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thelunarbar · 3 days ago

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high hopes

summary: when newly single dad cody bellinger wanders into your dispensary looking for a way to take the edge off, you don’t expect him to come back for the product, or for you.

word count: 4.3k words

a/n: this is a little different, let me know if you guys like it! thank you for reading! i love you!

⸻

You’d gotten used to the quiet hum of the dispensary the low music, the faint citrusy clean smell, the easy rhythm of customers drifting in and out. Most people came here to exhale, to let the day roll off their shoulders without anyone asking questions. It wasn’t glamorous, but you liked it that way.

So when the bell over the door chimed and he stepped in, you had to blink twice, convinced your mind was playing tricks on you.

Cody Bellinger. Yankees outfielder, six foot something frame half swallowed by a hoodie and sunglasses still on despite the dim lighting. You’d seen his face enough times splashed across social media first for his career, then for the headlines about the divorce to recognize him immediately. And yet here he was, standing stiffly in front of the display of edibles like he’d wandered into the wrong store.

For a second, you almost laughed at the absurdity of it. The tabloids had him pegged as the newly single dad heartthrob, the kind of guy who couldn’t step outside without being trailed by cameras. And now he was here, hovering near a shelf of gummies like he was afraid they might bite.

Most people would’ve gawked. Some would’ve asked for a selfie, maybe cracked a joke about him being “Daddy Belli” like the blogs had been calling him for weeks. You didn’t.

Instead, you kept your head down, going back to rearranging jars behind the counter, like this was just another tuesday. If anything, it was almost funny watching him shift his weight from one sneaker to the other, glancing around with all the unease of someone casing the place instead of trying to shop. His shoulders were hunched under the hoodie, jaw working like he was chewing on the decision to bolt.

“Can I help you find something?” you asked finally, breaking the silence. You leaned an elbow against the counter, casual, giving him an out if he wanted one.

His head snapped up, caught off guard, shoulders going rigid like you’d just called him by name. “Uh yeah. Maybe.” His voice was low, raspier than you expected, and it didn’t quite match the nervous way his hand came up to scratch at the edge of his jaw.

You raised a brow, keeping your tone light. “Well, you’re either looking for gummies, pre-rolls, or directions to starbucks. Which one is it?”

That earned the faintest twitch of a smile. The first crack in the wall. “Not starbucks.” He tugged his hoodie a little higher, almost like the shelves were judging him. “Just something for at night. To relax. After the kids go to bed.”

It was such a normal, dad like confession that you had to bite back a laugh. Here was a guy with cameras chasing him down city blocks, a man whose batting stats were debated nightly on sports radio, standing in front of you mumbling about wanting to unwind after bedtime routines.

You reached for a jar on the shelf, holding it out between you. “Got it. Stress relief without the morning fog. Don’t worry, I won’t put ‘famous Yankee single dad spotted panic shopping for edibles’ on instagram.”

This time, his smile actually reached his eyes, softening the edges of his face. And just like that, the air shifted less guarded, less headline worthy. For the first time all night, he looked like someone who could actually breathe.

⸻

You held the jar out and tipped it slightly so he could see the label. “This one’s mellow good for stress, good for sleep. Won’t leave you staring at the ceiling, won’t knock you out cold either. Kind of like training wheels.”

He leaned closer, close enough that you caught the faintest trace of clean cologne under the fabric of his hoodie. His brows knit together like he was trying to decode some advanced scouting report. “Uh-huh,” he muttered, then glanced up at you with a crooked half smile. “Feels like you’re pitching me a wine list.”

You tilted your head, lips quirking. “I could, if you want. Notes of pine, citrus, and relief from single dad exhaustion.”

That pulled a laugh from him, low and unguarded, the kind of sound that carried just enough rasp to make you want to hear it again. His shoulders dropped a fraction, the tension bleeding out of him as he shifted his weight onto one leg. He reached out finally, big hand dwarfing the jar as he turned it over in his palm like it might tell him more if he stared hard enough. “Guess that one’s my winner.”

“Good choice,” you said, punching the buttons on the register. “Very dad approved. You’ll be the poster child for relaxed bedtime routines everywhere.”

