“Not as much as I like not talking about this,” he says, and I bite back a laugh.
Fletch isdone.
Scottie joins us, giving Fletch the break he clearly wants.
“Your sweet potato casserole has made exactly zero people angry,” she says. “How does it feel to be upgraded to ‘not a failure?’”
I laugh. “It’s the high I didn’t realize I’d been chasing all my life.”
Scottie smirks and takes a bite of a chicken salad sandwich. “How’s the kabob? I was debating between that and the chicken salad.“
I look at my plate, and my pulse kicks up. I’m not full Adrian Monk or even Monica Geller, but none of the food is touching, and nothing is messy. Nothing is slathered or sticky. I only picked foods that sit where they’re told and behave themselves on a plate.
Over the last month, I’ve grown perfectly comfortable eating in front of Sean. How I’ll do in front of friends is another matter.
I slide a piece of chicken off the skewer and bring it toward my mouth. Sean bumps my knee with his, a show of support that feels like extra marrow in my bones, strengthening me. I take a bite, letting the juicy meat burst in my mouth. I chew and swallow without covering my face with my hand.
Sean grins at me through his own bite, his eyes looking misty. It’s such a small yet monumental show of support. He doesn’t see that bite as a meal, but a milestone.
The man really is husband material.
“It’s good,” I say. I stab my fork into another one. “Definitely worth getting.”
Soon, a few more people join us, including a woman with jaw-length strawberry blonde finger curls and the cutest freckles imaginable. “Hey, y’all. Good seeing you, Sean.”
“You too, Clementine,” Sean says. “Have you met my wife, Kayla?” Sean makes introductions, and Clementine smiles at us sweetly. “Clementine is the church organist.”
“But I can play anything,” Clementine says, “including Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” She puts a strange emphasis on the title.
I blink. And nod. And then it hits me.
“Oh! The song we play during the …”
“Seventh inning stretch,” Fletch says, like he can’t believe he’s having to explain this to the woman who signs his checks.
I laugh, refusing to be self-conscious that I missed Clementine’s hint. “Sorry, Clementine, give me a boardroom and a PowerPoint presentation, and I’m your girl. But the second you talk sports to me, it’s like a fog descends over my brain.”
“She’s being too hard on herself,” Sean says.
“She’s really not,” Fletch mumbles.
Sean kicks him under the table. Fletch grunts. We all laugh.
I look at Scottie. “Do we have an organist?”
“No, the announcer just uses a janky soundboard hooked up to an iPad.”
“Should we have an organist?” I look at Sean, who nods.
“The last owner was a cheapskate. If you have it in the budget, you should have one. It adds flair.”
“And I only charge $25 an hour,” Clementine says, putting the pinch on me with a smile.
I grin back. “I like your style, Clementine. Come by the field on Tuesday’s game. We’ll make it your official audition.”
“Deal.” She holds out her hand and I shake it.
I’m about to take another bite when I hear a voice behind me. It’s low, but not low enough.
