“Just fine,” she said and kept walking.
Ginger bit into the burger with a sigh of delight. “Red meat. Yum.”
Michael smiled. “Good?”
“Oh, yeah,” she mumbled. She glanced around while she chewed. The bar was paneled in dark wood, poorly lit, and the food was first rate. “I like this place. It feels very Chicago.”
He picked up his beer for a long drink. “How does something feel Chicago?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, it just does. Can I try your beer?”
“Sure.” He passed it over, watched her take a small sip. “Well?”
“It’s nice.”
He took the glass back. “Want me to order you one?”
She shook her head. “I’ll stick with pop. Tell me about this community center Sean works at.”
He set the glass down, picked up his burger. “Why? Are you looking to take a financial literacy class?”
“I could probably use one.” In the dim light of the bar, he could see the interest in her blue eyes. “Is that the kind of class they offer?”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?” she prompted.
“I don’t know that much about it,” Michael hedged, and it wasn’t a complete lie. They had a very competent director who handled all that. He tried his best to keep up, but he was just the figurehead. “Sean’s the one who works there, not me.”
“Well, give me Sean’s number and I’ll ask him.”
“Why do you want to know?” Michael hedged, because she was getting Sean’s number over his dead body. First, because Sean would spill the beans about his family foundation owning the damn center in the first five minutes. And second, because there had been more than interest in her baseball skills in the man’s eyes.
“Because I want to find out if they’re hiring.”
“I don’t think they have much call for high-school English teachers.”
“Ha, ha. For your information, I’m not looking for a teaching job.”
“You aren’t?”
She shook her head. “I’m burnt out on teaching. But I have a master’s in education, and that might be worth something to the—what was it again?”
“The Killingsworth Chicago Family Center,” he supplied. “But they just call it the Center.”
“Right. If they’re hiring, do you think Sean would put in a good word for me?”
“I’m sure he would.” If he needed to, which he didn’t. “Give me your resume, and I’ll pass it along to him.”
“Would you?” She beamed at him. “That would be great.”
“No problem.”
“Thanks, Michael.”
“You’re welcome.” He polished off his beer, watching her over the rim of the glass. “If you stay in Chicago, you can join Sean’s softball team next year.”
“Maybe,” she said with a frown. “If they take it seriously enough. I’m not playing in some league where nobody gives a shit if they win or not.”