Chapter 9

MATT

* * *

I stop just inside the door and assess the place that Darcy called Design Heaven and Ballplayer Hell. There are books upon books of fabric swatches, rows and rows of furniture samples, and more throw pillows than even Ashleigh could handle. The outer ring of the room is full of cabinets and a separate wall of nothing but cabinet handles. This warehouse is the size of a baseball field and is arranged in organized chaos. It's not a place for the faint of heart.

So, Darcy is partially correct. This place is my circle of hell. But when I look at her, she lights up with excitement. I smile at her and reach out for her hand. She gingerly puts her small hand in mine, glances down at our clasped hands, and gives me a questioning look.

"What? I don't want to get lost here. It looks like the labyrinth that housed the minotaur. It's scary." I give her an exaggerated shudder.

She rolls her eyes and pulls me toward the center of the warehouse with all the bookshelves and large tables. She points to a stool and tells me to sit. Like an obedient Labrador, I do. She pulls her computer out of her bag and opens up a complex spreadsheet.

"You did this?" A cover page summarizes approaching deadlines, compiling information from multiple tabs. It's quite an impressive project management file.

"Are you crazy? This is all Sammie. I'm terrified to use it, but she assures me it's Darcy-proof." She spins around slowly, getting her bearings. "I need to pick fabric for the duvets, and then we can walk around and look at furniture. Unless you want to wander on your own and make a short list."

"I'm not sure I'm qualified for that. I'll stick with you if that's okay."

"Suit yourself." She turns to the bookshelves and starts stacking them, creating a pile in front of me. The pile gets so high I lose her when she goes around to the other side of the table.

I shift in my seat to watch her handpick fabrics that seem different but somehow coordinate. She has a vision that I don't understand but appreciate, nonetheless. Once she decides on a piece of fabric, I enter the information into her spreadsheet, along with pricing, timelines, and each designated room.

My personal circle of hell isn't that bad after all. I'm amused as I watch her face light up, she squeals, and then holds the fabric to her heart. That's when I know she's found the perfect combination—her words, not mine. My chest warms watching her, and I wonder what else I can do to keep that smile on her face.

"I notice each room seems to have a name. Is this place so fancy that the guests will stay in named suites?"

She laughs, and it echoes in the large warehouse. "No, that's just my way of keeping each room straight. Chance wants this to be as much for his friends as for him. I'm kinda designing a room for each of them. When we met about his vision, he talked about it being a refuge for them to gather as a group or individually whenever they needed to relax or escape. He told me a little about his core group, and I asked a few questions about each. It might be a little ambitious, but I think they'll like it."

"Who are his core people?" I know a little about this circle of friends, but even less about Chance.

"Well, there's Julian Decker, his best friend, of course."

"Obviously. And I'll assume Alexander Decker, Ashleigh's other brother?" I quirk an eyebrow at her. Alexander is the General Manager of the Carolina Reapers and, technically, my boss. I'm represented by Julian Decker's sports agency, too. Yeah, this circle is one I'm all wrapped up in. Come into my parlor said the spider to the fly, I think to myself.

She nods. "Yep. Since the house has seven bedrooms, one will be for Ashleigh and Cole, too, a romantic space in a house full of testosterone. Trevor and Tripp each get a room, too. You know Trevor from Savannah?"

"Of course." Trevor is Alexander's best friend and owner of the Savannah Pajamas, a summer college league Cole and I played in for years. Trevor is a character, a modern-day P.T. Barnum of sorts, and my summers playing with the Pajamas are some of my most fond baseball memories. "But Tripp Stevenson?"

"Yeah, apparently, Chance and Tripp are tight. They support each other since their seasons don't overlap much. Chance is quite the baseball fan when he's not on the ice, regardless of what he may say." This time, she gives me a little wink, letting me know she's giving me privileged information.

Chance loves to cut on baseball players, and his chirp game runs deep. He has some good ones, and now I know why. Good information to file away for later.

"Hmph. Is that so? That's an elite circle."

"Yeah, it's a little intimidating. I'm more of a design-on-a-dime person. These guys have lots of dimes." I watch her confidence drop as she thinks about the money.

