Bennett takes the money. “Fine. What do you want?”
“Ooh,” I say, tucking a hand under my chin while I think. “What sounds good? Let’s start with a soft pretzel with extra salt, a chili dog with extra cheese, curly fries, and one of those long red licorice things. And a beer for Owen. Thanks!” I turn back toward my seat.
“Be back here in ten minutes!” he shouts behind me.
There’s a wave moving around the packed stadium that reaches us just as I make it back to my seat.
“Nice jersey!” Owen says as he flings his arms up. “Where’s the food?”
“It’s being prepared,” I say, raising my arms in response to the crowd. “I’ll grab it in a few. What’d I miss?”
“Honestly, I couldn’t tell you,” he says. “I don’t know any of the players’ names or anything that they’re doing. Baseball’s fun to watch, but I just can’t get into it the way others can.”
“Baseball shows us who we are, whether we know the plays or not,” I say dramatically, rattling off a line from one of my dad’s most popular movies.
“Isn’t that fromHomer, Run?” Owen asks. “I love that movie.”
I eagerly turn toward him in my seat. “You know that one?”
“It’s a classic. I’m a bit of a horror film buff.”
“Cool,” I say, realizing I haven’t actually had a chance to look at his profile myself. “What is it you do, Owen?”
“I work in my family’s business, too,” he says. “We run a winery in Malibu.”
My ears perk up at this information. “Tell me more!”
“I’m the fourth generation of California farmers,” Owen explains. “I manage the operations of the vineyard, and my sister runs the tasting room. There’s a lot more people involved, but we’re starting to take over more of the responsibility.”
Owen shares more about his family’s winery and his desire to execute new ideas while maintaining the history and reasons why customers have remained loyal. It’s nice to be able to chat about similar business struggles and hear about someone else’s worries for a change.
“Think that food is ready?” Owen says after describing how the wine-bottling process works.
“Oops! Let me go find out,” I say. I check the time on my phone and see a few texts from Bennett. It’s been thirty minutes.
I climb the stairs two at a time and find Bennett waiting at the top.
“Food’s cold, beer’s warm. Here’s a foam finger,” Bennett says. I hold my arm out, and he slides the foam finger over my hand, balancing the tray of food on top. “Did you get lost or something?”
“Owen and I were talking,” I say. “I can see why you picked him.”
Bennett’s posture stiffens. “Oh, great. So it’s going well?”
“Surprisingly,” I say, tossing a curly fry into my mouth.
“You think you’ll see him again?” Bennett asks, his eyebrows furrowed.
“We’re only in the”—I say, looking back toward the field—“third inning. We’re just talking. If we take off to elope, I’ll send you a courtesy text.”
Bennett scrunches his mouth into a smile. “Well, uh, good. I’m glad it’s going well.”
“Okay. Good. So then why do you look concerned?”
Bennett puts his hands up on his hips. “Who, me? This is what I look like when I’m right. Because of ZodiaCupid. You’re hitting it off with someone you met onmyapp. Maybe we know what we’re doing after all, huh?”
I rip off a piece of cold soft pretzel and dip it in the cup of mustard. “I see why you picked him. He’s cute, though you couldn’t have known that, so you got lucky on that one. He’s also excited by the challenge of running his family’s business. I can respect a legacy. From what he shared with me, it sounds like he makes good instinctive decisions. It’s clear he cares about both his work and family.” I pop the mustardy pretzel into my mouth.
“You were easier to crack than I thought.” Bennett looks perplexed as he shifts his footing.