He huffed another laugh, sliding a card across the counter. “You’re not gonna let the dad thing go, are you?”

“Not when you basically advertise it,” you teased, sliding the bag toward him. “Congratulations, you survived your first dispensary run without fainting.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Was it that obvious?”

“Painfully.” You leaned on the counter, chin in your hand. “You walked in like you were expecting paparazzi hiding behind the gummies.”

His mouth pulled into a sheepish grin, the corners curling higher this time, less forced. “Yeah, well can’t ever be too careful.”

You shrugged, giving him a pointed look over the rim of the counter. “Fair enough. But next time, maybe lose the sunglasses. Kind of screams undercover celebrity. You’d blend in better if you just didn’t try so hard.”

That earned you another laugh, a little louder now, one that made his whole face light up for the first time since he walked in. His posture eased, like he’d finally realized he wasn’t under a microscope here. “I’ll work on it,” he promised, slipping the bag into his hoodie pocket.

For a second, neither of you said anything, the quiet of the shop filling the space where nerves had been before. Then he dipped his head, offering a parting smile that lingered just long enough to feel deliberate.

And when he pushed the door open, glancing back once with that same grin tugging at his mouth, the tension that had clung to him on the way in was nowhere to be found.

⸻

The bell above the door chimed again, and you didn’t have to look up from the counter to know who it was. Something about the way the air shifted a subtle weight, a ripple of attention gave him away before you even saw the familiar hoodie.

Cody. Back again.

Only this time, he didn’t look like a man about to be caught in the act. The sunglasses were gone, his shoulders looser, stride more certain as he made his way toward the counter. Still cautious, sure, but not nearly as skittish as that first night.

“Back for round two?” you asked, leaning casually against the register like this was the most normal thing in the world.

He smirked, hands tucked deep into his hoodie pocket. “Guess so. Thought I’d report back.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head, playing along. “And how did our rookie handle his first run?”

That earned you a laugh, low and easy, the kind of sound that warmed the quiet corners of the shop. “Actually slept through the night for once,” he admitted, shaking his head like he still couldn’t believe it. “Didn’t wake up until my alarm went off. Can’t remember the last time that happened.”

You grinned, tapping the counter with a mock flourish. “So, what you’re saying is, I deserve a thank you.”

“Guess so,” he echoed, but this time softer, with a glint in his eye that wasn’t there before. Less guarded.

The conversation stretched from there, slipping into an easy rhythm that didn’t feel like customer and clerk anymore. You told him about a hole in the wall pizza joint that, in your opinion, ruined every other slice in the city. He countered with a taco truck he swore was unbeatable, eyes lighting up as he described it.

“Pizza over tacos, any day,” you teased.

“Hell no,” he shot back, lips twitching. “You’ve clearly never had these tacos.”

From there, it was music what you both put on to unwind after long days. He confessed to leaning on old school playlists during late night drives. You admitted your guilty pleasure was blasting pop songs in your kitchen while cooking. He smirked at that, saying he could picture it.

And then, neighborhoods. The quietest streets to walk when you needed to clear your head, the corners of the city that still felt untouched despite the chaos. He asked questions, really listened when you answered, like these tiny pieces of your world mattered.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this was probably more personal than he offered most people. But here, in the dim hum of the shop, it felt natural like slipping into a conversation you’d been having for years.

By the time you slid his purchase across the counter, he didn’t seem in any hurry to take it. His fingers lingered on the edge of the bag, brushing the paper like he was stalling. His gaze flicked to you and held just a beat too long, just enough to make your stomach dip.

“See you next time,” he said finally, voice low, like it wasn’t just a casual send off but a promise.

And as he stepped out the door, the faintest smile still tugging at his mouth, you realized you were already looking forward to it too.

⸻

The third time Cody walked through the door, you didn’t even bother pretending to be surprised. He had the same hoodie pulled over his head, but the way his mouth curved when he spotted you at the counter gave him away like maybe he’d hoped you’d be there.

“Three visits in, huh?” you teased as he leaned on the counter. “At this rate, you’re practically a regular.”

He smirked, sliding his card across before you’d even finished bagging his order. “Guess that means I should get some kind of punch card.”

“Buy ten pre-rolls, get one free,” you deadpanned.

