Page 4 of Catching Her Heart
"That's wonderful," I manage.
"She's going to sing at your wedding!" Nana declares, pulling out her phone again. "Now, about those baby pictures..."
"I really should explain?—"
"Oh look, honey," Kathleen interrupts, pointing to the field. "Ted's looking over here again. Wave!"
Before I can stop myself, I look down and see Ted behind the plate, his mask pushed up on his head. He's definitely looking in our direction, and when he sees me watching, he tips his cap slightly.
It's such a small gesture, but something flutters in my chest. Which is ridiculous. I'm here as a reporter. A professional. Not as someone getting swept up in romantic gestures from cute catchers.
"Aw, that's his special wave," Bridget sighs. "He only does that for people he really likes."
"How do you know he has a special wave?" I ask before I can stop myself.
"Because we've been coming to his games for three years, and we've never seen him do that before," Nana says, showing me a blurry photo of what might be baby Ted in a bathtub. "This one was taken when he was six months old. See how he's holding that rubber duck? Even then he had good hands."
I stare at the phone, not really seeing the picture. Ted has never done that wave before? That little tip of his cap was special?
"Are you writing him a love letter?" Kathleen asks, noticing my notebook.
"What? No! These are work notes. I'm covering the team for Austin News Network."
"Oh, how romantic!" Bridget claps her hands. "A love story that starts with journalism. Like in the movies!"
"It's not a love story. It's baseball reporting."
"Same thing, really," Nana says wisely. "Both require patience, strategy, and the ability to read signs."
I'm about to argue when I notice Jay Talley jogging in from the outfield. He spots our section and nudges another player—probably Derek, Kate's husband from yesterday's tavern encounter. They both look up at where I'm sitting with Ted's family, and Jay grins widely.
Great. Now the star pitcher thinks I'm dating his teammate.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your Austin Stars!"
The team takes the field for the top of the first inning, and I watch Ted jog to home plate with easy, athletic grace. He settles into his crouch behind the batter, mask down, and suddenly he's all business. Gone is the thoughtful man from yesterday. This is the "heart of the team" he told me about—focused, commanding, in complete control.
"He calls every pitch, you know," Kathleen says proudly. "The pitchers trust him completely."
I watch as Ted flashes signals to Jay on the mound. Jay nods, winds up, and throws a perfect strike. Ted frames it beautifully, holding the position just long enough for the umpire to make the call before firing the ball back.
"See how he moves?" Nana points. "Like a dancer. Very graceful for such a big man."
She's right. There's something almost elegant about the way Ted works behind the plate. I find myself taking actual notes about his game management, the way he seems to anticipate every play.
"You're really watching him," Bridget observes. "Most of his dates just pretend to pay attention."
"His other dates?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
"Oh, honey," Kathleen pats my arm sympathetically. "Don't worry about them. You're different. We can tell."
"How can you tell?"
"Because you're the first one he's brought us sandwiches for," Nana says simply.
I'm still processing this when Ted stands to throw down to second base, trying to catch a runner stealing. His throw is perfect—a laser beam that beats the runner by two steps. As he settles back into his crouch, he glances up at our section again.
This time, when our eyes meet, I don't look away and neither does he.
