Manny Ruiz, 52, has scouted high school and independent league ball for the Carolina League for 19 years, and he’d rather sit through a 16-inning rain delay than attend a mandatory community fundraiser. He only showed up to the small town beer garden barbecue because his old high school coach begged him—all proceeds went to fixing the rusted dugouts at the little league field, and Manny still owed the guy for bailing him out of a drunk tank after his 21st birthday. He grabbed a lager from the ice tub, propped his boot on the lower rung of a picnic table, and planned to slip out after 45 minutes, tops. His F-150 was parked two blocks away, his favorite 1998 minor league world series tape was sitting on his coffee table, and he had a fresh bag of salted peanuts in the center console.
Manny’s first instinct was to make an excuse and leave. He’d not so much as asked a woman out for coffee in the eight years since his ex-wife left him for a Charlotte real estate agent with a lake house and a penchant for country club golf. He’d convinced himself he was too set in his ways, too used to driving 300 miles a week to watch 17 year olds throw fastballs, too fond of his quiet nights alone to bother with small talk and first date jitters. But when she asked if he wanted a second beer, he said yes.
They drifted to the edge of the beer garden, under a gnarled oak tree strung with fairy lights, out of the way of the rowdy crowd. She told him she was Lena, the new town librarian, moved to the area six months prior from Chicago, sick of the noise and the L train delays. He told her about the 17 year old lefty he’d scouted the week before, who threw 94 mile an hour fastballs but cried every time he struck out a batter. She teased him about the smudge of mustard on the toe of his work boot, he teased her about the stack of fantasy paperbacks peeking out of her canvas tote bag. When she passed him a plastic cup of lemonade he’d asked for, their fingers brushed, and neither pulled away for a full beat. They stood close enough that when a warm summer breeze blew, the end of her braid brushed his jaw, and he had to fight the urge to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
His chest felt tight, half excitement, half sharp, familiar shame at wanting something he’d spent so long telling himself he didn’t deserve. He was halfway through a story about his daughter, who was in vet school at NC State and kept sending him photos of the stray cats she fostered, when he heard the sharp crack of a foul ball off the little league field, coming straight for the side of Lena’s head. He moved without thinking, yanking her against his chest, wrapping one arm tight around her shoulders, the ball whizzing past two inches from her ear, bouncing off the oak tree trunk behind them.
They stayed pressed together for five full seconds, his heart hammering against his ribs, her cheek pressed to the faded logo on his Carolina League t-shirt. He could feel her heart beating fast through the thin fabric of her blouse, and when she tilted her head up to look at him, her lips were quirked in that same half-smirk she’d had when he caught her earlier. “You gonna ask me out to get pancakes tomorrow morning,” she said, soft enough only he could hear over the noise of the crowd, “or are you gonna keep pretending you’re not dying to?”
Manny laughed, the tension draining out of his shoulders, and admitted he’d been working up the nerve for the last 45 minutes, scared he’d make a fool of himself. He asked her to meet him at the diner on Main Street at 8 a.m., the one that served blueberry pancakes so fluffy they practically melted in your mouth, and she said yes, leaning in just enough to let her shoulder bump his before she turned to head back to the volunteer table.
He watched her walk away, and when she turned around halfway to the grill and winked at him, he popped a lemon drop—he kept a pack in his pocket for nervous kids at tryouts—into his mouth, leaned back against the oak tree, and realized he didn’t even remember where he’d parked his truck, let alone care about the old game tape waiting for him at home.
