"Sure it is. You're way better looking than Laura Ingalls, but those freckles complement the whole pick-up-truck-driving, farm-girl package. I love it."

"Oh G.o.d." I blush.

"Now turn over, girl, and get on your stomach." He grabs the ice pack and a paper towel off the bed and holds it up. "We got some icing to do."

I turn on my stomach and he lifts my shirt. Expecting to feel the cold ice on my lower back, I'm more than pleasantly surprised. After he tugs down my waistband, his fingers sweep gently across my lower back. He doesn't press, he just lightly circles the entire area with his fingertips.

"Oh my," I end up muttering involuntarily.

That's when I feel him shift. My eyes are closed, but behind me, I feel him straddle my legs, and now both his hands are circling my lower back. This feels much better than an ice pack.

His fingers continue for several more minutes before he moves to my side and replaces them with the towel-covered ice.

"Ohhh," I groan, missing his touch already.

I feel him move again, so I open my eyes. He's lying next to me. "I had to stop, half-pint, before my hands went places they shouldn't."

Oh, they should. They should. But I don't say that out loud. "Thank you," I whisper. "That felt so good."

He stares at me intently. "You feel so good." His fingers once again find my skin, but this time it's the ear he grazes when he tucks my hair behind it. "You are the prettiest girl I ever did see."

"Spoken like a true country boy."

"I'm trying, half-pint."

"Don't change for me. I don't care if you're a country boy or city boy...or suburban boy...as long as you're here next to me."

His middle finger traces the outline of the left side of my face, from my temple to my jaw. "Always." He moves closer until our foreheads and noses are touching each other. "I love you."

"I love you."

I don't know how long we remain in that position, but it's not long enough. Eventually, our stomachs gurgle and our hunger for food takes precedence. I change my clothes, put on my leg, and we go to Ben's so he can change. The rest of Sunday, we spend together...eating, laughing, and cuddling. And kissing. We definitely did some kissing.

Then Ben spends the night again. This time in my bed. "You sure, half-pint?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

I stay in my flannels. I'd like to sleep in something s.e.xier, but then he'd see more of my scar. What if it's a major turn-off?

He climbs into bed fully-clothed.

"You don't have to do that, you know. I'm sure it's uncomfortable sleeping in your jeans. For the second night in a row."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

He gets out of bed, slips out of his jeans, and pulls off his tee, and I'm not surprised by my body's reaction to seeing his ripped abs and muscular legs. That's when I realize I better get over my body's flaws, because I'm not going to be able to keep it from Ben's for much longer.

When Ben gets back in bed, he stretches out his arm for me to curl into, and I rest my head between his shoulder and his neck. I wake up in the exact same position in the morning.

"Morning, sweetheart."

"Morning, Benito."

"Benito?" He rolls on top of me, tucking my arms to my sides. "Do not call me Benito. I hate that name."

I giggle. I never giggle. "Why?"

"Ugh. It makes me sound like some Italian greaser from the fifties. No. I'm not that guy."

"But your mother calls you that."

"Yeah. I hate it when she does. I've been trying to get her to call me Ben since I was five. The closest she gets is Benny."

"You're cute when you're embarra.s.sed."

He kisses me then hops out of bed. "I better get going. I have cla.s.s at nine. I'm not so sure it's so important to go, but I should at least tell the teacher what's going on." He says this all while getting his clothes back on.

I sit up in bed and watch him the whole time. He's G.o.d-awful handsome.

"What are your plans today?"

I shrug. "I may call Professor Sherman and take her up on her offer."

He sits on the bed. "You're gonna dance?"

"Should I not?"

"No, Rose, you should. Especially if that's what you want."

"Maybe."

Ben kisses me on the lips, then says, "Text me when you're done. I'll bring dinner."

"Okay."

I meet Professor Sherman, Lindsay, at the gym at eleven. My dancing leg feels lighter, but since the ankle is more flexible, walking in it for any length of time requires me to use my cane. At least until I get used to it. But it was so expensive for my parents to have made that I'm afraid of breaking it somehow, so I don't wear it for everyday use.

"Rose," Lindsay calls when she sees me. "I am so glad you decided to come," she says when she reaches me. She walks me into the studio and right away turns on the lights. Then she proceeds to put a CD in the stereo and turns it on.

"What shoes did you bring?" she asks.

"All four."

"Wanna start with tap? I love tap."

"Sure." I'm apprehensive no matter what type of dance we do, but I'm determined to move past my insecurities and do this.

We put on our taps and stand in the center of the room. "Follow what I do?" she asks. "I step. You follow. I step. You follow."

"Right. Like Simon Says," I joke.

"Right."

She shuffles. I shuffle.

She cross shuffles. I cross shuffle.

She side cross shuffles. I side cross shuffle.

Before we know it, we're doing the same moves at the same time and I'm beaming. Tap is not nearly as difficult with this leg as my ballet spins. Why on Earth I didn't start with tap when I first put this leg on escapes me. I may have grown in confidence and not beaten myself up for not doing a fouette turn on my bad leg. One step at a time. That first step should have been something simpler. But hindsight is 20/20 and all that.

We continue tapping until Lindsay suggests jazz. Another duh moment for me before I say, "Of course." We spend the next hour dancing - tap and jazz. Something tells me Lindsay knows exactly what she's doing by not suggesting ballet and pointe. Then I remember, she's not just my musicology professor, she's a doctor of psychology.

Does G.o.d just put the right people in our paths at the right time for a reason?