That earned you a laugh, warm and easy, and then like it was an afterthought he said, “You know maybe I should just get your number. For product questions.”

You arched a brow. “Product questions?”

“Strictly professional.” His grin widened, giving him away. He knew how flimsy the excuse sounded, and judging by the spark in his eyes, he didn’t care if you called him on it.

Still, you took the phone when he slid it across, thumbs tapping in your number and name. “Fine. But if you start spamming me at 2 a.m., I’m blocking you.”

“Guess I’ll have to risk it,” he said, voice dipped low with a hint of something you couldn’t quite name.

⸻

The first text came that night.

Cody: This the right number, or did you give me the one to domino’s?

You snorted, thumb flying across the screen.

You: Depends. You hungry?

There was a pause before the bubble popped up again.

Cody: Always. But I’ll settle for product recs.

And that was the start. At first, it stayed simple questions about strains, dosing, what to pair it with. But before long, the edges blurred. One night, a photo came through, two bowls of mac and cheese on a cluttered kitchen counter, a jar of peanut butter in the background like an uninvited guest.

Cody: This counts as a balanced dinner, right?

You laughed out loud, snapping a quick picture of your own takeout box balanced on your lap.

You: We’re basically nutritionists.

Another night, closer to midnight, the buzz of your phone lit up your dark room.

Cody: Finally got them down. Feels like winning game 7.

You pictured him collapsed on the couch, victorious in sweatpants instead of pinstripes, and couldn’t stop smiling.

You: Did you get the gatorade shower too, or just the silence?

Cody: Silence. Best prize there is.

Soon, it wasn’t just check ins about the product. It was memes, stupid gifs, inside jokes that only made sense between the two of you. A running debate over tacos vs. pizza. A screenshot of his playlist from a late night drive. A blurry selfie with the caption, proof I can make popcorn without burning it.

It was easy, effortless in a way you didn’t expect. And every time his name popped up on your screen, you felt the smile tug at your mouth before you even opened the message.

Somewhere between the questions and the jokes, you realized Cody seemed lighter when he talked to you like this was his break from the noise, a corner of his life untouched by cameras and headlines.

And you hated to admit it, but you liked being that corner. Maybe more than a little.

⸻

The bell over the door chimed later than usual, long after the after work rush had faded, and you looked up to see Cody step inside.

Right away, you knew something was different.

He didn’t look like the version of himself you’d gotten used to. No smirk tugging at his mouth, no lazy banter at the ready. Just shadows under his eyes, shoulders heavy beneath his hoodie, jaw set tight like he’d been grinding his teeth all night. Even the way he moved was slower, less certain as if the simple act of coming here had cost him more energy than he could spare.

“Rough one?” you asked gently, not bothering with a joke this time.

He huffed out a humorless laugh, dragging a hand down his face before moving to the counter. “You could say that.” His voice was low, frayed at the edges.

You didn’t push. Just started bagging up his usual order, letting the quiet settle. But when he didn’t immediately reach for his wallet, you glanced up. The crack in his cool exterior was impossible to miss. He was staring at the countertop, expression blank, like he was somewhere else entirely.

“Bad game?” you tried carefully, soft enough to give him room to brush it off if he wanted.

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Yeah. That. And the press after.” He shook his head, leaning forward until his elbows rested against the counter, shoulders sagging under the weight of it all. “Feels like every move I make gets twisted. Doesn’t matter what I do it’s either not enough, or it’s too much.”

You stayed quiet, watching him pull at the string of his hoodie, the restless motion belying how hard he was trying to keep himself together. And when he spoke again, his voice was lower, like the words were for him as much as they were for you.

“Being a dad comes first. Always. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything. But it’s like…” He paused, searching for the right words, eyes fixed on the countertop as though it might hold the answer. “Everything else baseball, dating, just being a person, it all has to come second. And when your name’s in the headlines every damn day, it doesn’t feel like there’s room for anything else.”

The raw honesty in his tone landed heavy between you, heavier than anything he’d shared before. It was the kind of confession you knew he didn’t let out often.

You slid the bag closer across the counter but didn’t let go, making sure his gaze found yours. “You’re doing better than you think.”

