After that, the game unfolded in front of us like a gift. By the third inning, I’d kicked off my shoes and curled my feet up underneath me, completely forgetting that I was supposed to be acting like a civilized adult in a fancy corporate suite.
In the bottom of the fourth, the Yankees loaded the bases with two outs. I was perched on the edge of my seat, practically vibrating.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I muttered under my breath.
Cam leaned over. “You know he’s gonna swing at the first pitch. He always does.”
“He does not always... okay, he does. But maybe this time...”
The pitch came. The batter swung.
The crack of the bat echoed through the stadium and the ball sailed into the gap in left center. Two runs scored before the throw even came in, and I was on my feet, screaming, my hands in the air.
When I finally sat back down, breathless and grinning, Cam was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
“What?”
He shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Nothing. I just like watching you watch baseball.”
I felt heat creep up my cheeks and shoved at his shoulder. “Be quiet and pay attention. There’s a runner on second.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
By the seventh inning stretch, we’d demolished enough food to feed a small army and I’d sung “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” at full volume with absolutely zero shame. The air in the stadium was electric, the kind of buzzing, collective joy that only happened when a home team was winning.
I leaned back in my seat, pleasantly full and a little drowsy from the excitement, watching the grounds crew drag the infield between innings.
Cam draped his arm around my shoulders, and I nestled into his side like I belonged there.
The thought caught me off guard and I stiffened, flicking Cam a look, as though checking that he’d heard the thought. Ridiculous.
He was leaning back, idly skimming his fingertips up and down my arm. He looked so relaxed, in a way I didn’t see often. The stadium lights caught the angles of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. I wanted to trace those lines.
He must have felt my gaze because he turned, one eyebrow raised. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “Just... thank you. For today. For all of it.”
His expression softened as he reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering against my cheek.
“There’s no need to thank me, Em.”
“Yeah, there is.” My voice was soft, breathy. “This is the best day I’ve had in... maybe ever.”
He leaned in, slow and deliberate, giving me time to pull away if I wanted to.
I didn’t.
His lips met mine, soft and unhurried, and the roar of the stadium faded to nothing. His hand cupped my jaw, tilting my head just slightly, and I melted into him. There were fortythousand people around us, but right then, it was just him. Just us. Just this.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.
“Good,” he murmured, his breath warm on my lips. “That was the point.”
Another roar from the crowd dragged our attention back to the game.
The Yankees won in the bottom of the ninth on a walk-off single that sent the stadium into absolute chaos. I screamed myself hoarse, jumping up and down, and when I turned to Cam, he caught me around the waist and lifted me clean off my feet, laughing into my hair.
We stayed until the stadium started to empty, until the players had disappeared into the dugout and the grounds crew emerged to start their post-game routine.
