.5 To Have and To Code by Debora Geary Page A

They never do a big windup, and they get the ball where it needs to go.  Pitching’s not all that much different.”  At least not when you were ten.
    “Cool.”  Something warmer was sliding into the kid’s eyes now.  “Can you throw a knuckleball?”
    Daniel wondered if he’d been this irrepressible at ten.  “You need bigger knuckles.  Get a good fastball first, one that you can put anywhere you want it to go.  Worry about the fancy stuff later.”
    The kid eyed the mound.  “No fancy stuff.”  He nodded once and then headed for the bench, acquiring several arm punches along the way.
    Daniel settled back to watch.  It took a while for the current inning to end—the other catcher didn’t have future big-league hands.  Two runs scored on a fumbled fly, and then the redhead on second base landed a tag and put everyone out of their misery.
    Teams ran to swap sides, the tow-headed kid taking his position on the mound.  A quick grin fired Daniel’s direction, and then he hurled one at the plate.
    Dead straight at the astonished catcher’s nose. 
    The kid behind the plate got his glove up just in time.  Stared at the ball in his mitt, slack-jawed, for what felt like an eternity.  And then looked up, glee written all over his face.  “Steeee-RIKE!”
    When Daniel walked away, his grin was almost as big.  And whatever had been grating on his nerves had found a place to settle.
    For today, in one small way—he’d mattered.  Life, unstuck.
    -o0o-
    Some people peeled off the Band-Aid with agonizing slowness.  Nell had never been one of those people.  So she looked at Sammy and yanked.  “He’s tall, dark, handsome, not total scum, and we hired him.”
    She had prepared for the glee in her best friend’s mind.  And still winced as the reality of it hit like a wrecking ball.  Her imagination had been gentler—and left out the part where a full plate of Romano’s linguine almost hit the floor.
    Romano was new in town, but his linguine was already the stuff of her dreams.  Any of it on the floor would be pure travesty.
    “Don’t stop there.”  Sammy’s dimples were out in full force.  “Start with the handsome part, and then just keep talking.”  She patted her bag.  “I have a dozen Nutella cookies in here if you spill all the beans.  Finally got the recipe perfected.”
    It was a really good bribe—the last test batches had been heaven.  “He’s a little taller than Jamie.  Curly hair.”  She pictured his face in her mind and then turned it off quickly, disturbed by how much detail her brain happily offered up.  “Looks good in jeans.  Used to be a baseball player.”
    Sammy just rolled her eyes.  “Did he do strange things to your belly or not?”
    Nell gestured with a fork.  “This linguine does strange things to my belly.  Guys are just eye candy.”
    “Fine.  Did he do strange things to your eyeballs?”  Hands sporting a new hot-pink manicure casually tapped the cookies they were holding hostage.
    Damn.  “Yeah.”  Nell rolled linguine on her fork and braced herself to get the rest out.  “He had that hot and slightly cocky thing totally down, and my inner sexpot wanted to totally eat him for breakfast.”  She glared at Sammy.  “Satisfied?”
    “Getting there.”  Her friend’s grin was eight feet wide.  “Breakfast, huh?  Did you put your moves on him?”
    The last guy she’d put the moves on had been eleven.  It had been a bad idea in fifth grade, and a worse one now.  “We hired him, Sam.  I don’t hit on employees.” 
    “You don’t hit on anyone.”  Sammy’s tone was dry as dust.  “Shane has cows with a more impressive dating life than you do.”
    “I have more than enough men in my life.”  And unless Romano himself was available, she wasn’t adding to the crowd.
    “Brothers don’t count.”
    Nell grinned and repeated her usual lines.  “Says the only child.”
    She could hear the cranks of Sammy’s brain