Scarlett
The baseball house hasn’t changed a bit—same peeling paint on the siding, same crooked floorboards, same porch swing.
The chains are rustier now, and it still hasn’t been given a new coat of paint, but it’s swaying back and forth with the breeze, sturdy and inviting as it ever was.
I plop down on it, feet dangling. Give it a push, letting it glide me back and forth. Take a sip from my water bottle just as a group of co-eds climb the wooden stairs, their tight leggings and Iowa crop tops a stark contrast to my outfit: blue jeans and a fitted black and yellow Wade #8 baseball jersey.
Sterling had it custom made for me so I’d be a better WAG (I had to google it after all, not knowing that it meant wives and girlfriends of athletes), and his were all too large for me.
When he got drafted—sixth round, to the Diamondbacks—he had one of those jerseys made for me, too.
That’s where we ended up: Arizona.
Farther from water than I was before, but Sterling bought us the sweetest little house with beautiful mountain views, a pool, and giant king-sized bed. I managed to land a job at the new aquarium they built in Phoenix, three years old, full of state-of-the-art lab equipment, and some of most beautiful saltwater fish I’ve ever seen.
Life is good.
I love my job, but not nearly as much as I love him, so when I can travel to his away games during the season, I do, not wanting to become so independent I lose sight of what we’re working toward.
Us.
I pull my warm coat tighter around my body, enjoying the cool breeze kicking, when a familiar face walks past the porch from the side yard.
“Hey sweetie, where have you been?”
Sterling’s face is older now and every bit as handsome, the Arizona sun having bronzed it to perfection. “I was just about to come looking for you.”
“What are you still doing out here alone? I thought everyone went inside?” And I was here, waiting for him.
“Waiting for you, I guess.” I give the swing another push with the toe of my boot. “Enjoying the quiet.”
“You weren’t inside cock blocking any of the youngsters inside, were you?” Sterling teases. “Ben didn’t try to kick you out for old times’ sake, did he?”
“Ben’s blacklisting days are over, honey.”
Because Sterling and I are legendary now.
Everyone on campus eventually heard our story, how I was brought onto the porch for driving his friends crazy, how I came back the next Friday, and the Friday after that…
And, every once in a while, Sterling will get a message from Ben Wilson—the colossal asshole who wanted me gone, who’s now taking credit for our relationship. Ben isn’t playing baseball professionally, but he’s living with a girl he met at the house on Jock Row. Felicity showed up to one of their ridiculous parties wearing a turtleneck and blue jeans, finished the punchline to his terrible pick-up line before he could, and called him a douchebag to his face.
The rest, as they say, is history.
Ben took one look at her and fell hard.
“You’re out here because it’s quiet?” His brows go up.
The music inside is blasting and the place is packed, full of drinking games and shouting, drunk, cheering voices.
My mouth quirks. “You know what I mean.” I’ve never been wild about hanging out inside. Even though at homecoming there are just as many alums as collegians, which evens out the underage drinking ratio considerably in the right direction.
Something about this porch is everything I need.
Sterling wipes the palms of his hands on the dark denim of this thighs, taking the seat beside me on the swing. Wipes his hands again, resting them on his knees—his bouncing knees.
It creaks under his solid, 220-pound weight and sudden fidgeting.
My brow creases, but I say nothing.
“Feels good to be back, doesn’t it?”
“Sure.” But I don’t miss it as much as I thought I would when we left, probably because we’re together. And Sterling Wade is the funniest, sexiest, sweetest man. And he’s mine.
“Do you remember…” Sterling begins. “When I said I’d buy this house and rip the porch off? I said I’d bring it with us when we had our own place.”
I smile at the memory. “I remember.”
“I was an idiot.” He laughs nervously. “You can’t buy a front porch.”
No, you can’t. Not unless you’re crazy.
“But…” He nods decisively. “There are other things you can do.”
I cock my head to the side. “Like what?”
“I have something to show you.”
As he reaches behind us and plucks a manila envelope from the railing, the music cuts off inside the house, the raucous noise dying down by decibels. The evening suddenly becoming tranquil.
