Concealed by Victoria Michaels

of a boy holding a baseball bat.
    “And that’s you?” Sydney asked, trying not to jump when she felt his other hand settle on her hip. She felt like his hand was branding her skin through the material of her jeans.
    “We won the championship that year,” he said wistfully as he put the picture of himself wearing catcher’s gear back on its perch. It was a simple wall of pictures, but to Sydney it was the most precious thing in the world. “It’s my mom’s favorite picture, and she gets mad if it’s not out when she visits.” She knew so much more about him after looking at the various snapshots from his life. Part of her wondered what he would do if she had a wall that showed all she had experienced. Would he turn and run? Or better yet, arrest her on the spot?
    “Would you like some wine?”
    “Yes,” she said a little too quickly. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this dating thing.” She didn’t belong here. Wade was a nice guy, honest, respected in the community, and she was nothing but trouble. The things hanging over her head had the power to not only take her down, but everyone around her, and she didn’t want that for him.
    “You look like you’re gonna run for the door.”
    “Honestly, I’m considering it,” she said as she nervously played with her hair. Her eyes met his and she saw he had gone as still as a statue, waiting for an explanation. If she wanted to go, he was going to let her, even if he didn’t agree. Knowing he’d do that for her made Sydney crave him all the more, and for one night, just one single night, she wanted to be normal. She wanted to forget her baggage and have fun. More than anything, she wanted that night to be with Wade. “It’s a long walk back to the diner. How about that wine?”
    “This way.” He slipped his hand onto her lower back and led her into what appeared to be a gourmet kitchen. There was a huge cooktop on a large island in the center of the room, and an enormous refrigerator along the wall. The smells coming from the stove made her mouth water. Pots and pans of various sizes hung from the ceiling on a steel rack. Sydney leaned back against the granite countertop and gawked.
    “This is the most amazing kitchen I’ve ever seen.” She reverently ran her fingers along the cool granite, tracing every vein of color.
    “Thanks. I did most of the work myself when I remodeled after my parents moved to Florida.”
    There were already two glasses on the counter next to an open bottle of wine. Wade poured a generous amount, the deep, rich color of the red wine swirling into the glasses. He handed Sydney one of them, raising his own and clinking it against hers before taking a drink.
    “Is there anything you can’t do?” She took a long sip, savoring the woody, plum flavor. Sydney moved around to the stove to peek into one of the pots. Lifting the lid, she saw a delicious red sauce bubbling inside.
    “I can’t crochet. My hands are like baseball mitts, according to my mother.” He waggled his fingers playfully at her. “Or dance, I don’t dance.” Sydney laughed, remembering back to the night of the festival and what he had said to Agnes when she suggested he dance. It was nice to know he’d been truthful and hadn’t made an excuse to escape.
    While he drained the pasta, Sydney drank more of her wine, loving the warm feeling that was spreading through her body. It could have been from the drink or Wade, it didn’t matter. She felt the tension and worry slowly leaving her body. This time she initiated the contact between them when she reached around him and snagged a piece of spaghetti from the strainer.
    “Don’t worry, I’m a great dancer.” She popped the noodle into her mouth as she leaned back against the counter. “I’ll teach you.”
    “I can’t wait,” he said with a wolfish smile that made Sydney both excited and nervous.
    Working side by side in the kitchen, they put the finishing touches on dinner. It was amazing how