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“Did you have fun?” I ask her, and she nods.
“Yes. When Millie brought it up, I told her I couldn’t miss this guy they both can’t shut up about.”
Millie and Noah both hiss at her.
“Mom.”
“Mimi.”
“Both?” I repeat with an interested tip of my head.
Shannon nods. “Neither of them will stop talking about you. Austin said I’m a good pitcher. Austin has the ninth-fastest arm in the league. Austin is so generous. Austin is so handsome.”
“Mimi!”
“Mom!”
I skim my tongue over my upper lip before biting it, killing my growing grin. “Well, your grandson is a good player, and your daughter has been a big help.”
Shannon smiles. It’s so much like Millie’s, it actually knocks me back a step. “I’m glad you three found each other. Sounds like that clinic was meant to be.”
“Yes, yes, thank Mother Mary, let’s go. We’ve got to go.” Millie doesn’t meet my eyes as she navigates her mother’s wheelchair expertly. “Noah’s got to get to bed. Okay. Bye-bye. See you later, Austin. Come on, Noah. Say goodbye, Mom.”
Shannon waves over her shoulder at me. “Hopefully we can meet again.”
Noah points to my signature on his shirt. “Thanks again. You’re awesome, even if you do yell a lot. I don’t think you’re crazy.”
“Yeah, thanks, kid.” I watch them all walk away from me, but something has me jogging after them. “Hey, wait.”
Millie turns, finally bringing her eyes to mine. “Yeah?”
“Can you video some of the game tomorrow for me? So I can see it?” I tilt my chin down to Noah. “I’m rooting for you.”
Noah grins. Shannon gasps in delight. Millie’s eyes soften as she nods. “Yes, of course.”
I give Noah a fist bump. “See you later, kid. Mrs. Sheehan, I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.” Then, finally, to Millie, I point to her jersey—my jersey. “Looks good on you.”
CHAPTER 10
MILLIE
The drive to Noah’s game was only an hour, but I heard other parents say sometimes the team will travel to tournaments and games three or four hours away. And all I kept thinking was… He’s ten. These are children.
Noah loves baseball, and I’m so grateful he’s been gifted with whatever genetic combination makes him good at it, but watching the adults gossip and plan future teams scares me.
I don’t fit in with them—no surprise—but they’ve accepted Noah, probably because he’s so good. It has nothing to do with me or the political games I don’t know how to play. I don’t have money, and I don’t care to be friends with these people. I was worried that would reflect poorly on Noah, but so far, so good. He’ll stay on the team as long as he keeps playing well—and I can keep paying.
Which I can because of Austin Ashwood and the ridiculous “job” he’s given me. I don’t know why he feels the need to employ me, but I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Although, it does make me feel a bit pervy to be lusting after my boss. I have to remind myself of that fact when I’m in his presence, with his shaggy hair and muscles and distractingly sexy scowl.
Until he raises his two-toned eyes up to the ceiling, coming up with his latest errand. I may be autistic, but I’m not dumb, and it’s clear he didn’t really need a personal assistant. He’s literally making up my job as he goes along. Giving me a list of tasks that make no sense because why would he care about having the clothing in his closet color-coded or the condiments in his refrigerator in alphabetical order?
Don’t get me wrong, I love organizing. I find the act of putting things in order calming, but that man does not care about fashion and barely eats at home. He’s only giving me these assignments because he doesn’t actually need me to accomplish anything. He barely gets mail and isn’t active on social media. He doesn’t have any kind of “social calendar” or even have a calendar, period. He’s throwing random things my way so he has an excuse to pay me an exorbitant amount of money to hang out with Harold for a few minutes every day.
It’s been an adjustment, seeing the numbers in my bank account. To go from worrying about paying off the mortgage to being able to buy Noah name-brand cereal. I’ve been struggling for so many years to get by that I don’t know what to do now that I have leisure money and time.
We were never rich, but I grew up solidly middle class, with my dad working as an electrician and my mom a librarian. They both come from big Irish families, and we had help if we needed it, but after Dad died and Mom was diagnosed with her cancer, it’s been nearly impossible to stay afloat. Because while it’s been nice to have Aunt Ellen drop off food, or Uncle Kevin doing my oil changes for free, or my cousins babysitting so I could work overtime, it only saved me until the next month.
When we’d do it all over again.