For a beat, neither of you moved. He just looked at you really looked, his eyes tired but sharp, like he was searching your face for some truth he couldn’t quite name. The intensity of it made your breath hitch, your pulse quickening under the weight of his stare.

It felt like he might say something else, something he’d been holding back. Or maybe step closer, close the gap entirely. The air between you buzzed with the possibility, every second stretching out like it might snap.

But then he blinked, pulling back with a rough exhale, like he’d caught himself teetering on the edge. “Yeah,” he muttered, voice softer now, carrying a thread of gratitude he didn’t spell out. “Thanks.”

He reached for the bag, his fingers brushing yours in the exchange warm, fleeting, enough to send a spark up your arm.

And then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving you standing there with your heart racing and the unshakable certainty that he’d been one second away from crossing a line neither of you could ignore.

⸻

After that night, everything felt different.

It wasn’t that Cody stopped coming by the shop he still did, though less jittery, more like he was comfortable in the routine. But the real change showed up on your phone.

The texts softened. Where he used to ask about strains or fire off memes at random hours, now he shared pieces of himself, unpolished and quiet in their honesty.

Cody: Took them to the park today. Pretty sure I spent 90% of the time pushing swings. Arms are dead. Worth it though.

You could see it instantly his long frame hunched at a jungle gym, sneakers covered in mulch, kids shrieking with laughter. The mental image tugged a smile out of you before you even typed back.

You: Dad of the year. Gonna need to ice those mvp arms though.

A pause, then your screen lit up again. This time with a selfie, Cody in a plain gray tee, hair mussed, flexing his arm with an exaggerated smirk. His bicep wasn’t so much “MVP” as it was “Dad carrying groceries in one trip,” but the confidence in his face made your stomach twist anyway.

Cody: Still got it.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth curling low in your chest was undeniable. That became the rhythm.

Snapshots of his dad life slipped into your phone like little secrets. A blurry photo of a storybook splayed open on his lap. A triumphant text at 9:42 p.m.

Cody: Finally got them down. Silence = victory parade.

A kid’s crayon drawing taped crookedly to his fridge: stick figures with wild hair, one labeled “Dad.” He sent it with the caption.

Cody: Pretty sure this belongs in Cooperstown.

And in return, you started sharing back. What you were cooking for dinner, the new book sitting on your nightstand, a rant about your neighbor who always left their trash out early. A picture of your coffee mug on a rainy morning. Nothing groundbreaking, but enough to let him into the quieter parts of your life. Somewhere along the way, the undertones shifted. The jokes carried a flirt to them, subtle but unmistakable.

You: Careful, Bellinger. You’re setting the bar too high for other dads.

Cody: Good. Don’t want the competition.

Or stuff like.

You: You always text me at night. Gonna think you’re using me as your bedtime routine.

Cody: If it works, it works.

The push and pull became addictive his words hovering just close enough to suggest something more, then retreating into safer territory. A teasing selfie here, a quiet detail there, never quite stepping over the line.

And you could feel it: the hesitation in him. The way he wanted to move forward but held himself back.

Because of the kids. Because of the headlines. Because of the mess he was still untangling.

And yet, every time his name popped up on your screen, you felt the thread pull tighter, drawing you closer whether either of you meant it or not.

⸻

The shop was nearly empty, the kind of quiet that always settled in right before closing. Low music hummed from the speakers, warm against the stillness, and you were halfway through restocking when the bell over the door chimed.

You glanced up and there he was.

Cody.

He slipped inside like he’d been debating it the whole walk over, hood down this time. His eyes were tired, but there was something softer in them tonight too, something that tugged at your chest.

“You’re cutting it close,” you said, leaning against the counter as he approached.

“Yeah,” he muttered, but his mouth tugged into a faint smile. “Figured you wouldn’t kick me out.”

“You’d lose your regular status if I did.”

That earned a quiet laugh, the kind that pulled his shoulders down from his ears. He didn’t order right away. Just leaned on the counter, big hands spread across the wood, fingertips drumming restlessly like he needed something to anchor him.

The conversation stretched out, starting in the safe places music, the weather, a new taco place he swore you had to try but drifting slowly into heavier waters. The way he spoke was different tonight, less guarded, his voice lower and quieter like it cost him something to let the words out.

