17. CONOR

CHAPTER 17

CONOR

S omething's not right, and it's not just because I can't get this damn felt wrapped around a baseball properly. Who came up with this garbage idea?

Ah, right. Us.

Sierra and I sit in my living room, or the disaster zone it has become. The coffee table between us is piled high with felt sheets in festive colors that we cut out to the size we need to wrap the baseballs with.

She makes a lot quicker work of it than me, just dropping a baseball in the middle of a felt square, gathering up the corners, and wrapping them with twine. Then she glues a strip of golden felt around the mess to make it look like the top of a Christmas tree ornament and you know what? It looks damn near perfect, whereas my creations look like a drunk kindergartner tried crafts for the first time.

But that's not the issue, I'll get the hang of it eventually. What's making a bead of sweat form on my forehead is Sierra.

It's like she's avoiding me, which is hard to do when she's at my house and there's literally no one else in a three mile radius .

"Hey, Sierra."

She flinches.

What the hell? Was my voice too loud?

I lower it to ask, "Can you please slow down for a second? I need to see it again."

She sighs, but starts from scratch slower. Snap, that's the part I was missing. I was just gathering up the felt corners and tying them, but she makes a quick twirl that really brings the felt together at the top. That trick I can definitely adopt. I can't mimmic the deftness of her smaller hands for this kinda stuff, though.

"Cool, thanks." I better pick up because she has a much bigger completed pile than I have.

For a while, the only sounds are the crackling fire consuming the logs in the fireplace, and the rustling of felt against our hands. I keep checking on her from the corner of my good eye, but she's so focused on what she's doing that it's almost like I'm not here at all. A little wrinkle appears between her eyebrows as she concentrates on tying up the twine. She bites the corner of her lip ever so slightly as she works and I have the most feral urge to lean over the coffee table and bite it for her.

I should've kissed her earlier in the elevator. The problem is, I was deathly afraid of my face not hiding consequences from our coworkers.

Focus on your baseballs, asshole , I say to myself.

"How many of these are we making?" I ask when I can't stand myself any longer.

Sierra hums from deep in her throat and I don't know why suddenly that sound makes me boneless. I have to make a conscious effort to keep sitting upright.

"I'd say we should fill that whole box. With use, the felt will start peeling off and making the balls too hard to latch onto the velcro tree. "

"Makes sense. We do want people to win sometimes for it to be fun." I lean back against my couch. "How do we know this even works, though? Should we test it?"

Finally, for the first time since we started working on this, Sierra lifts her head and blinks up at me. "Oh, you're right. That's a good idea."

"Okay, to the shed." I smack my thighs and shift myself to stand. I pause at the door, grabbing my full winter gear because I'm pretty sure my nose hasn't lied to me. It's going to snow tonight and if not, pretty soon. The last thing I want is getting sick and leaving Sierra to pick up my slack so close to the freaking event.

Bundled up in scarves, beanies, gloves, and thick coats, we trudge through the gravel with the help of my camp flashlight. The frigid wind howls through the branches of the pines around them. Ahead of me, Sierra shivers and my free hand twitches. I stuff it in the pocket of my jacket to prevent it from reaching out again. I don't think she'd welcome me putting my arm around her, even if it's not for nefarious purposes.

"Hold this." I pass along the lantern to her so I'm the one working the latch and pushing the big door open.

Standing at the threshold, Sierra says, "Wait, this is kinda creepy. You didn't bring me here to murder me, right?"

"No, this isn't my murder barn. That one's deeper in the woods," I respond with a hefty dose of sarcasm.

With the weak light of the lantern, I locate the light switch and flip it on. The inside bathes in bright yellow light. There are a bunch of bags and boxes blocking the way to the massive velcro tree, and I push some of them out to the corner.

Meanwhile, Sierra turns off the lantern. "I admit it looks a lot less creepy now, thank you very much."

"Please, as if I'd ever hurt you." I'm only a teeny tiny bit hurt that she'd remotely consider that notion .

Her eyes flash to me for a second. "You do routinely kill trees, though."

"That's only because I can't shoot pucks at someone's face anymore." I sigh and stretch out my hand. "Pass a ball."

She fishes around the plastic bag hanging from her hand that carries some of our creations, and lobs one at me. After catching it, I take a glance around to see what the best distance would be.

