Page 4 of Years in the Making

“Sure did. Do you know Spencer Caldwell?”

“He may be a distant relation of mine.”

“No shit. He ended my high school baseball career by hitting me with a line drive.”

Awkward. “Did I mention he’s a distant relation?”

“You did, yes.”

“So did you have grand dreams of playing for the hometown team before my distantly related cousin ended your promising career?”

“Nah.” He shakes his head, laughing softly. It’s a nice soothing sound in this somewhat chaotic environment. “I was a mediocre pitcher just trying to get through high school with a decent number of extracurriculars.”

“What else did you do? Maybe you know someone who ended my debating career or something.”

“I don’t think we had a debate team.”

“We didn’t either, but I wish we did. All those American shows with debate teams made me so jealous.”

“I would have been terrible. I’m too much of a pushover. I was in the orchestra, if you can believe it.”

“Oh?” My mind immediately tries to guess what instrument he played. He has long fingers which would come in handy for many things—I mean, instruments. “Cello?”

“Think smaller.”

“Violin?”

He smiles and nods.

“Huh.”

“What, don’t I look like a violin player?”

“I’m not sure anyone wearing a baseball hat, jersey, and jeans has ever looked like one.”

“You know I can take these things off, right?” I feel my face heat again. “Like I have other clothes.”

“Well, I figured. Do you still play?”

“Occasionally. Makes my mom smile so I’ll play for her sometimes.”

Why the hell did I tell him I have a boyfriend?

“You don’t play for you?”

“Okay, once in a while I’ll play for myself too. I have to practice, after all. I’d hate to subject her to a wrong note.”

“You’re a good son.” I offer a small smile, and he returns it.

“I hope so.” He looks out the window, and I see his brows furrow slightly in the reflection. “How about you?” he asks, turning back to me, his face relaxed again. “Play any instruments?”

“Ha! I have no aptitude for music. Hitting the play button is as close as I get to it.”

“Well, we can’t all be good at everything, or life would be boring.”

“True. I read a lot.”

“How else are you supposed to know everything if you don’t read?” he jokes. “What do you like reading?”

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