Homestands (Chicago Wind #1) Read Free

arm, eyes shining. “We can remodel the kitchen.”
    Ben let out a laugh. Of course she’d say that, always the chef. As long as her incredible meals kept coming, he’d let her spend as much as she wanted building her dream kitchen. “Whatever you want, Dana.”
    She squealed and clapped her hands, bouncing like a blonde cheerleader. “I’ll start designing tonight.”
    Not if he had anything to say about it. He nodded at the rosebush. “Can we plant this first?”
    “I guess my dream kitchen can wait until after dinner. Where do you think, Ben? This side?” She slid the plant across the ground. “Or this side?”
    “Back this way. There’s more house for the flowers to cover.”
    She dragged the rose back and toyed with it until she was happy with its position.
    “Here.” He held out the Home Depot bag. “Put these gloves on while I get the shovel.”
    He counted his steps toward the garage, heart pounding again. One, two, three, four. Did she have the gloves on? He looked over his shoulder.
    She knelt on the ground beneath the window, one glove already on. She reached for the second.
    Ben held his breath as she put her hand in.
    A frown covered her face, and she tipped the glove. “Something’s in here—”
    The ring spilled onto her gloved palm, the one carat solitaire sparkling in the sunlight.
    She stared openmouthed, and Ben ran to her, falling to his knees beside her. Say yes , he begged silently.
    Tears streamed down her cheeks.
    His jaw locked, as tightly as when he’d seen the cop behind him. He’d been so sure this time. “Dana, listen—”
    “Yes.” The word was half sob, half laugh.
    Ben stared at her until her meaning dawned on him, filling him with relief, then confidence. Yes, this was right. Dana understood him like no one else ever had. They were made for each other, for always. Ben slipped the ring on her finger.
    What a relief that cop hadn’t ruined the day.

Chapter Three
    He’d lost the stupid card.
    Mike froze on the top step of the Chicago Wind’s dugout, ignored the fans yelling his name, and dug through his back pocket. Empty. He slipped his fingers into the other pocket. Was there a hole big enough for Meg’s business card to slide through?
    Memory returned. His shoulders slumped. After batting practice, he’d tucked the card into a dark corner of his locker so he could forget about it until after the game.
    Lot of good that had done.
    He jogged toward teammates doing last-minute stretches in shallow left field. The card had barely left his hands in the days since Sara had given it to him. He’d played with the top right corner so much that it had worn off a week ago. He’d even entered Meg’s number into his phone.
    Then deleted it.
    The only thing he hadn’t done was drive past her office. He drew the line at that. There was no point in contacting Meg. None at all. She was probably married and had five kids.
    How ironic would that be?
    Slowing to a walk, he glanced around the packed stadium, at the fans wearing short sleeves due to an unusually warm April day. Their hopeful faces told him they actually thought this team might make the playoffs.
    If only he believed it. Better yet, if only he could get another opening day on life. Maybe a rainout with a chance to replay his thirty years rested and prepared after learning from all of his mistakes.
    Another chance to do right by Meg, by himself.
    There was no point, though, in dwelling on the impossible. Hope might spring eternal for this franchise, but for him? He focused on the thick green grass beneath his feet and breathed in the scent of spring on Lake Michigan’s shore—clean, fresh, unspoiled. He scowled. Clean and unspoiled—that hadn’t described him in years.
    So what?
    Mike stopped walking, squared his shoulders.
    So what was right. What was wrong with him? He didn’t need to see Meg to get a fresh start on life. He could make his own opening day right here, right now.
    He nodded to himself. Fine. As