and I do lunch around here all the time.”
“This is my first time.”
She flips a page in the menu. “What brings you all the way down here?”
“I had a photo shoot earlier.”
Aidy stops, her wide eyes glancing across the table and settling in mine. “Oh, really? What for?”
“American Athlete magazine.” I say it like it’s no big deal, and it probably isn’t a big deal to someone like Aidy, but every red-blooded American athlete in this country would give their right arm to be on the cover of American Athlete.
“That’s cool. Are they doing a story about you?”
“My old agent’s trying to get me back out there. He’s the one who talked me into co-hosting Smack Talk. He thinks I can make some kind of comeback, and he still thinks I’m in therapy. Hate to tell him this thing’s useless.”
I cup my hand over my lame shoulder.
“Never going to get that range of motion back,” I say. “Just finished ten months of intense physical therapy and it hardly made a damn bit of difference as far as pitching goes.”
“That’s depressing.” She slumps forward.
I nod.
“So what kind of comeback does this Lou guy think you’re going to make?” she asks.
Shaking my head, I chuff. “Who knows. He gets these crazy ideas sometimes. Hate to tell him he’s been praying for a miracle that’s never going to happen.”
“Never know.”
“Least I can do is let my fans know I’m still here.” I take a sip of my coffee and spot our waitress returning from the corner of my eye. She takes Aidy’s order, a hot tea with milk and sugar, and shuffles away. “Not a coffee drinker?”
“Not unless I have to work late,” she says, running her hands along her thighs, like she’s cold. She’s in long sleeves, a sweater that’s gray and nearly see-through, and jeans that hug her every curve. “Can you believe how cold it is? It’s June. We’re supposed to be melting, and I can’t stop shivering.”
Yesterday was hot. Today is cold. This month can’t decide what it wants to do, and I can sympathize with that.
“We can move inside,” I offer.
“No, I’ll be fine once my tea gets here.” Her teeth chatter, and she wraps her arms around her sides.
“Don’t be a martyr. Come on.” I stand, taking my coffee cup in one hand and offering my other hand to Aidy.
She hesitates at first, and then she slips hers in mine. For a second, I can’t breathe. It’s like I’d completely forgotten how good it feels to touch someone. To hold their hand. To revel in that brief, heart-stopping “what if.”
I lead her inside and we take up residence at a small table for two in the corner, away from the door.
“Thank you,” she says when we sit down.
There’s a flickering candle between us and a single pink carnation in a white vase. It’s almost romantic in here.
“There you are.” Our server returns, balancing Aidy’s tea and a side of milk and sugar on a small tray.
“Can you believe this weather we’re having?” Aidy says to the two of us. “Hope it’s not going to be like this all weekend.”
“I think it’s supposed to warm up.” Our server slips the tray beneath her arm. “Can I get you anything else?”
“We’re good, thanks.” Aidy smiles.
“Why? What are you doing this weekend?” I ask.
“It’s the Fourth of July,” she says.
It had completely slipped my mind. Living a life with no set schedule, the days and weeks tend to blur together, and with no family around, holidays are like every other endless fucking day.
“That’s right,” I say. “Got any plans?”
Aidy mixes her tea, pouring little drips of milk on top and stirring until it turns a creamy shade of caramel. Adding just a sprinkle of sugar, she stirs it again and takes a sip. The whole concept of milk and tea together has never sat right with me, but it looks good the way she’s mixing it.
“Normally Wren and Enzo and I sit on the roof of our building and watch the fireworks from there. But this year, Enzo’s going to his dad’s and Wren’s going to Chauncey’s building and watching them with Chauncey’s parents.” She palms the white tea cup, blowing across the steamy liquid. “She invited me, but I don’t want to be the third wheel, you know? This is going to be her new family. They need time to bond and all that.”
“Who’s Chauncey?”
“Wren’s fiancé. They’re getting married in six months,” she says. “He owns that pizza place,