Page 47 of Love in the Outfield

I grab a bite-sized quiche. “Yummy.”

“Look at these babies,” he says, pulling out a huge live lobster from a Styrofoam container. He holds it close to my face. “Had them flown in fresh from Maine.”

I cover my mouth staring into a pair of sad, beady, brown eyes. “Poor baby. His claws are clamped shut!”

“It’s to protect them from each other and me from getting nipped.”

I scoff. “That’s rich. Protect him so he can get eaten! He looks scared.”

His eyes twinkle at me. “I guess you’re not the one that’s going to drop them in the water then?”

“No way in hell,” I reply.

“Georgia their brains are the size of a pea.”

“Bigger than yours if you think I’m going to eat that poor little thing after meetin’ him. If I have to look at him a second longer, I don’t think I’ll be able to eat at all.” He laughs out loud then puts him back in the container.

“Guess it’s a good thing I bought the fresh pasta and the high-dollar sauce.”

I bite back a smile. “You went all out. But what were you thinking to show me that poor little critter?”

“It’s all coming back to me now,” he says. “You always did have a soft heart. FYI, I promise no lobsters were harmed in the preparation of your appetizers.”

“Did Trader Joe tell you that himself?”

“Ha! What kind of music are you into these days?” he asks.

“Pop, country, whatever,” I say. “Whatever you want to listen to is fine.”

“Alexa, play some country music,” he commands. Alexa responds and Ella Langley’s song “You Look Like You Love Me” starts streaming through a home sound system.

“Some fresh lemon for your buddy,” he says grabbing three lemons. He juggles them like it’s nothing, his biceps flexing making it hard not to ogle. This man should come with a warning label. He nods at the basket of fruit. “Do me a solid and toss me another one.”

I get up and reach for another lemon. “How do you want me to do this?”

“Quickly,” he jokes, tossing them higher and higher as he sings along to Ella’s playful tune.

I awkwardly throw it at him which he catches easily.

“Show off,” I drawl. “Is this what all you baseball players do in your spare time?”

“Only when there is a pretty woman we want to impress.”

“Well, I’m impressed.”

“Phew. That was easy,” he says, catching the lemons one by one before placing them back in the wicker basket. “How hungry are you?”

“Before or after I met Larry the Lobster?”

He snorts with laughter. “Larry will never know what hit him. How much pasta can you eat?”

“I’m a pretty good eater when it comes to pasta.”

“I seem to recall that. I’ll use the whole package. Both pots are boiling so I’m going to drop in the pasta first. I’ll give you fair warning before your friend gets dunked.”

“I can’t even think about it. How about I go out on the terrace while you do the murdering?”

“There’s a bottle of wine in a bucket of ice out there. The opener is in the second drawer if you can grab it on your way. Oh, and the salads are in the fridge and there’s a bottle of Ranch and some Italian dressing in there if you could grab those too.”

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