Page 19 of Elevator Pitch

Then I consider Ross. Who is here to support him? Do his boys attend games? Does he have additional family? Is Chandler Bressler present?

If my calculations are correct, his boys should be in high school or college themselves.

Glancing over the crowd again, I search for Chandler next. Her dark hair and curvy body would make her easy to recognize. As I don’t see her, my focus returns to the game. I interject my opinion on bad calls. Wave my hands in the air in frustration over an error. Jump to my feet when Gee Scott hits a homerun with a man on second for a two-run score.

The eventual win is the first W for the Anchors since spring training started, and I enthusiastically join the fans who sing our winning anthem.

The song ends, and I’m inspecting the space around us for trash, bending to pick up the short stack of beer cups collected in my cup holder, when I hear my name.

“Verona Huxley?”

Abruptly straightening, I peer around Cassandra, down our row, to a man dressed in baseball gear without a stitch of dirt on him standing in the aisle. He isn’t someone I recognize and based on the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes and the silver scruff along his jaw, I’d say he isn’t a player, but someone affiliated with the team.

“I’m Kip Garcia.” He pats his chest as a form of introduction because of our distance.

I haven’t identified myself, but he steps into the row in front of our seats, now empty of attendees, and nears me.

“Ross Davis asked me to give you this.” The messenger holds out a piece of paper which Cassandra is quick to reach for, but Kip is faster to retract from her. “Said only Vee should take this.”

My brows lift, shocked that Ross remembers the nickname. Surprised that he remembers me at all. Then I’m slightly embarrassed he recognized me in the stands. My face heats as I reach out for the slip of paper.

“Thank you,” I mutter, taking the haphazardly folded strip that looks like it was hastily ripped out of a small notebook and bent in half.

Kip nods once then steps away.

“Good game,” I call after him, talking to his back.

He casually lifts his hand, waves once over his head, and continues on his way.

“Hmm,” Cassandra hums beside me. “Who is he?” Her salacious tone doesn’t imply she wants his name, but him. His position, rank, and status with the team.

Ignoring Cassandra’s blatant ogling, I flip open the paper between my fingers.

Happy chance?

Lifting my head, I glance toward the dugout, now empty of the team. Then, I gaze in the direction where Kip walked away.

The note includes no other words but the simplicity of two in combination makes me smile.

Ross Davis remembers me.

Chapter 6

[Ross]

What are the odds?

I hadn’t forgotten Verona Huxley, or that night we spent together. For months, memories of her plagued me, haunting my thoughts and filling my dreams with things that seemed too ridiculous to imagine.

And there she was, sitting in the stands in our spring training stadium, some two-thousand miles from home.

Then again, the odds are one in fifteen thousand which is the number of people this stadium can hold, and it isn’t uncommon for fans to vacation in our springtime destination to escape the lingering cold in Chicago and in anticipation for another season of baseball.

Vee is clearly an avid fan of the team.

Wonder how many margaritas she enjoyed today?

The thought makes me chuckle.