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As long as they left his family alone.
CHAPTER 5
By Monday afternoon, Emily had completely reorganized the designer golf balls in the display case, making a rather impressive tower of alternating colors, if she did say so herself. She was blasting the Wicked sound track today, louder than usual so she could belt along with Idina Menzel.
This kind of heat always made business slow, but today was ridiculous. Maybe people were finally done with the weather, and everyone had gone to the beach.
When “Defying Gravity” came on, she cranked it a few notches higher, then stepped out onto the floor to rearrange the rack of golf shirts by size and style.
Just as she got to the chorus, a man cleared his throat behind her.
Emily jumped and shrieked and nearly knocked all the shirts off the rack. Her face went from cool to blazing in half a second.
She steadied the rack and called over her shoulder, loudly enough to be heard over the music. “I’m so sorry—”
Then she stopped short. Michael Merrick stood there.
She stared at him, unable to move.
He made a circular motion with his hand. “Could you turn this down?”
“Oh . . . sure.” She dashed for the stereo behind the counter and yanked her iPod cord free. The music died instantly.
When she straightened, Michael was at the counter. She could barely catch her breath.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he said flatly. “I like Broadway musicals as much as the next guy.”
Her cheeks felt hotter—if that was possible. “Sorry. It’s been dead. I mean . . .” She hesitated. “You need tokens?”
“I have some from the other day.”
“Oh. Okay.”
But he was still standing there, staring down at her. It took some effort to meet his eyes, but at least she could read the emotion there: surprise, and intrigue, and confusion.
“About Friday,” he said.
She wet her lips. “Friday?”
“I stayed up all night.” A self-deprecating shrug. “Most of the weekend, really.”
She frowned. “Okay . . . ?”
“I was waiting.” He rested his forearms against the glass, and his voice dropped a notch. “I thought you’d turn me in.”
“For the parking lot?” She shrugged and picked at the disclaimers taped to the glass counter. “It’s not a big deal—”
“It is to me.”
Emily stopped fidgeting and looked at him.
“So,” he said, his voice softer and almost gentle, “thanks.”
She had no idea what to say to that.
And he didn’t wait. He picked up his bat and turned for the back door to the shop, stepping out into the humidity without a backwards glance.
Emily cheated the time clock out of fifteen minutes and strode down the hill to the batting cages. Michael was still there, in a royal blue tee shirt today, using the fastest machine they had.