Could it be that G.o.d really does know what He's doing?

I smile at that thought and continue dancing with Lindsay - my dancing angel sent to me by the Man Himself.

40.

BEN.

Two weeks go by way too quickly. The moment of truth, and change, is only a day away. I return home tomorrow, and as per the doctor's insistence, I go into surgery the following day.

Our first game of the season is about to begin. It's almost eight o'clock. A night game under the lights. I used to live for this not long ago. Though Coach still hasn't told me, and the team was expected to do the same, rumor has it Major League scouts are coming in to see me. Jax filled me in, because as he puts it, he thought it was right that I know.

"Coach told us, man," he said to me. "I'm really sorry to hear about your cancer. But who's Coach Rock to decide if the Majors matter anymore for you or not? Maybe by graduation, you'll be all cured and ready for them. Coach thinks he's protecting you, but I don't. You go out there and kick some f.u.c.kin' a.s.s."

That was in the locker room this morning. Right now I'm in the bullpen, practicing my pitches, but all I can concentrate on is Rose sitting in the front row on the third base line between home and third. Probably not the best place to have her seated if I'm hoping to score the attention of a scout, but I don't care. If it weren't for her, I may have just pa.s.sed on playing tonight altogether. Rose thought it'd be good to be conscious of the last game I play before my surgery, claiming that if she knew June 11th would have been her last time dancing, she would have taken the time to appreciate each dance step. So on her advice, I'm here. Even though as each day ends, I lose a little more hope that the Majors are in my future.

Before the game starts, I just need to see Rose one more time. I just need to hold her. And maybe kiss her. To get her out of my head for the game. If that's even possible anymore.

"Hey," I say to her from beneath the stands.

"Hey." She stands and leans over the rail to kiss me.

I wasn't planning to, but I grab her under the arms and lift her over the railing. She makes the cutest squeal when I do it. I set her down on her feet and take her in with my eyes. "G.o.d, you're gorgeous."

She gives me the sweetest smile.

She's wearing black today. She never wears black. But she wanted to wear a dress. And tights. Not leggings. Black tights like pantyhose. This is big for her, because she says it's more obvious that she has an artificial leg when she wears them. But Rose wants to show me that she is moving past her fears about her flaws - even though I don't think they're flaws at all - and accepting the new Rose.

"Aren't you cold?" I ask, rubbing her bare arms.

"I have my sweater." She motions to her seat. "I just got hot."

"Oh, you're hot, baby. No doubt."

I love it when she blushes.

"Tell me again why I'm here? 'Cause really, I just wanna be holding you in your bed tonight." I've been sleeping in her bed this last week, because it just makes sense, but we haven't made love yet. I'm not sure she's ready for me to see her, and I don't want to push her. She only recently started dancing again, I don't want her moving so quickly that she regresses. So we kiss. A lot. And fall asleep in each other's arms, her in her flannel pajamas, me in my boxers.

"You're here because what if? What if you never get to play again? What if you do, but you missed this chance for the scouts to see you? What if...I wanted to see you play at least once?"

I stare at her pretty, pleading face and smile. "Then tonight's for you, half-pint."

She smiles back at me, and then I kiss the s.h.i.t outta her. "G.o.d, you taste delicious," I tell her when we're done. "And oh yeah, I love you."

"Ben...you take my breath away. Now go pitch the game of your life."

And that's exactly what I do. My pitches are perfect. No anger, just determination. In the end, I pitch a no-hitter and we win the game. I speak with a couple scouts afterward, explaining my situation to them and telling them I expect to return in the fall. I don't promise, because like Rose says, "Life has a way of breaking your promises." And I have no idea, really, what the near future holds for me. But I don't want to burn bridges, just in case. I have a good game and I'm reminded just how much I love playing, but I love Rose more. And anything I do from this day forward will be for her.

After the game, Rose and I celebrate alone. There is no way I'm going for pizza and beer with the team when I can feast on Rose's maple sugar lips.

"You're not hungry?" she asks on the way to Griffin's.

"Not as hungry as I am for you," I tease, but not really. I'm serious as h.e.l.l.

She giggles. She's been doing that a lot lately, and I decide I've never heard a sweeter sound. "We have roast beef and ham if you want a sandwich."

"Seriously, Rose, I'm not hungry for food. Don't worry about it."

She smiles and her cheeks turn that wonderful shade of peach.

Inside the house, she goes right for the refrigerator and starts fumbling through the meat drawer. I walk up behind her, lift her hands from the drawer, and push it shut. Then I reach down beneath her knees and pick her up, cradling her in my arms as I close the refrigerator door with my foot. "This is my last night with you for G.o.d knows how long. I'm not gonna waste it by eating a sandwich." I carry her up the stairs and into her room, where I lay her on her bed, kick off my shoes, and lie down next to her. "All I want to do tonight is hold you. Can we do that?" I hate the sadness that suddenly creeps over me. I don't want to be sad. I just want to enjoy the scent and feel of Rose as I hold her until the sun comes up.

"We can do more than that if you want," she says quietly, circling her fingers over my t-shirt covered chest.

My mouth drops open as my heartbeat picks up. "What?" The word comes out more like an expression of air than an actual spoken word.

Her hand slips under my shirt. "We can do more than just...lie here." Again her voice is soft. Quiet.

I cup my hand behind her neck and bring her to me, where I then crush my lips to hers. "You wanna kiss me all night, half-pint? Is that it?" I say into her mouth.

She stops kissing me and places her hand on my face. "I want to do more than that."