Page 77 of Love in the Outfield

“Where’s your jacket?” I ask.

“I’ll grab it.” She leaves my embrace to retrieve her short black suede jacket, and I hold it while she slips it on.

“Ready?”

“I’m starving. I skipped lunch to save room,” she says. I reach for her hand as we walk to the car. Opening the car door, she slides in and I buckle her up. I take a little longer than necessary and steal a kiss before I go.

When we arrive at the restaurant, I give them my name and we’re whisked back to our secluded corner booth right across from the fireplace.

“Wow, is this ever a blast from the past,” she says, looking around wide-eyed.

“We even scored our favorite booth.”

“Pays to know the owner,” she teases.

The server arrives immediately and hands us our menus before reciting the specials. I order a bottle of wine and she disappears to put in the order. As soon as she leaves a water server appears and fills our glasses.

“What looks good?” I ask her. She’s biting her bottom lip in concentration as she studies her menu as if she’ll be quizzed on it later.

“I’m thinkin’ the beet salad to start with. My eyes are usually bigger than my stomach but what the heck.”

“I’m starting with the French Onion soup and a wedge salad. Their soup is the bomb.”

“I seem to remember that. Maybe I can sample yours,” she says sweetly.

“You can have anything you want. Hey,” I say, “they have lobster on the menu!” She glares at me and nudges me with her foot.

“Very funny. I think I’ll go with the salmon.”

“I’m ordering a juicy strip steak with the twice-baked potato. I’ve been thinking of it all day.”

“I have to save room for their apple tart.”

“Yep. I’ll get the key lime pie and we can share.”

The waitress brings our wine and pours a sample. Georgia nods her approval and then the waitress fills our glasses halfway. She takes our orders and we close our menus and hand them back. Then we’re alone again.

Georgia takes a sip of wine and sighs. “Like old times,” she says softly. “I’m glad you brought me here. I could never bring myself to come back after you left.”

I feel a pang of guilt and squash it down. I’m not about to ruin our night with old tunes and regret. New day, new page. “This is my first time back too,” I admit.

She narrows her eyes. “You swear?”

“Cross my heart,” I reply, making an X across my chest. “This is our place.”

The server returns bringing a basket of warm bread. After she leaves, I take a slice from the basket and butter it for Georgia.

“Mm, yummy,” she says clapping her hands softly. “Thank you,” she says as her teeth crunch into the crispy crust. “Mm. As good as I remembered.”

I slather butter onto another piece for myself and devour it.

She studies me over her wine glass as she takes another sip. “So, what’s next?”

I frown. “As in?”

“As in what are your plans in the off-season?”

“I’m looking at her.”

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