22. Aubrey

22

Aubrey

Sitting in the common room of the Airbnb, a few other guests chatting nearby around coffee, my phone buzzes with a text from Jake. Attached is the cutest picture of Luke and Violet, our kiddos looking like they're plotting to take over the world, one adorable scheme at a time. It's the kind of photo that makes you want to rush home and hug them, but duty calls. Jake's on Luke-watching duty while I play career matchmaker for my latest client.

I pull up the client's file on my laptop, a sea of tabs open to various stats, background info, and the occasional cat video—because balance is key. Chris Barker, the guy in question, is a minor-league baseball player with a swing that could give Babe Ruth a run for his money and a heart just as big.

He's the real deal, folks—charitable deeds that would make Mother Teresa nod in approval, and a backstory that's straight out of a tear-jerker screenplay. Both parents out of the picture early, raised by a saint of a grandmother until fate pulled a fast one on him at eight, leaving him navigating the maze of foster care.

Now, my mission, should I choose to accept it (and oh, I've accepted it alright), is to shine a spotlight on Mr. Baseball here, to craft a public persona so irresistible that the Majors can't help but sign him up. Not just because he's got talent—though, let's be real, the guy's a human highlight reel—but because his story is the kind that inspires, the kind that makes you believe in the power of resilience and the magic of swinging for the fences, both metaphorically and literally.

As I'm jotting down notes and brainstorming angles that'll make even the most cynical sports writer sit up and take notice, my mind can't help but wander back to Jake's text. Luke and Violet, two peas in a very chaotic pod, represent the kind of story I'm trying to tell for my client—one of overcoming, of finding family in unexpected places, of being more than your circumstances.

It's a reminder, amidst the hustle of PR strategies and brand building, of why I do what I do. Because behind every headline, every stat, there's a human story waiting to be told. And if I can help share those stories, maybe, just maybe, I can make a little bit of a difference.

I glance back at the picture on my phone, a smile tugging at my lips. My family, my chaos, my heart—they're the reason I strive, the reason I believe in second chances and happy endings. And as I dive back into my work, I carry that belief with me, ready to pitch a narrative so compelling, the Majors won't know what hit 'em.

As I’m strategizing over my laptop, the front door swings open and in strides what can only be described as the epitome of an old-school heartthrob. He's got that tall, lean physique that screams athlete, with a side of James Dean vibes thanks to the casually tousled hair and a smile that could light up the entire field at night. He extends a hand, all gentlemanly charm.

"Hi, I'm Chris Barker," he introduces himself, the warmth in his voice wrapping around the name like it’s a gift.

I take his hand, noting the firm grip that somehow manages to be both reassuring and a tad thrilling. "Aubrey Lane. Pleasure's all mine," I manage to say, feeling like my IQ drops a few points because, wow, those eyes.

We settle into the business at hand, but not before I catch that unmistakable flicker of interest in his gaze. Is he flirting? No, Aubrey, focus. I mentally scold myself, feeling like the world’s biggest egomaniac.

"So, Chris, let's talk strategy. Your journey is more than just runs and RBIs. It's about the heart behind the glove," I start, launching into my spiel about blending his athletic prowess with his off-field humanitarian efforts.

He nods, leaning in, the table somehow feeling too big and too small all at once. "I like where you're heading. But how do we make sure the message resonates? I want people to see the passion, not just the stats."

His earnestness catches me off guard. "Well, we start with your story. The resilience, the dedication. We showcase the man who plays not just for the love of the game, but for the community that supports him."

Chris smiles, that killer smile, and I’m momentarily distracted. "That sounds perfect. I’ve always believed in giving back, making a difference. It’s not just about baseball for me; it’s about using the platform for something bigger."

As we dive into the meat of our meeting, the air between us crackles with creative energy. Chris leans forward, his eyes alight with ideas and a passion that's palpable.

"So, for the community projects, I was thinking something along the lines of 'Barker's Bases for Kids.' You know, a program where kids can learn baseball directly from local players," Chris suggests, his enthusiasm infectious.

I nod, scribbling down notes. "I love it. It's personal, engaging, and ties directly back to you. Plus, it offers a great photo op and story for the press. How about charity events? Any particular causes close to your heart?"

