Page 138 of Always Meant for You
I yank the wheel and ease the truck into a narrow parking space across from the ball field. Cal holds the assports box in his arms, protecting them with the intensity of a man guarding a newborn kitten.
Across the field, kids in crisp uniforms jog the baselines. Parents fan themselves and sip on iced coffee.
I nod toward a group of children milling around the infield. “That’s where we start. We’ll ask the kids for help. I know it might sound crazy.”
“No,” he says. “It’s brilliant. We need lots of hands.”
I’m nervous, but I can’t help but smile at the man. “If we pull this off, everything changes. Elverna will never be the same. I can feel it, Cal.”
“I feel it too,” he says softly.
I exhale, nerves threading through adrenaline. I scan the field. “That man in the blue shirt with the clipboard and whistle has to be the coach.”
Cal leans forward, tracking the guy. “I think his family used to farm near Route Twenty-Six. Yeah, his name is Shaun something. The family moved a couple of towns over about a decade ago.”
“That’s good. That’s really good,” I say, smoothing my blouse. “Personal connections can help. It’s a sign.”
He raises a brow. “You sound like the old Young sisters.”
“They’re rarely wrong.” I exhale an audible breath. “Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll explain the situation, ask if we can borrow a few fast, enthusiastic scribes, and set them loose with the pens.” I turn to Cal. “You’re with me, right?”
He leans forward and kisses me. “Always.”
This supportive man.
I touch his cheek. “After we make it through this day, I want to crawl into your lap and kiss your face off until the sun goes down.”
His grin flickers. “Sun sets at eight forty-two.”
Of course, my farmer would know that. It’s probably written on one of his whiteboards.
“It’s a date. Now, stay put. I’ll get your door,” I say, nervous energy thrumming.
I slip out of the truck, circling to his side. He swings his legs down, still clutching the box. We move together across the grass, fast and focused.
I check my watch. We’ve got less than thirty-five minutes.
The coach looks up as we approach, the word Cougars stamped across his chest in bold white letters.
Cougars! Another good sign. Middle-aged cougars adore Cal. Hopefully, the little ones will too.
“I’ll handle talking to the coach,” Cal says.
But I’m already waving. “Sir! We need your children!”
The man scowls. “You need what?”
“We need to makeP’s,” I say.
“Mabel,” Cal whispers.
“Pee?” the coach repeats. “If you need to use the bathroom, the port-a-potties are over by the fence.”
I blink. “No, I don’t need to pee. Actually, maybe I should have tried before we left the diner.”
Cal glances at me, worry etched across his face.
“I’m not talking about pee like urine,” I continue. “I mean the letter. The sixteenth letter in the alphabet.”