Earlier in the afternoon, I finally contracted the carpenters who will build the booths for our event in record time—thanks to paying them double for the effort. That included sharing a blueprint of their dimensions and look that Sierra and I put together last weekend, so the measurements are still fresh in my mind. I walk around the tree and all the debris around it and it checks out with what I expect the size of the booth to be. Next, the booths will be propped up against the wall in the hallway bordering the ice rink, and people will basically have to use the remaining width for the throw, which is about where I stand now.

I throw the ball and it slides off the curvature of the tree, falling to the floor without mercy.

I stand there, blinking, heat rushing up my neck.

"Wow." Sierra sucks her lips in, as if to stop from laughing. "I thought you were an athlete, what the hell?"

"Of a different sport, okay? Watch me shoot a puck and see if you laugh." I fold my arms. "Why don't you try instead?"

"Fine." She takes another fake ornament and steps up closer to me, pushing the bag against my stomach until I grab it. "Step back."

"Good idea, I don't want to be pelted when you throw the ball backwards."

She sticks her tongue out at me, which is the most life I've gotten out of her since this morning. I make a point of standing as far to the side as I can, which gives me perfect view of Sierra shutting me the hell up.

Because she makes a perfect windup, the kind a professional baseball pitcher would do complete with leg raised high, torso twisting around, and her arm coming forward like a whip. The ball—I mean, the ornament—flies off the tip of her fingers as if she were controlling it with string. It smacks right into the tree with enough force for the impact to echo around the barn.

And of course it latches onto the velcro tree with no issue.

It all happens so fast that a microsecond later is when Sierra's foot falls back to the ground.

"What the hell just happened?"

Her shoulders start shaking with a quiet laugh. "Sorry, big guy. I was an athlete too."

"What? Why don't I know about this?"

"It's not a big deal. There was no pro future for me." She shrugs like it's no big deal. "I played softball up until college with a scholarship. Now the only action I get is the spring beer league at my neighborhood."

"But… that's amazing. You're amazing." I can't seem to close my mouth after that.

Even more shocking, her face warms up. "It looks cool but that was a really slow ball, just for the record."

"Who cares? You could probably kill someone with how heavy it is." I lift a hand to rub at my chest, right where my heart is throbbing harder than it ever has. One thing is finding my coworker attractive, quite another is to find her spectacular.

And that's what she is. Just the most outrageously hot woman I've ever met.

"Wanna throw again?" she asks, and everything about her glows right now. I don't know if it's because of the thrill of showing me up or if it's because I'm officially done for, and I don't care. I just want this moment to last forever .

"Yeah." I sound choked up and try to swallow it down. "But apparently you'll have to teach me how."

Sierra jerks her head at me to join her and I have to force myself not to run over like a lapdog wagging his tail. "Okay, all you have to do is throw with your legs instead of your arm."

"What?"

Her mouth opens and closes as she utters more words, and none of them get through my addled brain. The only things I can think of are how Gramps is right, and I can't let this woman pass me by. And second, I have no idea how I'm going to win her over. Should I just find excuses to flash my abs more? How did I ever date before?

"Conor, are you going to try?"

"Yes," I say with firmness. "Yes, I'm going to try very hard."

"Okay…" Her eyebrows twist as she steps away from me.

Right, the baseball. She wasn't talking about me trying to ask her out on a date. I'll do both, but for now only throwing a baseball well matters.

I don't do the fancy windup she did or anything, but I'm more conscious of my leg placement and how that propels the ball forward. It thwacks against the tree, teetering for a second while I hold my breath, but it stays put.

"Yeah!"

"That's what I'm talking about!"

We high five each other and I get the gift of her eyes crinkling at the corners with joy. Right now, she seems happier that she taught me something than a moment earlier when she left me in the dust.

Maybe she's warming up to me just a bit. Maybe there's hope.

Something catches my attention from above her head. Slowly, my lips stretch into a smile. "Look." I point behind her.

Sierra turns to face out of the barn door and as her eyes adjust to the dark outside, she gasps. "Oh, wow. You were right."

"What did I tell you? My nose doesn't lie."

I follow after her and we stand at the threshold, watching the delicate flurries of the first snow making their winding descent to the ground. The light from inside the barn makes them glint in an almost magical way.

Sierra's dark eyes are wide with wonder as she takes in the sight. "It's so beautiful."

"Yes." I'm staring at her instead, mesmerized. "Yes, it is."

I don't know if wishing on the first snow is a thing or not, but I send a wish up to the heavens that I get the chance to experience this with her again. And again.