Chris pauses, his gaze drifting as he considers. "Well, given my background, I've always wanted to do more for kids in foster care. Maybe we could set up an event, 'Home Runs for Hope,' where every home run during a specific game raises money for local foster care organizations?"

The idea strikes a chord, and I can't help but smile at the depth of his commitment. "Chris, that's brilliant. It's heartfelt, it connects with your personal story, and it's exactly the kind of narrative that will resonate with both fans and the community. We'll get some great coverage out of that."

He grins, pleased with the direction we're heading. "What about PR angles for the press? Any thoughts on how we can frame these initiatives?"

I lean back, tapping my pen against my chin thoughtfully. "We pitch your story as a journey of resilience and giving back. Highlight how baseball provided you with a path and now you're using your platform to pave the way for others. It's a story of hope, determination, and the power of community. We'll get you some interviews, maybe even a feature piece to delve deeper into your motivations."

Chris's face lights up with a genuine smile. "Aubrey, I knew you were the right person for this job. This...all of this sounds exactly like what I've been hoping to achieve. I can't thank you enough for helping bring this vision to life."

As we wrap up, I can’t help but feel invigorated by the project ahead. "Chris, working with you is going to be a home run," I say, packing up my things.

He laughs, the sound as warm as the afternoon sun. "With you at the helm, I have no doubts. Let’s make this season about more than just baseball."

As we're winding down our brainstorming session in the cozy Airbnb nestled on the ranch, Chris pushes back from the table, a thoughtful expression on his face. He wanders over to the window, taking in the expansive view of green fields and the distant outline of horses grazing. "You know, I hardly ever get to enjoy the great outdoors with my schedule. Mind if we take this discussion for a walk?" he asks, turning that killer smile my way.

"Sure, sounds perfect. The fresh air might just spark more ideas," I reply, closing my laptop with a sense of anticipation.

As we step outside, the beauty of the ranch unfolds around us, a peaceful backdrop to our ongoing discussion. Chris, ever the charmer, doesn't miss the opportunity to sprinkle our conversation with flirtatious compliments. "You know, Aubrey, I think this ranch suits you. There's something about the open space that matches your energy—vibrant and boundless."

I laugh it off, tossing back a playful retort. "Is that your way of saying I'm a breath of fresh air, or just really good at filling the space with my ideas?"

He grins, clearly enjoying the banter. "Definitely the former, though the latter isn't far off."

Our light-hearted exchange is interrupted by the sound of small footsteps on the grass. Luke emerges from the house, his eyes widening as he takes in Chris's towering presence. "Wow, you're tall!" Luke exclaims, his curiosity piqued by our new visitor.

“Chris, meet my kid, Luke.”

Chris bends down to Luke's level, his demeanor instantly warm and welcoming. "Hey there, champ. You think I'm tall, huh? How would you like to see the ranch from up high?" he offers, gesturing to his shoulders.

Luke's face lights up with excitement. "Yes, please!" Without hesitation, Chris hoists Luke onto his shoulders, steadying him with a practiced ease that speaks to a genuine fondness for kids.

As we continue our walk, with Luke perched high above us, offering a running commentary on everything he sees, I'm struck by Chris's ease and genuine kindness. It's a side of him that's utterly disarming and only adds to his appeal.

We meander through the ranch, talking about everything from baseball to the simple joys of spending a day outdoors. Chris listens intently to Luke's observations from his elevated vantage point, engaging with him in a way that's both charming and heartwarming.

Under the canopy of an almost comically perfect afternoon, Luke's conducting his "tour" from Chris's shoulders, pointing out every bug and blade of grass with the enthusiasm of a seasoned nature guide. Just as Chris slides in with his smooth invitation for a night out, I'm about to clarify the whole "I'm actually taken" detail when our family's very own Grumpy Cat, aka Sean, rolls up.

Sean emerges from his car with a cloud of crankiness that's practically visible, like Pig-Pen's dust cloud but with 100% more scowl. He marches over, his mood practically thundering with each step. "Who the hell is this?" he asks, with the kind of frostiness that could give the Arctic a run for its money.

"Chris Barker," Chris says, tipping an imaginary hat like the gentleman he is, all while shooting me a look that says, "Oops, did I step into a family sitcom?"

