Allie shyly stepped through the glass door.
“Give us a wave, Allie, so we know it’s you.”
She lifted her hand and saw her movement on the jumbo screen. Laughing, she waved harder. People cheered. She waved both hands and it got louder. She finally understood why people danced like dorks and waved their baby’s arms to get on the screen. This was kind of fun.
She was watching the screen when the door opened behind her, and suddenly, there was Mark standing next to her on the screen. But that would mean ...
She turned to find him right beside her—close enough to touch. A thousand emotions swirled inside. Including joy and excitement at sharing the same three feet of space with the man she was desperately in love with, to worry over what wouldhappen when the press caught wind of this. Her heart pounded against her ribs, threatening to break right through. She placed her hand on his chest. “If you’re trying to be sneaky, you’re not doing a very good job,” she whispered.
Mark pulled a microphone to his mouth, his eyes alight with joy. “Hello, Braves fans!”
The crowd cheered. He whispered in her ear, his warm breath sending shivers of delight down her spine. “I’m done hiding how I feel about you.”
Was he ... were they ... was this ...?
Mark continued, “I’m Mark Dubois. Atlanta is my home, and I love this city.” The crowd cheered. “This is Allie Gray and she’s going to lead us in ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame.’”
Allie’s hand flew to her mouth. She shook her head. The crowd laughed.
“You can—you’ll be great.” He tipped the mic away. “The words will be on the screen, and I’ll be right here with you.” He laced their fingers together. “Sing.”
Allie took the mic. She gripped tight, the plastic sliding in her slippery palm. “Hit it,” she said, and the crowed clapped as the organist started the ol’ tune.
“Take me out to the baaaaaall game.” She couldn’t believe that was her voice filling the stadium. The thrill of performing shot up from her toes, strengthening her courage.
Mark started swaying the two of them from side to side. It wasn’t hard to move Allie—she was so shocked he could have knocked her over with a feather—or a paintbrush.
“Take me out to the crooowd.”
Mark tugged her closer and Allie was all too willing to go. If he was here, and they could truly be together, then she wanted to be as close to him as possible. If this was a dream—and she hadn’t ruled out that scenario yet—then she was going to enjoy every second.
The crowd had all joined in, their voices rising up from under the box seats. “Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack. I don’t care if I never get back.” On the big screen, a baseball bounced over each word, keeping them all in time.
Mark kissed her temple and Allie fumbled through the next line. His chest bounced as he chuckled, and she almost whacked him with the mic.
“For it’s one, two, three strikes, you’re out.” Allie went for the big finish, pulling the mic away from her mouth so she had the right volume. “Ball game!”
She dropped the mic to her side and waved with her other hand. Mark did the same right up until the image on the screen changed to the pitcher in his warm-up.
Allie rounded on Mark. She took his face between her hands and pulled him down for an urgent and demanding kiss. Mark didn’t take any time to catch up to her train of thought—or train of kisses, as it were. His arms enveloped her and she ran her hands down those broad, round, hunky shoulders of his and back up to the back of his neck, where she pulled him even closer, bending back in the process.
When she absolutely had to come up for air, she loosened her hold but didn’t let go. Mark straightened them up and kissed her forehead. She leaned into his lips, fluttering her hands across his chest. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t let you leave without doing that.”
Mark tipped her chin up so their eyes met. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“But Chloe ...?” Leticia had explained about Mark’s custody battle with his ex-wife. A sharp pain erupted behind Allie’s eyeball every time she thought about the damage she had done to his case.
“Chloe is moving in with me at the end of the month—it’s been settled.”
“Wha—how?”
“Apparently, owning a theater is a respectable job—according to Judge Jamison it is, anyway. Beau’s still not convinced.”
Allie felt her cheeks widen. “She’s yours?”
“Until she’s eighteen.”
“Mark! I’m thrilled for you.”
