She put the used needle in the dispenser and dropped the rest of the mess in the garbage can. “What’s this, the end-of-the-first-week debrief?”
“Jeez. Just making conversation. Sorry I kept you late. You probably have plans.”
She laughed, the sound a little brittle for his liking.
“Plans? In Jewell Cove? Just me and a glass of chardonnay. Real exciting.”
She didn’t make it sound like a good thing, and he definitely didn’t want to pry. He got up and made his way to the front door but turned at the last minute. She was behind the reception desk again, the phone receiver to her ear as he raised his hand in farewell.
She fluttered her fingers and smiled, the sharpness of a moment before gone. His heart did a little lurch again. Being attracted to her would be such a mistake. She was a coworker. And she was temporary. He got the distinct impression that she’d rather be back in the big city than killing time in his hometown. Hell, that smile and fluttering of her fingers was about as warm as she’d been the entire week.
But it had been warm enough to fuel something he hadn’t felt in a long time. And that was very, very inconvenient.
* * *
July Fourth was as big of a deal in Jewell Cove as it was anywhere else in America. Lizzie’d seen that right away when she’d arrived in town, her suitcases piled into the back of her convertible, at the end of June. Red, white, and blue decorations appeared all week: flags, bunting, flowers, the works. By the time the actual day rolled around, celebrations were in full swing. Lizzie found herself accompanying Charlie and Dave to several events beginning at noon, charmed despite herself at the cheerful, patriotic mood that enveloped the town.
The mayor, a crusty ex-fisherman named Luke Pratt, made a speech in Memorial Square, the statue of Edward Jewell looking on approvingly. There was a tribute to the members of the armed forces and the announcement of the Most P
atriotic Display for local businesses, which went to Cover to Cover Bookstore for their window featuring the Declaration of Independence as the centerpiece with a huge stars and stripes collage as a backdrop. All day long there were special events. A hot dog barbecue in the square; face painting sponsored by the local store Treasures. There was to be a ball game at the park between the current high school team and alumni and games for the younger kids down on the wharf where, incidentally, Sally’s Dairy Shack was giving out free soft ice cream with special tickets handed out by members of the business association.
Dave was just finishing his cone when he looked over at Charlie and Lizzie. “Okay, you two. I’ve suffered through speeches and the two of you oohing and aahing over flowers and God knows what else. It’s time for some manly pursuits. Can we head over to the ball game? The first inning just started.”
Charlie looked pained, but Lizzie nodded. “That sounds like fun.” She never made a big deal of it, but she and her dad had often enjoyed watching the Sox play and she liked the game. It was one of the things she’d missed this past spring. Besides, it was sunny and hot and what better way to spend the day than at America’s favorite pastime?
Dave, bless him, looked relieved. “Charlie told Josh we’d show up to the postgame barbecue, so we can head over there afterwards.”
Lizzie put her tote over her shoulder and hesitated. “Maybe I’ll just head back home after the game. I don’t need to play third wheel.”
“Don’t be silly,” Charlie argued, nudging her elbow as they walked to the clinic where they’d parked. “Half the town was invited, including Robin from the office. Besides, I know for a fact that Sarah expects you.”
Lizzie frowned. “How do you know that?”
Charlie laughed. “Because I ran into her at the grocery store and she said to be sure I brought you with us.”
Lizzie didn’t argue. She could always make up an excuse later if she didn’t want to go. Right now she was actually having fun. The sun was hot on her hair, her nose was sweating just a little bit around the nosepiece of her sunglasses, and she was thirsty for water now that she’d finished her vanilla soft-serve cone.
The ball field was behind the high school, northwest of the waterfront. Cars already filled the school lot, and when they reached the bleachers the game was under way. The scoreboard read 2–0 for the high school team in the second inning, and the alumni were up at bat.
Sarah’s daughter, Susan, ran up to greet them. “Mom says to give you these.” Susan handed over three ball caps, brown ones that said: Old Dogs. “She said you have to cheer for the old guys.”
Charlie laughed. “Your uncles aren’t exactly old.”
Susan shrugged. “They’re no spring chickens.”
Lizzie burst out laughing as Susan ran off again. “I like that kid,” she said, taking the hat and pulling her ponytail through the hole at the back as she placed it on her head. “What are they calling the high school team?”
Charlie pointed at a teenager standing nearby, watching through the fence. His ball cap was red and said: Young Pups on it. Lizzie grinned. “Cute,” she said, chuckling a little.
They made their way into the stands, Charlie and Lizzie picking seats while Dave bought them sodas from someone with a big cooler. Lizzie had just popped the top on a root beer when one of the “old-timers” struck out, causing lots of good-natured trash talk to erupt on both benches. “That’s Josh’s cousin Bryce.” Charlie nodded toward the burly player making his way back to the dugout. “He’s the police chief. Boy, he’s going to have a hard time living that one down.”
The next batter was Rick Sullivan, who Charlie pointed out was Josh’s brother-in-law and had a prosthetic hand. Lizzie watched curiously as Rick gripped the bat, his prosthetic at the bottom, his other hand above it. The first pitch came in slow, and Lizzie saw Rick scowl as he stepped out of the batter’s box, refusing to even swing. “Come on, Danny,” he groused. “No wimping out just because I’m a cripple. Might as well bring out that fastball like you do for everyone else on the second pitch.”
She swore the kid, Danny, blushed on the mound. Rick stepped back inside the box, dug in his front toe, and waited.
Sure enough, the next pitch came zooming in, a perfect fastball. And Rick swung, connecting with a sharp crack as the ball went just over the shortstop’s head and dropped in front of the left fielder, giving him a single.
The pitcher kicked his foot in the dirt and hoots and howls came from the other bench. “He had your number, son!” More laughs and high fives, and Rick had a ridiculous grin on his face as he stood next to the first-base bag.