And there I am, caught between my hunky client and my even hunkier husband, feeling a bit like the lead in a romantic comedy, sans the laugh track. "Chris is a client," I start, "and Luke is giving him the grand ranch tour. Right, buddy?" I say, casting a lifeline smile down to Luke, who's blissfully oblivious to the grown-up undercurrents.

As the tension subtly shifts, Chris gently lowers Luke to the ground, offering a warm smile to the little guy who's been quite the tour guide. "Hey, champ, thanks for the grand tour. You're quite the explorer," Chris says, ruffling Luke's hair affectionately before turning his attention to the adults in this slightly awkward tableau.

"Sean, Aubrey," Chris starts, addressing both with a respectful nod, "I apologize if I stepped into a family moment. Aubrey, I'll be in touch to set up our next appointment. We've got some great ideas brewing, and I'm looking forward to seeing where we can take them."

His tone is apologetic, yet there's a smooth grace to his exit that hints at a professional understanding of the situation. "It was great meeting you, Sean. And Aubrey, thanks for the insightful conversation today. I'm really excited about the work we're doing."

He then gives a final, friendly wave to Luke, who's already looking around for his next adventure, oblivious to the grown-up dynamics at play. "Take care, everyone," Chris adds, before making his tactful retreat, leaving a slight breeze of relief in his wake.

As Luke dashes off, his giggles echoing down the path, the mood shifts from 'picture-perfect family moment' to 'we need to chat, like, yesterday.' I turn to Sean, planting my hands on my hips in my best "We're not in Kansas anymore" stance.

"Okay, Sean, we need to unpack what just went down," I begin, trying to keep the irritation from boiling over as I step closer to him. "That whole 'who's this guy' act in front of Luke? Not cool. Actually, it was about as far from cool as you can get. What were you thinking?"

Sean, arms folded like he's bracing for a snowstorm in July, looks about as thrilled as a cat in a bathtub. His jaw ticks - a telltale sign I'm getting under his skin. "Aubrey, come on. How was I supposed to know the guy was a client?" He shifts his weight, defensive stance matching his tone, and leans against the wall like he needs the support. "What, should I have asked for his business card before I started questioning why some random guy was hanging around my—around the ranch?"

"Oh, that's rich coming from you," I snap, my laugh sharp enough to cut glass. "Because clearly, you're the authority on who gets to be here, right? I can't help but roll my eyes. "So your first thought is I'm hosting auditions for 'Aubrey's Next Top Romance' right here on the ranch?" The sarcasm is thick, my patience thin. My fingers drum against my hip as I wait for his response, already knowing it won't satisfy me. "Because obviously, that's what businesswomen do in their spare time."

He has the grace to look sheepish, but it's clear he's not ready to wave the white flag just yet. A muscle works in his jaw as he searches for words, his blue eyes darkening with what might be pain. "That's not what I'm saying, but from where I stood—"

I cut him off, spotting something more pressing than our little tiff. Sean's doing this subtle dance of discomfort, his hand ghosting over his shoulder like there's an invisible bee he's trying to shoo away. The movement is small, practiced - like he's trying to hide it, but I've spent too many years reading body language to miss it. Something's definitely wrong, and despite my anger, concern starts to edge its way in.

"Hold up, what's with the shoulder shimmy? You hurt?" I ask, my annoyance taking a backseat to concern.

"It's nothing," he mutters, too quickly, a clear sign in the universal language of 'It's Definitely Something.'

I narrow my eyes, my 'mom radar' going off. "You've been about as cuddly as a cactus since you got back. What's up with the shoulder?"

He's practically a fortress of denial. "Really, it's nothing. Just slept funny," he says, but the grimace that follows tells a tale of a very unfunny sleep.

"Sean," I press, hoping for a crack in the facade, "talk to me. We're supposed to be a team, remember?"

But no dice. He's retreating faster than a cat at a pool party, his voice edged with a mix of defiance and pain. "I've got it, Aubrey. Don't worry about it."

He stalks off, leaving me in a wake of worry and unanswered questions. I watch him go, the ranch suddenly feeling a tad too big, too quiet.

"Teamwork makes the dream work, Sean!" I call out, half-joking, fully concerned.

But he's gone, a shadow among the stables, and I'm left pondering the mystery of Sean Ice—man of mystery, husband with a hidden hurt.