Cole smiled. “Probably. The guy is Mr. Popular. And he’s been talking nonstop lately about some woman named Carly, so I’m thinking he’s got a crush.”

Penelope shook her head. “The Sharpe brothers have moves. Poor Carly’s heart doesn’t stand a chance.”

He slid his hand behind her neck, tilting her head up so he could see her face beneath the brim of her cap. “What about your heart? Where does it stand on the whole Sharpe brothers’ charm thing?”

Penelope’s lips parted in surprise, probably at the quiet urgency in his voice. He told himself to let her go—that the food line at Yankee Stadium wasn’t the time or the place to have this conversation.

He didn’t even know what this conversation was. Or what he wanted to hear her say—

Scratch that.

He knew exactly what words he wanted to hear. He wanted to know that she was his. That this was more than a weekends-only fling. That she was falling for him as helplessly as he was falling for her.

So tell her. Tell her how you feel.

And then the people in front of them finished ordering, and it was Penelope and Cole’s turn to order.

Moment ruined by junk food.

Cole ran a hand over his face, feeling both disappointed and relieved.

Penelope ordered nachos and a pretzel, and then turned to Cole expectantly, waiting for him to place his own order. He looked at her in surprise. “You’re eating all of that?”

She snorted. “What, you thought I’d share? Get your own food, Sharpe.”

He shook his head and ordered a hot dog and a Coke.

The bored kid behind the counter loaded their food onto a tray, and Cole carried it to the condiment stand.

“Yuck, no ketchup,” she said when he went to add it to his hot dog.

“It’s my hot dog,” he said.

“Which I’ll be having a bite of. And I don’t like ketchup on my dogs.”

“What happened to no sharing?”

Penelope blinked up at him. “Are you, or are you not, a gentleman, Cole Sharpe?”

In response, he deliberately added ketchup to his hot dog. More than he usually would.

Then he took a big bite, holding her gaze the entire time as he chewed.

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s how it’s gonna be, huh? This is our ball game future?”

He licked ketchup from his lip.

She went on her toes, getting up in his face. “Game on, Sharpe.”

“Penelope Pope, are you roughing up a man for his hot dog?” Grace asked from behind them.

“That was the plan, until he defiled it with ketchup.” Penelope scanned both Grace and Jake, before her gaze locked on Jake’s hot dog. “Malone. Give me that.”

Jake sighed and handed it over as he met Cole’s eyes with a questioning smile. “This is the one, huh?”

Oh yes. This is the one.

Seemingly oblivious to the conversation going on around her, Penelope took a bite of Jake’s hot dog—no ketchup—before handing it back with a happy sigh.

“That’s all I wanted, Cole. One bite.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “So you won’t mind giving Jake one of your nachos in return, right?”

Penelope clutched their food tray to her chest and gave Jake a warning glare. “Don’t you dare.”

Cole put his palm on the top of her head. “Come on, weirdo. Game’s about to start.”

They headed toward their section, and Cole glanced down at her. “Want me to carry the tray?”

Penelope all but rattled at him, and he smiled. How had he ever thought a boring model-type could keep him happy? All he needed was a pint-size baseball fan.

Unlike last weekend, the weather was perfect. Just a handful of white puffy clouds, the slightest early-summer breeze, and plenty of bright sunshine.

Baseball weather.

“Hey, Grace,” Cole said, putting an arm around Penelope’s shoulder as he looked over her head to where Grace delicately sipped her chardonnay.

“Hmm?”

He gave her a playful wink. “Remember that time you and I nearly made out for the kiss cam in this very stadium?”

Penelope glanced up at him, then at Grace. “Really. Do tell.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “It’s so not what it sounds like. Trust me.”

“It was going to be epic, Gracie, you know it was,” Cole teased.

Jake gave Cole a bland look over his wife’s head. “Sharpe. I will kill you.”

“More like you owe me for helping you come to your senses.”

Penelope was all but bouncing in her seat. “Come on, fill me in! This sounds juicy.”

“Oh it is,” Cole said. “But…another story for another time, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, like when we’re all dead,” Jake muttered.

Cole’s phone buzzed in his back pocket just as the first pitch was about to be thrown. He pulled it out—a local area code, but not a number he recognized. Cole shoved it back in his pocket. They could leave a voicemail.

The first Oakland batter went down swinging, and Cole cheered loudly with the rest of the stadium. Had to love a game that started with a strikeout.

Cole’s phone buzzed again, with the short voicemail notification. He thought about pulling it out, but the crowd was too keyed up on sunshine and beer and the Yankees. There was no way he’d be able to hear anything.

The second batter grounded out. The third struck out.

Cole stole one of Penelope’s nachos and winked at her when she glared.