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“Dad works two jobs, huh? Do you have anyone at home waiting for you?”
“No, sir. It’s just me and my dad.”
It’s clear as day this kid idolizes his father, especially considering how little time he must spend with him since the man works hard to put a roof over them both.
Kid got lucky in the dad department.
Not all of us do.
“Does your dad ever have a day off?” I ask, feeling Lottie’s curious eyes on me.
“Sometimes, sir. Why?”
I throw the signed ball in the air, which he catches with ease.
“I’ll leave two tickets for you and him every Saturday game at the front desk of the Guardians’ arena. The ones he can’t come and see with you, he can sell them off if he wants.”
“Really?” The boy’s eyes light up.
“Really,” I promise, taking an old receipt out of my jacket to scribble on. “And if you’re as good with a hockey stick as you are at catching a baseball, have him call me on this number. I teach hockey to kids your age three times a week after school, and as luck would have it, there’s a spot to fill.”
Before I even have enough time to hand him my number, the kid flings his arms around me.
“Thank you!”
“Yeah, okay.” I pat him on the back, not entirely comfortable.
Patrick lets me go, wiping what looks to be tears from his eyes.
“I’ll make sure he calls you. And if you need anything, just give me a shout.”
My forehead creases as I watch the kid skip away like he just won the lottery or something.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Nate Wilder, you never cease to amaze me,” Lottie says, with that same doe-like glow in her eyes. “You’re just a big softie, aren’t you?” she teases, poking me lightly on the chest.
“Whatever. Let’s just play ball,” I grunt.
“You first,” she says, handing me the bat after we gear up.
I walk over to the plate and wait for the pitching machine to start.
“So, are all our dates going to be some kind of sporting event?” I ask, swinging my bat just in time to connect to the baseball, making it fly across the small field to hit the net.
“They don’t have to be. I just thought that maybe us doing things like this together would be right up your alley. Or don’t you like baseball?”
“Everyone likes baseball.” I chuckle, swinging my bat to hit another ball.
“Wow! You’re really good at this. Maybe you missed your calling,” she praises after another ball flies in the air.
“Nah. Nothing could beat the high from being on the ice.”
“You love hockey that much, huh?” she asks, looking at me with admiration in her eyes.
I nod in response because how she looks at me makes me lightheaded and stupid.
I get all tongue-tied, afraid I’m two seconds away from saying the wrong thing.
Like how I love her smile more than I like to hit a puck.
