“But you don’t seem famous when we’re at home,” Abby points out.
“Good. That’s how it should be.”
Soon, we turn onto Danielle’s block and head up the front steps to her Victorian home.
Abby pushes the doorbell, but Danielle’s already swinging open the red door, letting her in.
“Hey, cutie-pie,” she says, scooping up our daughter and peppering her cheek with kisses. Then to me, she says, “Hey, you.”
“Hi, Danielle. I brought you your favorite pie.”
“Cherry!” She makes grabby hands. “You’re a godsend. Jamie and I have friends coming over tonight, and I was going to rush out to the bakery and grab a cake.”
“There is never a need for cake when you have me around,” I say, then make my way into her home.
Her husband looks up from the dining table where he’s drawing a pig, or maybe a duck, or possibly a cat, with their two-year-old.
“Hi, Harlan!” the little kid shouts.
Jamie lifts a hand. “How’s it going? You ready for your last season?”
My mind snags on the wordlast.Is he trying to trick me into confirming the rumors?
Love the dude, but I swear he’s got a bet with his buds he’ll be the first to reveal what I do at the end of the season.
Hell, I’d like someone to reveal it to me.
Danielle comes to the rescue, setting a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Honey, you’re a broken record. Maybe find a new topic.”
Jamie shoots her a confused look, his gray eyes narrowing. “Like what, sweetheart? The new surgical technique for reattaching a retina? And football is starting soon. Footballisthe topic.”
Danielle tosses her hands in the air. “How about the latest restaurants in Hayes Valley? Or maybe interesting tech news? Perhaps baseball?”
“Hmm, the new Thai place or whether the city’s star receiver is going to stay or go… What’s more interesting?”
Danielle shrugs helplessly. “Football fans. What can you do?”
Jamie smiles and stands, gesturing to the kitchen and the deck beyond. “You want a beverage, Harlan? Soda? Bubbly water? Beer? We’re grilling later if you want to join us.” He lowers his voice to a stage whisper. “We can talk about baseball. How about those Dragons?”
“They look good this season. Maybe they’ll finally win a World Series,” I say, happy to shift to another sport.
“Home run!” the two-year-old shouts.
“And a bubbly water would be great,” I add.
“I’ll grab it,” Abby calls as she sweeps into the dining room,clutching an early reader book from among the many lying around. “And I like football better, Daddy.”
As the girl joins her mother in the kitchen, Danielle pats Abby’s head. “I wonder why.”
After Abby returns with a raspberry LaCroix, I catch up with Jamie, chatting about the Dragons’ chances of making it to the Fall Classic. When we’ve shot the breeze for thirty minutes, I stretch my arms and tell them I need to take off.
Danielle walks me to the door, motioning for Abby to stay behind.
“Thanks again for the pie, and for the school check,” she says softly.
“Of course,” I say, but I kind of can’t believe she’s thanking me for paying for Abby’s school. What else would I do?
“I appreciate it,” she adds.
