She went very still. “You remembered that?”
“Yeah.”I remember everything you’ve ever said to me.
For a long moment, she just looked at me. Then she kissed me again, softer this time. When we finally pulled apart, I gestured to the door. “I know you’re not technically a Yankees fan, but I figured since we’re going to the game, you should at least look the part, so, in you go.”
EMILY
Yankee Stadium rose up around us like a concrete cathedral. I was pretty sure I’d stopped breathing somewhere between the entrance and the elevator.
The elevator. Because apparently we weren’t walking to our seats like normal people. No, we were being escorted by a woman with a headset and a clipboard who kept calling Cam “Mr. Rockford” while I trailed behind in my brand new Yankees shirt, clutching my bag like it was a lifeline.
“This way, please.” The woman gestured down a carpeted hallway that definitely didn’t look like any baseball stadium I’d ever been in.
I shot Cam a look. He met it with a face full of innocence that I didn’t buy for a second.
“What?”
“What do you mean, what? Where are we going?”
“To our seats.”
“These are not seats. Seats are down there.” I jabbed a finger in the vague direction of the field. “Seats have peanut shells on the floor and a guy spilling beer on your shoes.”
The woman stopped in front of a door and opened it with a polite smile. “Here you are. Enjoy the game.”
I stepped inside and promptly forgot how words worked.
The suite was all glass and leather, climate controlled and quiet, with a view that made my knees go weak. We were directly behind home plate. Close enough that I could see the chalk lines on the batter’s box, the stitching on the catcher’s mitt.
“Cam.” His name came out strangled.
He stepped up behind me, his hand warm on my lower back. “Good surprise?”
I turned to face him. I wanted to joke, to tell him he was crazy, but the words stuck in my throat. This was too much. It was grand and expensive and thoughtful, and I suddenly felt very small and very unworthy.
“It’s…” I shook my head, fighting the urge to apologize for existing in this space. “It’s amazing. But, um,” I plucked at the hem of my shirt. “I feel like I should be wearing something fancier. There must be a dress code for seats like these.”
He just smiled, that slow, hot smile that made my stomach flip, and let his eyes roam over me. “You look perfect, stop stressing.”
“Oh, well, when you say it like that…”
He leaned in, pressed a hard kiss to my lips, then gestured to the leather chair. “Come on. Let’s watch some baseball.”
I could’ve over thought it. Could’ve let my brain spiral into all the reasons this was too much, too fast, too good to be true. I could’ve tallied up everything waiting for me back home. My mother’s voice. The scholarship I probably wouldn’t get. The scars that never let me forget.
But I didn’t. I forced the dark thoughts into a box and locked it tight.Be happy, Emily. Just be happy.
So I dropped into the seat beside Cam and let myself just... be here. In this ridiculous, impossible moment. With this man who’d flown me to New York because I’d been sad.
The stadium lights blazed bright as the players took their positions, and a ripple of energy moved through the crowd. Forty thousand people holding their breath in unison, waiting.
The pitcher wound up. Released. Strike one.
I let out a loud cheer, then immediately blushed. “Oh fuck, sorry. Forgot where I was for a moment.”
Cam chuckled. “No one out there can hear you.”
“Oh, right. Of course.”
