The Perfect Game

“That’s what I’m talking about!” I chuckled.



“Let’s set a date though, okay?”



“Okay,” I conceded, pouring the boiling water and pasta into a strainer in the sink, the steam rising around my face.



“Tonight.” His voice echoed as he walked toward the calendar on the wall.



“So pick a date.”



“And you’ll make sure you’re not on assignment?” He raised an eyebrow.



“Jack.” I grabbed a jar, pouring the contents into a bowl and stirring before I continued. “Pick a date and I’ll tell the office on Monday.” His expression softened with my words.



He flipped the calendar to November before muttering to himself, “November has Thanksgiving, and then December is Christmas. No one wants to have to go to a wedding during the holidays. I think we should wait until after New Year’s. What do you think about a January wedding?”



He glanced over, his hand still holding the calendar. “January sounds cold.” I shivered over-dramatically to make my point.



“Not if we get married back home,” he suggested, as if it was the most obvious plan in the world.



“Yay!” I squealed, delighted at the thought. “January sounds totally doable then! I love January.”



“Alright, woman, you become a Carter on January twelfth.” His dimples deepened as his smile widened.



I glanced down at my ring, its brilliance losing focus as my eyes blurred with an unexpected tear. “Cassie Carter. I like the sound of that.”



“Kitten Carter. I like the sound of that better,” he said, as I placed two plates on our table.



“January twelfth,” I repeated, watching as his eyes relaxed with the permanence of our decision. I smiled as I scooped out a heaping serving of pasta and placed it on Jack’s plate.



Jack twirled the pasta against his spoon before looking up and smiling at me. “I love you.”



“I love you too.”



“I can’t wait to knock you up and have a whole team of little baseball players running around this place!” He reached under the table and rested his hand on my thigh, then slid it upwards teasingly.



“Slow down, Mr. Carter!” I swatted his shoulder.



“Aw, come on, Kitten. Let’s start now.” He badgered me good-naturedly, sensing my discomfort.



“That’s a discussion for another time. Like after we’re married,” I insisted as warmth coursed through my cheeks.



“Alright. On January thirteenth, we’ll start making babies.”