Mike gently placed the needle on the Beggars Banquet record when there was a knock on the door followed by an obnoxious ringing of the doorbell three quick times. He looked at his watch. "Right on time," he muttered with a shake of his head and a smile.
When most people weren't on time it was because they were late; not Baker. She was always early. Way early. Inconveniently early. So though they agreed she would come to his place at noon, he expected her now, a good forty-five minutes early. She peered through the glass on the side of the door with a box in her hands and her backpack on her back. He was still in a pair of gray sweatpants, T-shirt, and a pair of socks.
He opened the door and blocked the entrance. He nodded at her box. "What's that?"
"I figured you wouldn't have any decorations," she said as she pushed past him. "I got a Christmas tree, some tinsel, little miniature snowmen, fake snow."
The Christmas tree was small, like one of the Charlie Brown type trees. He wanted to take it outside and burn it — put it out of its misery. The wilted branches didn't look strong enough to hold an ornament. She held the box and watched him as he rifled through it like she was at some security checkpoint.
"You can use everything but the fake snow. That stuff will be everywhere and you're taking all that back with you," he said.
"Don't be a Grinch."
Her head was on a swivel. That's when he remembered this was her first time at his place.
"Want the two-dollar tour?"
She frowned. "What's that get me?"
He shrugged. Was that even a thing? He wasn't sure. He bought the place after he and Rachel split. There was no way he could live in the house they shared. They picked that house out together. He didn't want to be reminded of his failed marriage every morning he woke up. He still loved her, so the thought of flashbacks of the amazing sex they had in the shower wasn't high on his list of things to experience. He didn't want to be reminded of the time she cried at the dinner table when he did particularly well on making her birthday special.
This place — modern, sleek, with its glass walls and all things male was the opposite of the home Rachel created for him. The first real home he ever had.
"Glad I wore a sweater." She placed the box on the glass table near the entrance then rubbed her hands together.
The weather was in the low sixties. No need for heat; it was perfect. Despite her smart-ass comment he noticed she wasn't wearing a jacket though her nose was slightly red.
"Well, am I getting the tour?"
"Was it this? The Louvre? Have at it. You won't get lost."
She rolled her eyes at his gruff demeanor then mumbled something about him being a bad host as she walked further into the house.
While she walked around the downstairs looking at everything on display he took the time to take her in. She was in a thin red sweater, jet-black jeans, and black boots that made that distinctive feminine clacking sound across hard floors. It wasn't fancy but definitely different than her workout gear. He rarely saw a casual Baker. He didn't have the luxury of seeing her that way in high pressure situations. She was a rookie pitcher he had to mentor and mold. When she wasn't walking a red carpet or sweating it out in the gym, she looked like a normal 23-year old girl. Woman. Seeing her this way made him realize just how young she really was.
She looked up and then over him eyes stretched relaying a silent question.
"Go ahead," he said.
She headed upstairs.
With neither parent in his life, he was the only orphan of the team. This was Mike's first Christmas as a divorced man. After years of loneliness he relished his time as part of Rachel's family. He clung to them. Played golf with Rachel's father. Went out on the boat fishing with her brother. He missed them as much as he missed her. As the only orphan on the team, the offers poured in from his teammates and Al to join their families but he turned them all down. Even Livan wasn't alone; he was in Miami with a fellow Cuban defector who played for the Marlins and his family. He hated being the object of pity.
But Baker? She had a family. But she was barely interested in spending the holiday with her mom let alone her mom's boyfriend. And according to Blip, her relationship with her brother was so tense they hadn't spoke since he was last in San Diego. Mike assumed she would spend the day with Blip's family but when she heard Evelyn's family would be there as well she opted out. Baker could handle pitching in front of 40,000 people but small talk with even a few people who weren't baseball players was too much.
So that's how they came to be the two lonely Padres celebrating Christmas together.
He was in the kitchen when Baker descended the stairs. She had been up there for a while, making him nervous of what she may have discovered. There was no sex dungeon or crazy things lying around, not that he knew of. But Baker wasn't like their other teammates. They would absolutely go through his drawers and in his closets.
"What you got?" She began taking the decorations out of the box she brought.
Evelyn and her mom insisted they not eat frozen pizza, so they made Blip deliver a Christmas feast care package. There were endless containers of food that Mike had strict instructions to return in no less than three days. Blip assured him he disobeying would bring the wrath of Evelyn Sanders. Mike didn't need a warning, he had seen that woman in action on more than one occasion. She was tiny but scary.
He would have to send Evelyn's mom something nice. She prepared two roast chickens especially for them because neither he nor Baker liked turkey or ham. He would say there was too much food, but he saw Baker eat. Nothing would go to waste.
"Everything."
She entered the kitchen and opened a container. "Ooh, I love Evelyn's homemade cranberry sauce. I hope this is her mom's apple pie."
"There's pumpkin pie too," he said.
She frowned and looked over. "I highly doubt it."
"What do you mean?"
"Pumpkin pie? Are you sure?" She walked over to stand next to him.
"I know what a pumpkin pie looks like, Baker."
She laughed. "We'll see."
"I didn't really like Christmas growing up. I've always been more of a Thanksgiving person."
"Why?"
"It was more about the food and less the feelings." She shrugged.
