I spend Friday prepping for my trip to California next week. After work, I meet with Teagan at Peace of Cake. Our friend Amy comes too, because she loves us and because she can’t resist cake.

After I order a slice of coconut cake to share, Amy plops into a chair, red glasses on, and gestures grandly to me. “You have called me to a cake meeting. I can only presume you have a big dilemma.”

“Yes. I put it before the cat, and he gave me contradictory advice,” I say as Amy digs in.

“Huh. How odd for a cat to be contrary,” Teagan says drolly.

“Shocking, I know.”

“So, what’s the dealio?” Amy asks.

I spread my hands on the table, leaning on the scale I use for bad decisions. “On a scale of one to a box of rocks, how dumb is it to date the guy who just bought the site I work for?”

Amy flinches, her fork freezing in midair.

My shoulders sag. “I’ll take that as a vote for a truck full of rocks. A quarry full of stone.”

Teagan clears her throat and points at me. “In Bryn’s defense, she was dating him before he bought the site.”

“Well, before either of us knew who the other one was,” I clarify.

Amy blinks. “Back it up, ladies, and explain. Don’t leave out any juicy details.”

I unspool the tale, especially what weighs on me the most. “I love my employees. I love Matthew and Rosario, Quentin and James. And I can’t help but wonder how they’ll view me if they know I’m sleeping with the guy in charge.” I fiddle with my bracelets. “Will they see me as less of a lady boss? As more foolish? Will I seem less strong, less kick-ass? I want to be this badass woman who knows her mind. Who goes after what she wants. Like my mom was,” I say, and I don’t choke up. I stay strong. Because that’s who she was. That’s what she taught me to do, how to be.

Teagan squeezes my hand. “You are strong. You’re so much like her in the ways that matter, sweetie.”

“But what if the people I work with don’t see me that way?” I ask softly. That’s the big issue. My job matters to me. My identity matters. I care deeply for the staff at the site.

Amy taps her chin thoughtfully. “It’s hard, I know, because you want them to respect you.”

“And sometimes, call me crazy, but people can be judgy of women,” Teagan puts in.

“Yeah. Just a little bit. So I don’t know if the answer is easy.”

“It’s not easy,” Teagan says, eyes locked with mine.

“It’s a choice,” Amy adds, setting down her fork, holding that same serious tone.

“How do I make it?” I ask. “How do I choose?”

Amy sighs heavily. “You have what is known as a double-bath-bomb problem.”

I knit my brow. “And what is that?”

“It’s a million shades of gray that can only be sifted through with a good long soak in a tub. So, you soak, and you contemplate.”

That I can do.

21LOGAN

With laser focus, I eye the pitch.

I call on the same focus I’ve tried to employ all day yesterday and today. The focus I’ve needed to resist Bryn since we met at the coffee shop two nights ago.

To stay away from her office. To refrain from texting her. To give her the space she asked for.

As the ball crosses the plate, my metal bat connects with a thwack.

The sound of possibility.

For a split second, my eyes follow the ball’s trajectory over the field, but there’s no time to linger. It’s Friday night, and I have a game to win. I hustle down the first baseline, watching the flight of the ball.

“Go, Daddy, go!”

Amelia’s cheer from the bleachers is loud and proud, energizing me to run even faster.

My foot lands on the first base bag right as the ball soars past the fence in Central Park. I thrust my arms skyward. “Yes!”

A shout comes from ahead of me on the field. “I knew you were good for something!” My sister’s rounding second base, heading toward third.

Oliver’s ahead of her, shouting back at me, “I never gave up on you. Not once in all these years.”

I roll my eyes. “You two are so sweet,” I call out, laughing as I follow them, adrenaline surging, chased by the thrill of victory—that home run seals the game for my team.

After I trot around the bases, I cross home plate, smacking the palms of my sister and Oliver. “Woohoo! We did it!”

“You did it, Daddy! You’re the best!” Amelia shouts from her vantage point on Fitz’s shoulders as he joins the rest of the team.

Fitz lifts his arms, wraps them around her waist, and lifts her off his shoulders. “That tickles! Don’t drop me, Fitzy,” she says to him as he sets her down gently.

He tickles her waist. “Never. I’d never tickle you while you were on my shoulders. Only the ground, and then you’ll beg for mercy from the tickle monster.”

With a boisterous laugh, she wiggles away. “Stop, tickle monster, stop!” She rushes to me, hugging me. “Your home run was my favorite part of the game.” She taps her lip. “Except Calvin and Hobbes was a little better.”

“What?” I act indignant.

“Fitz was reading to me the whole time he wasn’t playing, and we read Calvin and Hobbes,” she says.

I ruffle her hair. “You can never go wrong with one of America’s best comics,” I say, grateful that my friends take turns keeping Amelia occupied.

“Amelia,” Fitz chides. “Tell your dad the truth. You read a lot of it to me too.”

My kid smiles at me, big and bright. “It’s true, Daddy. I read to Fitzy. And he was super impressed because I am an awesome reader, thanks to you.” She pats my forearm and tells Fitz, “He reads to me every night.”

“I taught him how to read,” he deadpans.

I roll my eyes, but then meet my friend’s blue-eyed gaze, clapping him on the shoulder. “Thanks for hanging with her during the game.”