"Yeah, but at least from my interactions, they're down to earth. Flashy cars, maybe, but they aren't looking for that here, just comfort. Personal will mean so much to them. You're on the right track."

"You think so?"

"I do. So, let me guess, the reader's retreat? That's Julian's room?" He's an avid reader and started a book club with Ashleigh and her best friend, Emma. They're always talking about romance books and new authors they support.

She bounces excitedly. "Exactly! He enjoys unwinding with a good book, so I wanted his room to feel like a cozy reading nook. Maybe with a little spice." The twinkle in her eye has a hint of mischief.

"Ugh. Don't tell me you're a member of his Smutty Romance Book Club?"

"Um, how do you know about that?" Her blush darkens her cheeks.

"Cole's told me all about it." I laugh, remembering when I caught him reading some baseball romance book on his phone.

"Yeah, well, it's fun. And I prefer spicy, not smutty. Our book club Zoom calls are a blast. We even talk about the book a little. But we mostly drink and drool over the swoony book boyfriends. We're planning a book club and ski weekend in February. Maybe you should join us to learn about the fairer sex."

"Yeah, I'll pass. I don't need to get hot and bothered over a book."

How long has it been since I was hot and bothered? Yeah, it's been too long if I need to think about it. I haven't been with a girl in almost a year. Between baseball season and the move to Charleston, I've had little opportunity.

"Well, if you don't get hot and bothered, it's not spicy enough, now, is it?" Her innocent flirting is giving me a half-chub. She needs to stop, and I need to change the subject.

"So, each of the bedrooms has a theme. I like it. If you designed a room for me, what would mine be?" I say it before I catch myself. I'm not sure where this is coming from, but I want to know what she thinks of me.

"Your theme?" She twists her lips into a half grin while she thinks. "Well, definitely masculine. Nothing trendy. Solid furniture. But comfortable, you know. Like home. I'd fill it with memories for you. Maybe a picture wall of your family and friends? You value people and relationships above everything, even baseball. Even though they're intertwined, you'd see them as the same."

"Wow, Dr. Phil, that's deep. You think you have me figured out?"

She gives a slight shrug of her shoulders. "I've had years of practice."

That makes me pause. I've known Darcy most of my life. After all, she's Cole's little sister. But do I really know her? I know facts about her life. She's a senior, twenty-one, and her birthday is in December, right after Christmas, I think. She and Sammie are inseparable. She has style, and sometimes I don't like how guys look at her. But isn't that the big brother's best friend's role?

But do I know her? Have I really noticed her?

Of course, I noticed her. But now? I'm seeing her. And I like what I see. I've grown up around Darcy, but I've never spent this much time alone with her. She was always tagging along with Cole and me, or we were driving her and Sammie around to places because neither of them had cars. She was the giggling girl in the back seat, or the one cheering loudly from the stands. Not just for Cole, but for me, too. She was always there in the shadows. Now I see her in the light, and she's beautiful.

"What color?"

She's quick to answer. "I'd use forest green."

"Why?"

"Because it's your favorite color." She says it like a fact. Which it is.

"How do you know it's my favorite?"

She smirks and shrugs. "Practice."

I feel very humbled and ashamed I don't know these things about her. That's about to change.

"What's your favorite color?"

"Mine? Orange. The shade changes with my mood."

"What shade is your favorite right now?"

"Tangerine."

I'm unsure of the differences between tangerine, pumpkin, and crayon orange to take this further. "Why orange?"

"It's composed of red and yellow. It's a give-and-take color. Sometimes more vibrant, sometimes less. I adore the spectrum. It's less aggressive than red, but more expressive than yellow. It can be happy, bold, vibrant, or more subdued."

"Wow, I never knew there was so much thought into color."

"There's a whole psychology around it. How it impacts moods, how it makes us feel. You can tell a lot about a person by their favorite color."

"Is that so? What does green say about me?"

"Well, generally, green ties to nature. But in your case, I think it's tied to the baseball diamond. It's also calming, invokes memories, and represents relationships. All qualities that are very Matt."

"I never thought about it like that, but maybe you're right. Green can also be about greed and money. Maybe I'm just a money-grubbing guy." Her insights about me are humbling, and a little unsettling.