He stared at her. If he didn't know about the panic attacks, didn't see her quit on the mound in her first outing he wouldn't think she was human. Emotions weren't high on her list. She was more like a machine. He was the opposite, full of emotions and feelings, even though he tried to hide them. Self-preservation. He gave his heart to Rachel and she left him. Wore his heart on his sleeve for the front office to see and they couldn't wait to trade him so they could move on to life after Mike Lawson, Mr. Padre.
"You seem to be in the Christmas spirit." He pointed at the reindeer antlers hairband she put on her head.
"Growth." She smiled.
"I'm going to get dressed."
"No need to get dressed up for me."
"I'm not. Someone arrived an hour early."
"Hmm, I wonder what you'll wear?" She tapped her lips with her index finger as she looked up. "I'm thinking button-down shirt and blue jeans."
He wanted to tell her she was wrong but she wasn't. He just shook his head and went upstairs before he cracked and smiled. She could be a pain in his ass but lately he never laughed more than when she was around despite her high strung ways. He liked to think he helped her relax a bit too.
The plan of the day was a food and movie marathon. They ate three different times and alternated movie choices — her choice then his. She got the day started with A Christmas Story, he chose Trading Places. She chose Home Alone, he chose Gremlins. Her final selection was Bad Santa. By evening, the drop in the temperature demanded he turn on the heat. She removed boots and sweater to expose a black tank top. She was sipping on his famous boozy hot chocolate. It required finely chopped semisweet chocolate, hot milk, whiskey, a peppermint stick, and topped with mini marshmallows. She was on her third and drank them entirely too fast.
He planned on spending the day waiting for it to be over but he had to admit he had fun. He chose the final movie of the night, the ultimate Christmas movie, Die Hard. The lights were dim and the movie had just ended.
"That movie could have happened anytime. It is not a Christmas movie," she said as she shook her head.
"Would they have an office Christmas party in March?"
She frowned.
"Case closed."
He wondered when she would notice he had placed a present for her under that sad little tree. When he looked over at it he frowned at the second gift wrapped in red and white striped wrapping paper. He looked over at her to see her staring at him with a smile on her face.
"Finally, you noticed." She spoke louder than she realized. Baker and alcohol were a funny combination. "Can we open our gifts now?" She didn't wait for an answer.
He followed her over to the tree. She handed him his gift.
"You first," they said in unison.
"Guest first," he said.
"Now I'm a guest. You've had me working since the moment I arrived."
She placed a few things in the oven and put a few dishes in the dishwasher.
"Baker."
She examined the small box and looked up at him with those ever curious eyes. "You wrapped this?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"It's perfect. Didn't know you had that skill."
He was glad she noticed. It took a YouTube video and half a roll of gold and white wrapping paper he would never use again to get it just right.
"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Baker."
She slid the white satin bow off the gift. Delicately, as if she planned on keeping the paper, she unwrapped the gift.
"Mike," she said breathlessly. She may have been raised on baseball fields but even she knew the infamous Tiffany Blue Box when she saw it.
She opened the box and her eyes widened. "It's beautiful," she whispered.
It would have been too easy to get her something with a baseball. When he was shopping he saw the necklaces and thought of her but most of the pendants were love or hearts and he was about to give up when he saw the sterling silver necklace with the anchor charm; it was the one. It said a lot. How he saw himself in her life — her baseball life at least.
"I wasn't sure if you'd like it."
"I love it. Will you?" She handed it to him and turned her back to him.
He couldn't breathe for a moment when she lifted her hair on top of her head. He had a hard time clasping it. His fingertips traced over her delicate skin. It felt so intimate and that swan-like neck of hers would have received a kiss if it didn't belong to Baker, his rookie pitcher.
She turned. "Well?"
"Perfect."
"Thank you."
Before he knew it she hurled her body toward him and wrapped her arms around him. He hadn't hugged her since the night before his almost-trade to Chicago. Just like that night, his eyes closed at the feel of her body against his. He didn't know how to deal with her when they touched like this because, sure she was his rookie pitcher, but he was a man who couldn't help but notice she looked like no teammate he'd ever had before.
He stepped back and out of her grasp. He learned from that last hug to cut it short before thoughts entered their minds. "Uh here." He handed her the white envelope with 'Ginny' scrawled across it.
She looked at him before taking it from his hand. Then she opened the envelope and pulled out the card with the best version of his awful handwriting on it. He held his breath becoming more nervous and unsure with each word she silently read. She looked up and eager eyes were now unreadable and glistening. He wanted her to know that he respected her, admired her.
"Thank you," she said softly.
He held up his gift. "If this has anything to do with old age or-"
"Just open it."
He unceremoniously ripped the paper until he stared at a vinyl record. The Jimi Hendrix Experience's Are You Experienced? album. "You didn't have to do this Baker."
"Says the guy who bought me a million-dollar necklace."
"Not quite but feel free to think so."
She laughed.
"How did you know I'd like this?" He stood there feeling like a kid with a new toy. Turning it over and expecting every inch of it.
"I heard you talking to Sonny about wanting to get it. I'm hoping I beat you to it."
"You did."
"Well, put it on. Let's hear what all the fuss is about."
They sat on the couch and listened to the perfect mix of rock, R&B, and blues as she drank one more boozy hot chocolate. An hour later, when the album was finally done, he looked over to see her sleeping.
It was early but it had been a long day and mixed with whiskey, it was no surprise she was out. He, on the other hand, only had a few beers and was wide awake. He looked at his watch and realized he could still catch the evening NBA game.
"Night, rook." He covered her with a blanket before heading upstairs.