Page 153 of The Path to Loving Him
I grab one for her and hold it out. She slides it on over her tank top and buttons it up. The female cut fits her perfectly.
“How does it feel?”
“Great. I think this is the one.” She slides it off and then looks at the price tag, her eyes widening. “Or I can get a regular T-shirt.”
She goes to hang it back up, but I take it from her. “My treat.”
She shakes her head. “No, I can’t let you do that.”
“You can, and you will.” I loop my finger under her chin and have her look me right in the eyes. “I planned on getting you whatever you wanted in here anyway. This is a special moment, so you’re doing it right.”
I can see her mind wavering, trying to figure out what she should do, but I don’t give her a chance to change her mind. I lead her to the hats and ask her which one she wants.
She eyes me, looking like she wants to tell me no, but then she turns back to the hats and picks the classic Bombers hat.
Since it’s adjustable, she doesn’t need to try it on.
We move through the store, looking through the other shirts, the sweatshirts, and the blankets. I attempt to grab them all, but she pushes my hand away. When she sees a bracelet that she likes, I snag that, and when she finds a foam finger, I grab two of those.
Once we’re done, I guide her to the register, where I see some cheap Bombers bead necklaces. I grab those as well.
“Ryland, I can buy?—”
“Nothing,” I say. “You can buy nothing.”
The attendant rings us up, and when he asks if we want a bag, I shake him off, knowing we’re ready to put everything on. We move out of the store into a side hallway, and I help remove tags and watch her as she transforms into a diehard Bombers supporter. And fuck does she look good.
She’s wearing cut-off jean shorts and a white tank top. She has the jersey on over the tank top but has left it open. Her Bombers hat is secured over her long, curled hair, and her necklaces and bracelets give her the good-time vibe . . . along with the foam finger that I put on as well.
I grab my phone from my pocket. “Follow me.” I take her hand again and move her out toward the field. I place her right behind the lower seats leading to home plate and hold up my phone for a picture. “Pose for me so we can send a picture to Bennett.”
She holds up her foam finger and does a few poses, smiling large. Then I turn the camera to selfie mode, wrap my arm around her, and say, “Smile.”
She leans her head into my shoulder, and we both smile into the camera, capturing a moment I know will live in my mind for a very long time. I like this. It feels so right...finally having a woman by my side to enjoy baseball.Her.
I send the photos to her so she can send them to Bennett, and then we flash our tickets to the section monitor of our seats. Somehow, Bennett was able to secure us lower-level tickets, which I know is not where they usually stick first time family members. Hopefully, he didn’t pay for them because they’d cost a lot.
And just as we move down toward the netting, the Bombers take the field.
“What number is he?” I ask.
“Twenty-two.”
“Why twenty-two?”
She smiles up at me. “June twenty-second, the day that we moved out on our own.”
Well . . . fuck.
“Fuck, that’s cool,” I say, feeling my emotions get the best of me. Maybe it’s the day, the meaning behind all of it, seeing someone’s dreams come true, but I feel like I’m going to be an emotional wreck the whole goddamn day.
“When he told me, I cried for an hour.”
“I can imagine,” I say, seeing twenty-two out on the field. “There he is.” I point at Bennett, who’s currently stretching with his bat in hand.
Gabby follows my hand and immediately bursts into tears when she spots him. “Wooooo,” she shouts over her tears. “Go, Bennett!”
And it’s the fucking sweetest thing to witness as Bennett turns around after hearing his sister’s voice. He scans the crowd, and when he sees us, his face lights up with a huge smile.
