“True. I’m a California boy, lover of sunshine and salt water.”

“Oh, are you a surfer?”

He laughs. “No. I’m terrible on a surfboard.”

“Probably safer. You know, sharks and all.”

“That’s what my mother says. I lie to her every time I go to the ocean just so she doesn’t worry.”

I gasp. “You lie to your mother? That’s awful.”

“It’s better than her thinking I’m going to die all afternoon,” he says, his voice tinged with a laugh.

I can’t help but grin at Cole. “Okay. Fine. That’s true.”

He fiddles with a napkin on the counter. His fingers work the paper back and forth in the same tempo as his boot-clad foot tapping against the floor. The entire thing is so casual and disarming that my frustration from Burt and his ridiculousness drifts away.

“Who are you, anyway?” I ask. “Why are you here?”

“My parents moved here six months ago, and I came to visit them. Perks of retirement.”

“Not judging or anything, but aren’t you too young for retirement?”

The question pleases him. A slow smile slips across his face.

“The average age for retirement in professional baseball is thirty,” he says. “I am—was—the catcher for the San Diego Swifts. So, short answer is no. I’m right on target.”

Professional baseball?

What?

He leans back and runs his hands along his thighs. I make a point not to watch the movement. There’s no sense in torturing myself. Besides, I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that a professional baseball player is in Bloomfield, Ohio.

“Maybe we could have dinner or something while I’m in town,” he says, his words measured more carefully than before.

My stomach flip-flops at the invitation, and my insides war with how to respond.

I need to decline. For so many reasons, I should give Cole a smile and send him on his way. But needs and wants are two totally different stories, and right now, the line between them is muddy.

“Dinner?” he asks again. “Or lunch? I can even do breakfast, if you’d rather.”

My face flushes, and I move around in my seat. I’m about to give in, to say yes to dinner, when my gaze lands on the tiny tattoo on my wrist. The delicate lotus flower reminds me every day that beautiful things can come from the dirtiest waters. I just have to keep growing.

“Thank you,” I say, forcing a swallow. “But no.”

His brows shoot to the ceiling. “No?”

I shrug. “No.”

“There’s a word I don’t hear often.”

Instead of it coming across as cocky, it borders on self-deprecating. It’s surprisingly adorable.

“Fish is never going to let me live this down,” he says, his words teasing.

“Fish?”

“My friend that’s sitting back there.”

I glance over my shoulder at a large blond man sitting near the window. Also handsome.

“Who cares?” I say, turning back to Cole. “He shares his name with an aquatic vertebrate.”

He laughs. “He’s a big deal, you know.”