“There. Much better.”
“I love it. Thank you.”
He waved a dismissive hand in the air. “It’s nothing. Let me grab our blankets, and then we’ll be on our way. I hope it hasn’t started yet.”
“What hasn’t?”
“You’ll see.”
“Tell me,” she wheedled.
“And miss seeing your face when you realize? Not a chance.”
Once the blankets were secured under one arm, he offered her his other and guided her down a winding dirt path sheltered by a bare-limbed maple tree, then toward a red and white barn with a chicken coop in front. A group of men was clustered to one side of the barn, their attention riveted on something in the distance. Suddenly, as one, they burst into cheers, stomping their feet and shouting.
“This better not be a cock fight,” she said sourly.
Emil laughed. “It’s not. Not the kind you’re thinking of, anyway.”
As they neared the barn, Olive tightened her hold on Emil’s arm. She would have faith in him. He wouldn’t make her stand in the cold with a group of noisy men unless it was safe. Unless it was something really good. Something that wouldn’t make her regret?—
She gasped.
Before her, carved into the barren field, was a baseball diamond. One ragtag team occupied a bench behind home plate, and another was positioned across the diamond. She stared, her heart in her throat, as a fresh batter stepped up to the plate. The pitcher—goodness, was that Hyram Turner?—flowed into his wind-up, then hurled the ball toward home. The batter swung, and there was a mighty crack. The ball flew toward left field, and Olive’s heart soared along with it.
Emil had taken her to a baseball game.
“The season hasn’t started up yet,” he said at her side. “But I asked around and found out where the fellas meet up to play in the off-season.”
She tightened her grip on his arm, unable to look away from the action. “Emil, it’s wonderful.”
“Glad to hear it. Now, come this way. I asked them to save a couple of seats for us.”
They approached the cluster of spectators, who greeted Emil with warmth before offering her a polite, indifferent nod. She settled onto an empty bench on the far side, smoothing the plush flannel blanket across her lap. The chill still crept in, but she didn’t mind. She was too busy watching the batter streak around the bases for a triple.
Memories bombarded her—her father patiently teaching her every nuance of baseball. His soothing voice naming the plays as they occurred, highlighting a player’s skills or shaking his head at another’s mistakes. He’d loved to make predictions about which men might rise to the National League, and he’d tease her that she would be able to say she’d seen them play in person. She’d clung to every word, absorbing it as readily as she did musical theory. It had been their ritual, their special connection.
And now she sat beside the only other man who had truly mattered to her. Outwardly, he was nothing like her father: charming and cocky rather than reserved and modest. But beneath the surface, the similarities were striking. Both kind and protective; both intelligent and driven. To be graced with the same sort of man twice in one lifetime seemed unfathomable, yet there she was. She swallowed hard and blinked into the light.
Emil leaned in and whispered, “Are you overwhelmed?” She could only nod. Of course he’d notice. He adjusted his posture until one hand slid in between hers. “Hold on to me, and it will pass.”
She squeezed his hand, grateful she didn’t need to explain. They sat, hand in hand, while the inning progressed. Eventually, the tightness in her chest eased, and it was safe to speak once more.
She tilted her head to study Emil. He was riveted on the game, chuckling as a particularly ripe insult was hurled toward the catcher. He passed comments with his neighbors, entirely at ease. He must have felt her gaze on him because he glanced back at her. When she smiled, he flashed his beautiful, crooked grin. The one that told her it was real. The one that made her heart sing and her core ache.
“Better?”
“Better,” she confirmed.
“When was the last time you saw a game?”
“A month before my father passed.”
“Ah, I see.” His grip tightened on hers. “Was it as cold as this one?”
“It was one of the hottest days of summer,” she said, smiling at the memory. “A player fainted in the heat, and my father was called to assist. Then he bought us ice cream, but he was so engrossed in the game that it melted all over his coat. I can’t blame him, it was an exciting game. It was the play-offs, and?—”
“Look out!”
