Page 7 of Catching Her Heart
"I found it my first week in Austin," Ted says, guiding me toward a corner table. "It stays open late, and the owner, Mrs. Adams, makes the best apple scones in Texas."
"You have a sweet tooth?"
"Guilty." His smile is boyish. "Don't tell my trainer."
We settle into our seats, and I immediately feel more relaxed. The stadium had been Ted's territory, but this feels neutral somehow. Like we're just two people getting to know each other, not a reporter and her source.
"So," Ted says after we've ordered—coffee for me, hot chocolate for him because apparently he really does have a sweet tooth—"what did you actually observe tonight? Besides my family's complete lack of boundaries."
"Your family is wonderful," I protest. "Enthusiastic, but wonderful."
"Nana called you 'honey' within five minutes of meeting you. That's got to be some kind of record."
"She also thinks you're an excellent hitter."
Ted laughs, the sound rich and warm. "She's been watching me play since I was a kid and still doesn't understand much about the game. But she never misses one."
"That's sweet. My parents barely understand what I do for work, let alone show up to support it."
"What do they think you do?"
"Mom thinks I 'write about sports' which she translates as 'couldn't get a real reporting job.' Dad thinks I interview athletes, which he translates as 'hopefully you'll marry a rich one.'"
Ted's expression shifts, becoming more serious. "That must be hard. Not having their support."
"It's fine," I say quickly, then catch myself. "Actually, no, it's not fine. But it's also part of why I'm so determined to make this work. I need to prove that I can do this job, that I belong in sports journalism. I really do enjoy it."
Our drinks arrive, and I wrap my hands around the warm mug, grateful for something to do with my nervous energy.
"What happened in Chicago?" Ted asks gently. "If you don't mind me asking."
I study his face, looking for any sign that he's fishing for gossip or trying to assess if I'm a liability. But his eyes are kind, genuinely curious.
"I trusted the wrong source," I say finally. "A player told me he was being traded, gave me all these details about contract negotiations. I ran the story, and it turned out he was lying to manipulate the team into better terms. The trade never happened, the team denied everything, and I looked like an incompetent writer who didn't fact-check."
"Ouch."
"The paper had to run a front-page retraction. My editor said I was 'too eager to please my sources' and suggested I might be better suited for lifestyle reporting." The bitterness creeps into my voice despite my best efforts. "And now I'm competing with reporters like Simmons from the Chronicle who've been covering baseball for years. He loves reminding everyone that I'm the 'new girl' who doesn't know the territory yet. Plus my editor, Tim, is already getting impatient for exclusive stories."
"That's not fair," Ted says firmly. "You ask tough questions. You're not trying to please anyone."
"How would you know? You've known me for two days."
"Because yesterday you called me out for giving you surface-level answers. Because tonight you took actual notes about pitch framing even though you were supposedly just watching for fun. Because..." He pauses, then continues more softly, "Because when you look at me, I feel like you're seeing something real, not just the uniform or the statistics."
Ted's looking at me with such intensity that I have to glance away, and when I do, I knock over my coffee mug.
"Oh no!" I jump up as hot coffee spreads across the table, dripping onto my jeans. "I'm so sorry, I'm such a?—"
"Whoa there, butterfingers," Ted says, already grabbing napkins from the dispenser. But he's smiling, not annoyed. "Any baseball player with hands like that would get sent back to little league."
I freeze, expecting to feel the familiar sting of embarrassment. Instead, I find myself laughing. "Are you comparing my coffee-spilling abilities to professional athletics?"
"I'm saying your hand-eye coordination could use some work." He's grinning now, dabbing at the coffee on the table. "Good thing you chose journalism over sports."
"Hey, I'll have you know I was a terror on the softball field in high school."
"Oh really? What position?"
