Owen, playing third baseman, had missed.
The crowd lost their minds. “Go, go, go!” Noah jumped to his feet. Even Farmer Branson stood, frantically waving a straw hat and hollering with the others.
Noah headed hard for home plate, glimpsing Elisa rushing to second from the corner of his eye. He slid again, already anticipating his need for some Tylenol, as the ball flew by and smacked soundly into the catcher’s glove.
“Safe!” Mayor Landry roared, the mic buzzing with feedback.
Noah half-limped toward the dugout, grinning despite the mild throb in his leg as Zoey slapped him a high five. He grabbed a Gatorade and tipped his hat to Cade on the mound, who pointed at him in warning. As he chugged a long sip, his gaze roamed the stands. Sitting behind Farmer Branson’s wide hat was Isaac Bergeron, eating popcorn near Sadie and Pastor Dubois’s wife.
Mental note—no scooping Elisa on his shoulders after all.
He turned his attention back to home plate. Miley was up next. Two strikes later, she hit one over the back fence that brought both Trish and Elisa home with her.
They’d won.
Mayor Landry shouted the final score over the speakers, and Mama D let out a piercing whistle between two fingers as the crowd bellowed. Noah rushed from the dugout toward Elisa, his knee a distant distraction as he hauled her into his arms. Forget Isaac in the stands. This was more important.
“We did it!” Elisa came eagerly into his embrace, lifting her feet off the ground as Noah tightened his grip around her waist and spun.
He didn’t want to put her down. “Nice moves out there.”
“Told ya.” She didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave, either, sneaking a quick kiss on his cheek. She must not be worried about her father seeing, either.
Though he probably shouldn’t push his luck. Noah reluctantly returned her feet to the ground, the impression of her lips lingering on his flushed skin. “You were right about a couple of things today.”
“Oh yeah? Can’t wait to hear.” Her eyes shone up at him, and his earlier feelings about home shifted up another notch in priority. Yeah. He was about to make some changes. He’d wasted enough time.
Heart light, Noah turned to receive the various high fives and fist bumps offered from the other players, laughing at Linc’s genuine scowl and Cade’s mock frown.
“Good job, Mr. I Haven’t Played in Forever.” Cade fist-bumped him. Somehow, the guy’s white T-shirt and faded jeans had stayed pristine, while dirt caked the length of Noah’s entire left leg.
“Not bad, huh?” Noah clapped Owen on the shoulder. “Like riding a bike.”
“That explains it, then.” Owen stumbled forward under Noah’s hand, grinning. “I fell a lot as a kid.”
The din subsided as those in the stands began shuffling off the bleachers. The players in the dugout gathered their gear and discussed which pizza joint to hit up next. Cade walked backwards next to Mayor Landry, who wore a patient expression. “Concession sales were hot tonight, Dad. We exceeded expectations by almost double.”
Elisa waited by the dugout entry as Noah threw his glove into his bag. He wanted to go for pizza with the others, but he also really wanted to take her somewhere alone. Not that he was dressed for it—and not that he could currently afford it—but images of a steakhouse and candlelit tabletops filled his thoughts.
But that was okay. If his new goal went as planned, they’d have plenty of time for that later.
Suddenly, a slow, rhythmic clap rose over the surrounding conversations, until the chattering around Noah stopped. He zipped his duffel bag and turned toward the sound.
A lone figure leaned against the field gate, still applauding. The man straightened when Noah met his gaze and strode toward the dugout, hands now shoved confidently into the pockets of his athletic jacket.
A sudden freeze washed over Noah, shooting ice into his fingers and toes. He blinked, but the image didn’t vanish.
The silver-haired man, roughly an inch shorter than Noah, stopped in front of him with a cocky grin. “Looks like I finally made it to one of your games.”
Dad.
twenty-two
The lights of the ball field blurred into a kaleidoscope against the inky black sky as Noah’s heartbeat pulsed heavy in his ears. “What are you doing here?” His dry voice caught in his throat as he pushed past Elisa and met his father outside the dugout.
The remaining players quietly slipped past them, heads ducked as if anticipating what was coming. Across the field, those still oblivious to the sudden shift in the atmosphere chattered as they clomped down the bleachers, the scent of popcorn and hot dogs hanging thick in the air.
“Can’t your old man come for a visit?” Dad—Russell—spread his hands wide, his performance smile fully locked and loaded. He’d gone gray early in life. Growing up, Noah had heard him referred to more than once as a “silver fox.” He hadn’t known back then what that meant, but always figured at least the cunning part was right. Today, a smattering of gold rings—none on his actual ring finger, of course—and Ralph Lauren jacket boasted of the success he’d always shot for and usually achieved.
