My phone rings about the same time my doorbell dings. I check the caller ID and decide to give Rachel a call back later. She’s probably just checking in since I missed her at the firehouse for our usual night out enjoying a pork tenderloin sandwich. In my slow response to my doorbell, I hear it ding again.

Since I don’t often get visitors, I have yet to make a habit of checking the peephole. Hearing the bell again, I can’t help but be curious and start running a list of who might be standing on my doorstep instead of having fun at the festival going on at the square.

I turn the knob and gasp in surprise as I open the door. Once again face to face with the man who rocks my world, I stare back at him. He stands tall before me, this time in fitted jeans and a tight red T-shirt. He’s ditched the baseball cap, granting me an opportunity to fully explore his features and all the sandy-brown hair he usually has tucked away. A few inches of length moves gently with the wind, the sight teasing me to sift my fingers through. I imagine the strands are soft and in sharp contrast to the bed of fine whiskers framing the square jawline of his face. Taking him in, I tingle with a need to touch him.

Eventually, I lock in on his intense blue eyes. They’re centered below trimmed brows, glinting with what appears to be a flicker of hope. My heart hammers against my chest wall, nearly taking me down.

Taller than me, he dips his chin and cocks his perfectly symmetrical head. To my surprise, he lifts both brows, and brings an open hand into my sight. It’s as if he’s silently asking if it’s okay to take my hand. I don’t have a choice. My hand has a mind of its own and immediately finds his.

It’s rough in spots, but warm to the touch, and spurs tingles to race up my arm. I’m suddenly hot. And I can’t help but grin back when his nervous look turns into a smile.

“Hello.” He squeezes my hand. “I’m Ben Peterson. The jerk you met this morning.”

I let out a slight laugh, my body warming as Ben draws my left hand up to his lips. Soft and sensual, his kiss leaves an imprint on my skin where a part of me wishes he’d slip a ring up my finger.

“I’m sorry about earlier this morning.” He releases my hand and this time lifts a brown paper bag into my view. “I’m hoping we can start this whole day over. I brought kabobs and some lemonade I picked up at the square from one of the booths.”

“I totally get it. I can imagine that as a baseball player, you might see human basketballs as frightening creatures. Trust me. I understand.” I hitch a thumb over my shoulder and toss him a grin, catching an extra glint in his eyes as a broader smile lifts above his chin. “Come on in. I ate a little while ago. But I’ve found human-basketballs are full of energy and require lots of nutrition. So it’s not likely I’ll take a pass on your kabobs and certainly not freshly squeezed lemonade.”

“Good, because I’m starving.”

I bet he’s hungry. He’s a big guy. A physically built man who just finished a rather strange workout. I don’t know much about baseball, but what Ben was doing looked like some kind of baseball yoga. Watching him, I got the feeling that holding a balanced pause on one foot might be more difficult than Ben made it look.

His spine was straight. The muscles in his legs were tight. The six-pack he’s sporting made the entire drill look nice and easy. Then he went and ruined the pose by hurling that triple-digit number.

Ben shoots me a serious look as he enters my apartment. It makes me wonder if he caught me thinking about my visions of his package.

His hand grazes mine as I take the bag. “Addy?” The sad tone in his voice throws me off, cutting a direct path right to my heart.

I sit the bag on a barstool and turn to meet sad eyes. “Ben, are you okay?”

He nods and pulls me into a tight embrace. With my ear at his chest, I can hear his heart clipping away at a hefty pace. When I hold him back, he curls his fingers into my skin. It’s just forceful enough that if I hadn’t felt him do this once before I’d most certainly have let out a moan of pleasure.

“I don’t want to talk sports tonight. I want you to tell me about my baby.” He scoots back and takes my face in his hands, letting his glossy eyes pierce mine. “Please, Addy. Tell me everything. I feel like I’ve missed the most important six months of my life. Six precious months I’ll never get back.”

His weepy eyes break my heart. It’s not what I expected I’d see from him. After all, from what little I’ve read about him, he’s got a list of accomplishments stretching from the banks of the Ohio River all the way to Cooperstown, New York, where multiple publications report the Baseball Hall of Fame will one day house his name. My heart flutters, thinking about the fact that Ben has a sensitive side. But does he really want to be in our baby’s life? How could he? With such an arm, how could anything outside of baseball even matter to him?

I draw in a breath and prep for an evening I know will most likely end in disappointment. Ben’s a baseball player. He’s out of my league. And I won’t do anything to hinder the progress of his exceptionally remarkable career.

After all, I’m just a small-town girl. One who happened to have gotten herself knocked up by none other than MLB’s pitching sensation, Bentley Aaron Peterson.