So strange.
I hadn’t seen the envelope when I sat down earlier, but Sterling is peeling open the seal and tugging out its contents. Lifts out a rectangular, gold-plated plaque.
Hands it to me.
I tilt it so it catches enough of the dim light to read:
IN THIS SPOT, U OF I SHORTSTOP STERLING “ROWDY” WADE (CLASS OF ’18) MET AND FELL IN LOVE WITH SCARLETT REGINA RIPLEY
“What is this?”
Sterling clears his throat. “They’re hanging it out here, next to the front door.”
The plaque is suspended between my hands, the metal shiny and new. Symbolic.
“The guys are going to hang it out here?” I look down at the inscription again, biting down on my bottom lip. My god he’s adorable. “This is seriously the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”
I adore him and his sweet, sexy face.
I twist my torso, clasping my hands behind his thick neck, planting my mouth firmly on his. Whisper, “You’re the most handsome man on this earth, and I swear I could eat you up.”
Sterling gently removes my hands from around his neck. Stands. Takes a deep breath, facing me as I rock back and forth on the swing.
“Never have I ever…” Drops to his knee. “Been down on one knee.”
I roll my eyes; what an odd thing to say. “What are you doing on the ground?”
Instead of standing like I expect him to, he inhales a deep, steely breath. When he speaks, it’s raspy. “Scarlett, I love you.”
I nod, frowning. “I love you, too.”
The giant hands that were all over my body this morning, making me moan, are reaching into the pocket of his Diamondbacks team jacket, large fingers holding a black velvet box.
Breathing escapes me.
“Never have I ever been this nervous since the season opener,” he jokes, voice croaking, sounding terrified.
Sterling might be intimidating to most people—an imposing, beautiful ass—but he’s the most romantic soul I’ve ever met.
His head is bowed, breathing unsteady. Blows out a shuddery breath as those mammoth hands shake, cracking open the lid, fingers trembling; a sparkling solitaire diamond ring sits on a bed of satin, twinkling under the dim lights of the porch.
“Never have I ever been engaged to be married.”
My own palm covers my mouth—just like in the movies—my wobbly legs holding the swing steady.
“I loved you from the minute I laid eyes on you, Scarlett. I love you, so I’m asking you here, in front all of these witnesses…” He gestures toward the house, where an entire party full of people have their faces pressed against the glass of the living room window.
Laughter bubbles up inside my stomach.
“Would you rather suffer a lifetime without me or marry me and be my wife?”
I drop down on my knees beside him. “I want to marry you and be your wife.”
When our foreheads press together, Sterling snaps the velvet ring box and lets it fall to the ground, cupping my face. Kissing me senseless on the front porch where we met.
He gasps then says, “Let’s get married right here.”
I pull a face. “Uh, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We have plenty of time to figure it out.”
“Come on, honey, it would be so fun.”
Yeah—for him and his baseball buddies.
Someone inside bangs on the window, and we look up to see Ben Wilson waving at us. “What did she say?!” he shouts through the glass.
Sterling looks at me, fumbles and feels around on the ground for the ring. Plucks it up and re-opens the box, removing the pretty little ring nestled inside.
Slides it onto my fourth finger.
I turn it this way and that, letting it catch the light as we both admire how perfectly it fits.
He clasps my hand and holds it up for everyone in the house to see. “She said fuck yeah!”
Unruly cheers erupt and the music explodes back on, blasting louder than it was before, booze flowing freely. I watch as someone shakes a gilded champagne bottle, pops the cork, and detonates it over the entire crowd dancing in the center of the room.
Oh jeez.
I eye the scene dubiously. “That floor is going to collapse into the basement.”
“Yeah, maybe we shouldn’t rush inside just yet.”
He’s so very wise.
And so very mine.
Forever.
“We like it better out here anyway,” I point out. “In our spot.”
We lean into each other again, lips touching. “I love you so fucking much.”
“I love you too.”
“Plus, you’re the best lay I’ve ever had.”