Page 59 of Dear Henry, Love Edith
Henry dug his hands in his pockets and took a step toward Edith. The first two rows of bleachers were starting to fill with parents and grandparents. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
They smiled at each other, waiting for the other person to say something more.
“What are you doing here?”
“How was your stew?” They both spoke over each other.
“Sorry. You first.”
“No. You go.”
Edith blew her bangs from her eyes. “The stew was good. Well, pretty good. Could have been better. It was almost like it was missing something.”
“Hmm... like maybe a pepper?”
Edith’s small laugh sent way too much heat through Henry’s gut. Man, he missed her. So what if she was leaving at the end of summer? He’d deal with that later. He just wanted to be with her now. With whatever time they had. Even if he looked like an idiot.
“So what are you doing here?” Edith asked.
A chain-link fence ran next to them, separating the ball diamond from the bleacher area. He grabbed the bar running along the top of it. “See those girls out there? The ones warming up like a well-oiled machine?”
Edith made a show of scanning the ball field. “I see some girls doing cartwheels and others picking dandelions. Oh, and a girl wearing a catcher’s mask backwards.”
“That’s my team.”
Edith’s eyes widened with exaggerated astonishment. “You’re the coach?”
“Yep. And I don’t want to brag, but so far this team is undefeated under my management.” Henry made a show of hitching his pants. “I think this could be the year.”
“Really? What’s your team’s name?”
“Blue team.”
Edith pointed behind him. “What’s that player’s name?”
“Champ.”
“You didn’t even look at her.”
“Don’t need to. They’re all champs in my eyes.”
Edith clasped the fence, her fingers an inch from his own. Her smile made him want to close the distance. “You got suckered into this, didn’t you?”
Henry leaned closer to her, dropping his voice. “You need to help us. Lance doesn’t know baseball. I don’t know little girls.” He yanked down his shirt collar. “Plus, I’m pretty sure I have shingles. Isn’t that contagious? Shouldn’t I go home?”
“That’s a mosquito bite,” Edith said, poking her finger against his skin.
“So I might have Lyme disease. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Not unless you’re covered in ticks.”
The scent of her coconut shampoo drew him closer. “Do you need to check me?”
Her lips curved in a delicious smile. “Do I look like Brad Paisley to you?”
“Nothing against Brad, but you look way better than he does.” Henry couldn’t stop staring at her. Whether she was wearing a red dress or a pair of jean shorts and a plain V-neck T-shirt, Edith was gorgeous. Henry opened his mouth to tell her so when a voice—amplified by a megaphone—blasted from the dugout.
