“Exactly. It’s a game of failures.”
“And you like that?” I chuckle.
“I love it. It’s challenging for sure. But so worth it when you get that one amazing hit.”
“How did you do today?”
“Oh for three with a walk.”
I shake my head side to side. “Yep, don’t know what that means.”
He pulls me closer to him, laughing at my lack of simple baseball knowledge, especially after I thought I was learning everything. “It means I had four at bats, didn’t get on base for three of them, and walked for the fourth.”
I stare into his eyes with nothing between us but the wineglass I’m holding near my chest. “Did you strike out?”
I watch as his eyes bounce between mine and my lips. “Twice.”
“What about the third at bat?”
“Fly out to center.”
“Were you upset during the game?”
“Nah. I knew I had you to look forward to.” He leans down, pressing his lips to mine. “It was all I needed to not let my mood turn sour.”
He pulls back, keeping only a few inches between us.
“I’m glad I could keep your mood up.”
He kisses me again. “Me too.”
He turns, opening the fridge as I take a deep inhale to gather myself and my desires from just being that close to him. I take a sip of wine, hoping that will help too then set it down.
“So, what are you cooking?” I ask, peeking over his shoulder once he’s at the stove.
He puts down the spoon he was using to stir a cream sauce he had just added cream cheese to and grabs my hand.
“Follow me.” He leads me to his backyard and holds his hands out to his sides. “Ta-da!”
I nod, trying not to laugh. “You bought a grill.”
“I did. It does everything you could ever imagine. Look.”
He opens it up to show me the multiple burners and the side section that can have a saucepan separate from the main part of the grill and all these other functions. I have no idea what he is talking about, but his excitement is infectious.
“It all seems amazing!” I try to match his intensity level. “Does this mean you’ll be cooking me dinner more often?” I tease.
He grabs me and brings me close to him. “That’s the plan.” He gives me a quick kiss, then heads back inside. “Stay here. I’ll go grab the chicken.”
He comes back out, carrying a bowl of marinated chicken and tongs, which he holds up to me, clicking them together. “To answer your question from earlier … I’m making Alfredo pasta with grilled chicken and asparagus.”
“Well, fancy, fancy. I didn’t know you liked to cook.”
“I do.” He opens the grill and starts the flames, his eyes lighting up when he does. “I’ve had to use whatever grill was left around wherever I lived, so having this is huge. I have so many plans for things I’ve wanted to cook now that I have one.”
“Ah, that’s cute.”
He snaps the tongs at me playfully. “It’s manly. Not cute.”