She laughs like I just said the dumbest thing ever. "True, it can represent money, but you're not about money. If you were, you'd have bought an expensive new car by now. No, that's not you. Green has its emotional ties. Like you can also be green with envy or jealousy. So, tell me, Matt, are you a jealous guy?" She says this with a twinkle in her eye and a knowing smile.

Her hazel eyes captivate me. Those might be my favorite shade of green now.

I think about what she said for a moment. I'd describe myself as laid-back and easygoing. I'm the caretaker of the group. But am I jealous? My initial answer is no. Then, I think about how I felt when I saw Darcy and Chance together. What was that emotion?

Something about this conversation with Darcy makes me feel the need to confess.

"I can be about some things. You're right. Relationships mostly. As much as I like Ashleigh, I was a little jealous of her hold on Cole at first. But it's complicated. Because I want nothing but the best for him. And trust me, that girl is the best thing in his life. When I was with Penny, I didn't like other guys looking at her. I guess that's jealousy?"

"I'd say a little less jealousy and a little more protective of relationships. But yeah, I can see that about you. You value people, and it shows." She's looking at me like she's unlocking all my secrets. I can't let her unlock the deepest and darkest secret I have. I'm starting to like her. Maybe more than a brother's best friend should.

"Well, this therapy session just got deep and slightly uncomfortable. What do I owe you for your services, ma'am?" I give her a quick smile to lighten the mood and take a drink from my water bottle to break the connection.

She wiggles her eyebrows in an attempt to be seductive. "Let's go test mattresses?"

I spit water across the table, garnering glares from several people around us. "Excuse me?!"

Her laughter is louder this time, and the others return to their discussions, giving us scathing looks before they do.

"Come on, silly, let's go pick out furniture." She grabs me by the arm and pulls me off the stool.

After what seems like an eternity, we select furniture for most of the house. I'm chilling in a recliner with more options than a spaceship.

"I think you need a few of these." I turn the massage option on, and my body melts into the leather. "Trust me. Nothing feels better than a massage after a workout."

"Noted. Let's get, um, two or four?" She pictures the space and screws her mouth up as she thinks. I can practically see the wheels turning. "Two, I think. There needs to be room for the sectional and the big chairs, too."

"Two it is." I enter the information into her order sheet. "This is fun spending Chance's money." Someday, I hope I'm signing the big contract, too.

Darcy chews on her bottom lip. "Did I say something wrong?" Her face has worry lines between her brows. I start to reach out to rub them away and catch myself mid-reach. I let my hand rest on the arm of the recliner instead.

"No. It's just so much money. What if he doesn't like it? My god, what am I thinking? I can't do this." She sinks into the chair beside me and buries her face in her hands.

I lean over, turn her massage chair on, and let it work its magic. I reach over and hold her hand. Her tiny fingers grip mine, and I relax into the comfort of it. Honestly, it's more relaxing than the expensive massage chair.

"Darce, look at me." She peeks at me through her fingers. "You're a natural at this. I love what you've done, and I haven't seen the finished product. It's amazing. And Chance has more money than you can imagine. That lucky bastard just signed a sweet three-year contract worth over fifty mil, so stop looking at the price tags. He wants you to do this, and he'll be blown away. It will be a show stopper, which he asked for."

"You think so?" Her voice is small. The confidence she had earlier is stripped away.

I kiss the back of her hand. My lips on her skin send a spark through my body, warming my chest. When her eyes meet mine, a look of surprise crosses her face. I meant the gesture to be reassuring, comforting. It has the opposite effect on me. If anything, it makes me uncomfortable in a warm, gooey kind of way. Again.

I give her a rally smile, the one I use when the team is behind and has one inning to win the game. "I fucking know so. Come on, hotshot designer." I pull her up from the chair, and my brute strength forces her into my chest. I look down at her and take a step back. "Let's finish up here and grab some food. I need to keep you fed so you can continue being brilliant."

"Hey," she says hesitantly. "Thanks, Matt."

"For what?"

"For, just, um, everything." She hugs her bag to her chest and walks towards the front doors.

When she's a few feet away, I whisper, "No, Darcy, thank you."