“You do realize if he comes clean with her now, the fun is over, right? That’s a boring story no one wants to tell their grandchildren. We need more drama and excitement first. He should screw her—”
“Is there anywhere you and Birdie haven’t screwed?”
“Is there anywhere you and Wren haven’t screwed?”
“Touché.”
“If you aren’t going to tell her how you feel, then let me give you our new friend Allie’s number. Maybe a weekend away in the mountains of West Virginia will make her not want to punch you in the face.”
“Why is it whenever I find you yahoos together, you’re always talking about your feelings?”
The guys finally all shut up with their rapid-fire advice, when an older gentleman who looks like a really pissed-off Santa interrupts them, standing in the aisle of the bleachers right next to us.
“Quinn, this is Murphy Swallow. Murphy, this is the great Quinn Bagley,” Palmer introduces.
“He was Wren and Birdie’s neighbor growing up and is kind of like a fill-in grandfather for all the girls,” Shepherd adds as I stand up and hold my hand out to the older gentleman.
“It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
“I’m not impressed by you” is all Murphy says, bringing his drink up to his mouth and taking a loud, slurping sip from the straw.
“He’s also always got a stick up his ass.” Palmer snorts, making Murphy glare at him before turning his grumpy Santa eyes back my way, and I finally drop my hand, since he’s clearly not going to shake it.
“Emily is a sweet girl. A little too peppy for my liking sometimes, but sweet. If you take away any of that sweetness, I will lodge a 9-iron into your skull.”
“Always a pleasure seeing you, Murph!” Bodhi salutes him as Murphy just walks away after that, heading up the stairs of the bleachers to sit closer to the press box.
“Whatever you decide, we’re here for you, man,” Shepherd reassures me with a pat on the back when I take my seat again.
“But if you piss her off—”
“I know, I know, don’t let Tess near any lighters,” I finish for Bodhi.
He just laughs, snatching my M&M’s off the bench before I can stop him and quickly scooting at least ten feet down on the bleacher seat, out of reach.
“Oh, that became a full-time job I just didn’t have time for anymore. I was going to say, just make sure you aren’t wearing any synthetic fibers around her. But you’re an athlete. I’m sure you can stop, drop, and roll faster than anyone.”
“The field has emptied out now, so you can leave whenever you’re done and drop the keys off to me tomorrow. I’d stay and help, but I think you two have got it covered.”
I give Wren a smile and a conspiratorial wink behind Emily’s back, while she’s busy pushing a box of Snickers onto a shelf in the cupboard below the counter, before I shove a case of water in the cooler. Wren is currently smiling at me through the concession stand window like the cat who ate the canary and is most definitely getting out of here to give us time alone, now that everyone else has gone home. Emily volunteered to close up the stand at the end of the steak fry, and it only took ten minutes of arguing before she finally agreed to let me help her.
I’m making progress. A few weeks ago, it would have taken at least thirty minutes.
Since the concession stand is shared between the baseball, softball, and football teams, and Shepherd is the high school varsity baseball coach, Wren is the team mom who manages the concession stand during baseball season. She has the master keys, and she’s in charge of setting up the schedule to make sure there are enough volunteers to work the stand during events and games and that the place is always fully stocked.
“Don’t lie. You’re rushing out of here to make sure you pick up Owen from his first date at 11:00 p.m. on the dot and not a second later.” Emily laughs, splaying her hands out flat on either side of her on the counter.
“You’ll be happy to know I agreed with you that he might want to talk to a man immediately following such a momentous occasion, and I let Shepherd go pick him up from that skank’s house at 11:00 p.m. on the dot and not a second later.” Wren smiles back at Emily.
“I thought you said she was a very nice girl,” I remind her with a laugh as I close and lock the cupboard next to Emily’s hip, where all the chocolate bars are stored.
“She is a very nice girl. Polite, sweet, a straight-A student, and captain of the freshman volleyball team.” Wren sighs, grabbing her golf cart keys from the counter where she left them and taking a few steps back from the open window. “But any girl who wants to date my baby will be a skank from now until the end of time. I’m going to go home now and wait by the door, so I can shower him with hugs and kisses as soon as he gets back and remind him that he can never, ever leave me.”