgot I have choir practice tomorrow night. I'm so sorry. Would it be completely weird if we talked on the phone after that and maybe do dinner another night?" Her grimace is the least of my worries. "Is that weird? I don't know. I haven't dated in a while, and my last relationship was over three years long." She makes a motion with her hand that implies she has no idea how dating is supposed to go between adults. That makes two of us.

I smile and decide that I'll tell her then. That gives me time to talk to Koa, my closest friend on the team, and figure out how to tell her I'm the one thing she despises. At least, that is my assumption. I'm sure she dislikes other things, but those things probably won't eliminate me from the running. Hopefully, I can also figure out a way to ask her to give me a chance, because I'm not the cheating kind. I'm a one woman guy, and up until this moment, I haven't found a woman who made me want to go on a second date. My goal radar has locked in on this woman, and it's going to be difficult to let her go.

"I would like that. You have my number," I say and stuff my hands in my pockets again.

"Perfect. Goodnight, Andrew," she says and leans over her door to kiss my cheek.

I take a deep breath and pray this doesn't backfire on me because I'm pretty sure that tiny little kiss just sucked me in even deeper.