“I didn’t think I’d be ready for this again,” he said suddenly, breaking a lull. His eyes fixed on a spot just past your shoulder, like he couldn’t quite look at you while he admitted it. “Not after everything. Not after the headlines, the mess, the split. I figured I’d just keep my head down, focus on the kids, play ball.” His throat worked, the pause thick, before his gaze finally found yours. “But then I met you.”

The words hung there, suspended between you, heavy with all the weeks of late night texts and almost confessions, of looks that lingered longer than they should. Silence filled the space, charged and undeniable, the hum of the music suddenly too soft to fill it.

Your pulse hammered, breath shallow, as the distance between you seemed to shrink without either of you moving. Maybe it was you leaning forward, maybe it was him either way, the world tilted. Suddenly he was close, so close you could see the faint stubble shading his jaw, the way his lips parted like he was holding his breath, the uncertainty flickering across his face even as his body swayed toward you.

The first kiss was tentative, testing, like neither of you wanted to startle the moment. But underneath it was weeks of tension snapping loose all at once. It wasn’t rushed, but it was full of everything unspoken, everything you’d danced around until now. Tender, yes, but weighted, like you both knew this was a line you couldn’t uncross.

His hand lifted, brushing lightly against your jaw as though to make sure you were real, anchoring himself to the choice. The touch was gentle, but it sent heat racing down your spine.

When you finally pulled back, the room felt different. Warmer. Closer.

His forehead pressed against yours, breath uneven, and for the first time since you’d met him, the walls he carried around weren’t just cracked they were gone. And in the quiet of the empty shop, it felt like you were both standing in the middle of something you’d been moving toward from the very beginning.

⸻

Things didn’t change overnight.

There wasn’t some grand announcement, no dramatic leap into a relationship. Cody made that clear the next time you saw him, his voice steady but careful.

“I need to move slow,” he’d said, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always did when he was unsure. His eyes held yours, searching, as though afraid you’d hear that and walk away. “For them. For me. I don’t want to mess this up.”

You’d nodded, no hesitation. “I get it.”

And maybe that was why he kept coming back why he kept letting you in, piece by piece. The weeks that followed weren’t about sweeping gestures. They were about the small things, the ones that crept into your days quietly and lodged themselves in your chest.

A random good morning text before he headed to practice, always short but always enough to make you glance at your phone with a smile. A quick check in from the road, a picture of whatever city skyline blurred past his hotel window. The occasional coffee dropped off on his off days, tucked behind the counter before you even realized he’d been there your name scrawled across the cup in his messy handwriting.

And the late night texts never stopped. If anything, they grew softer, sweeter, like the two of you had stumbled into a rhythm neither of you wanted to break.

Cody: Longest flight ever. What’s the cure for plane food poisoning?

You: Tacos. Always tacos.

Cody: You and those damn tacos.

You’d laughed out loud, shaking your head, but your chest ached with something warmer, heavier. Because his voice lived in your head even through text teasing, steady, familiar in a way that shouldn’t have been possible after such a short time.

You caught yourself lingering over his messages, rereading them in quiet moments. Your phone lighting up with his name was becoming the highlight of your day, every single time.

And then, one quiet night, another buzz. A photo.

Two little heads nestled close together on a couch, the soft glow of a movie flickering across their faces. A blanket thrown haphazardly over their legs. Comfort. Home. Below it, a message.

Cody: Missing one thing, you.

Your breath caught, fingers frozen over the screen. The words were simple, but the meaning behind them wasn’t. It wasn’t just a line, or banter, or something he could play off as casual later. It was real.

You stared at the photo again, your heart squeezing tight, and then at the message. And before you could stop it, a smile spread across your face, unstoppable, bright and wide enough to make your cheeks ache.

Because for the first time, it was clear this wasn’t just tension, or convenience, or something to pass the time. This was him letting you in into the quietest, most guarded part of his life.

And you liked the way it felt. More than you’d ever expected. Maybe even more than you were ready to admit.

⸻

MASTERLIST

#oh I’m in love #op you never miss #new york yankees #cody bellinger #fic recs

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