The SEAL's Valentine

“For real?” She choked on a laugh.

He screwed in a support joist. “Why’s that so hard to believe?”

She twirled a dandelion she’d plucked from the yard. “Guess I never believed they existed outside of movies.”

“Yet you were married to a major league baseball player?”

Grinning up at him, she said, “I’ve met a hundred of those. Never met one SEAL.”

* * *

THE SECOND CAYDEN JUMPED OFF the school bus’s big bottom step, he ran across the front yard and into the house.

He dumped his book bag at the base of the stairs. “Mom!”

He ran calling from room to room, but didn’t find her—not even in the kitchen or bathroom.

She wasn’t dead, was she?

Ever since his dad died, he wondered what kept all of the other grown-ups alive. What if they all croaked? Who would make dinner and help with his baths and homework and tuck him into bed?

He dragged a chair from the kitchen table over to the counter where his mom kept the cookie jar. Climbing onto what his mom had called butcher-block wood, he grabbed three oatmeal cookies from the pig-shaped jar. He wished for chocolate chip, but ever since Mom said his baby sister was growing inside her, they had to be real healthy. That just made him hate his sister more.

The window over the kitchen sink was open.

A funny sound came from the backyard.

Still on the counter, he scooted to where he could see out the window and what he found almost made him fall. That big guy who’d saved his mom from the alligators was building his birthday fort!

Careful not to break his cookies, he grabbed one of his favorite Scooby-Doo granola bars from the cabinet and rolled onto his belly to get down, bumping open the back screen door with his butt. “Mom! It’s awesome!”

“Hey, sweetie.” When she gave him a big hug, he was so glad she wasn’t dead that he didn’t even squirm. “Remember Mr. Tristan from last night?”

“I don’t think we officially met.” The man held out his hand for Cayden to shake just like Cayden was a grown-up.

“Nice to meet you.” Cayden liked it when grown-ups didn’t treat him like a kid. He was getting awfully old. And once he had his birthday on Saturday he’d be seven. That was like super old. “Thank you for working on my fort. Mom kept saying she was gonna, but my baby sister makes her too tired.”

“You’re having a girl?” the big man—Tristan—said to Cayden’s mom. He had a kinda funny smile.

Cayden’s mom smiled, too. “I’m having a devil of a time coming up with a pretty name. Cayden, here, is supposed to be helping. But so far, all he’s come up with are Bug Guts Langtoine, Monkey Ears or Donkey Butt.” Wrinkling her nose, his mom said, “Not sure I like any of those.”

“I don’t know...” Tristan winked at Cayden. “I like Monkey Ears. Everyone knows all babies have them. My little sister does.”

“You have a sister?” Cayden and his mom asked at the same time.

She laughed.

So did Tristan. “I do. Her name’s Franny Newton. Once she married Mr. Newton, I started calling her Fig Newton. She’s a music teacher and lives all the way in Iowa with my brother-in-law, two nieces and nephew. My mom’s going to visit her in a few weeks.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “But my sister’s an awful cook, so I try not to go unless my mom makes me. Or, unless I have lots of Scooby-Doo granola bars like you have there.”

“You eat these, too?” Cayden laughed. “They’re for kids!”

“When I was a kid, I used to love Scooby-Doo.”

“That’s cool! But hey, we’ve got lots to eat besides granola bars. My mom’s a super good cooker. Wanna stay for dinner? She makes the best meat loaf in the whole, wide world!”

The grown-ups looked kind of funny at each other, then Tristan said, “Thanks. But I should get home to do my chores.”

* * *

“WHAT’S WRONG?” BRYNN ASKED Cayden after Tristan had left.

While she sat at one end of the table, snapping green beans, he sat at the other, completing his handwriting homework.

“I couldn’t get you to stop talking when we were outside, but now, you’re not saying a word.”

He shrugged.

“Is it because we’re having fish for dinner instead of meat loaf? I know you don’t like it, but I’ll make the homemade tartar sauce you love.”

“Why didn’t Tristan wanna stay for dinner? Is it because you cooked fish? Couldn’t you have please made meat loaf? Then, I know he would’ve stayed.”

“It’s not that easy.” Back aching, she stood, rinsing the beans at the sink before slipping them into the pan of water she’d already put on the stove to boil.

“Sure it is.” He put down his chubby pencil. “What’s the matter? Doesn’t he like me?”

“Sweetie, of course, he likes you.” She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Everyone loves you.”

“Not the baseball team.”

“That’s different,” she said, although to a kid, she could see how the issue might be confusing.

“Nobody loves me,” he cried. “Not Coach Jason or Tristan or especially Dad!”

When he ran off toward the stairs, clomping up to his room, Brynn knew she should’ve followed, but truthfully, she was too exhausted.

* * *

ONCE AGAIN, THOUGH TRISTAN wanted nothing to do with kids, as they only reminded him of Jack, that night he found himself back at the ballpark, surrounded.

He’d helped Jason set out the bases and chalk the field.

They now stood side by side while the team completed laps and circuit calisthenics. The sky was an angry, tumultuous gray, but the official rule book read if thunder was heard or lightning seen, then coaches stopped play. Since the guys needed practice, until the weather turned officially ugly, it was game on.

Jason leaned against the trunk of the big oak that’d been growing in the outfield for so long no one had the heart to cut it. “Town gossip says you spent the afternoon with Mack’s widow, building a fort for his little boy.”

“Knew there was a reason I ran from this busybody town soon as I got my diploma.” Tristan pulled his ball cap lower on his forehead.

“Looking for love in all the wrong places?”