The Man Plan by Tracy Anne Warren

extracted his hand from hers as if her touch made him uncomfortable.
    Her heart sank.
    “Hey, you want a hot dog?” he asked in a poorly disguised attempt to change the subject. He dug into his pocket for his wallet as the hot dog vendor slowly made his way up the rows, the tangy scent of steamed, preservative-laden meat drifting in the air.
    “No,” she said, “and neither do you. You neverknow what’s in those things—hair and rat poop. Plus, I’ve read they give you butt cancer.”
    He gave her a wry look. “Well, thanks for officially ruining hot dogs for the rest of my life. I’ll never be able to visit the steam cart up the street from my office again.”
    “You don’t visit the steam cart now.”
    He shot her a sideways glance, his lips twitching.
    Her lips twitched back.
    “Here.” She leaned down and dug into the large carryall she’d set at her feet. “I brought us some nice, healthy trail mix.”
    He made a face.
    “There’re dried apricots and pineapple in it, just the way you like.” She waggled a clear plastic bag full of mix at him.
    Resigned, he tucked his wallet away. “Yeah, okay, hand it over.”
    She passed him a bag and got one for herself.
    “Good?” she inquired a minute later.
    “Hmm, good,” he agreed, chewing a roasted almond and a plump apricot.
    On the field, the Yankees’ coach sent in a fresh pitcher to stave off what was quickly turning into a new round of Orioles’ hits. She cheered with everyone else on the Yankees’ side when the next batter got sent back to the bench empty-handed after three strikes.
    “They’re performing Shakespeare in the Park Sunday afternoon,” she said. “
Twelfth Night
. It’s such a great play. What do you say we take a big lawn blanket and go?”
    He kept his eyes on the game. “Sounds wonderful, but I can’t.”
    “Why not? Don’t tell me you have to be in the office. Even you don’t work on Sunday, at least not much.”
    “No, it isn’t work.” He cleared his throat. “Actually, I have a date.”
    “Oh.” The words hit her like a slap in the face, her spirits plummeting to her sneakers. “I didn’t realize. Who is she?” she murmured, even though she already knew the answer.
    “Just someone I’ve been seeing for a while. She’s been out of town for the last couple weeks. She’s flying back Saturday and we’re getting together Sunday, which means I’ll have to pass on the play.”
    The hurt inside her expanded at his casual explanation. She’d been so sure her plan was working, optimist that she was. She’d thought she was making progress, that by spending so much time with him, she was gradually getting him to see her in a different light. But apparently, he’d just been passing time with his little friend—his little
sister
, she thought derisively—until his girlfriend returned from her vacation.
    Still, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t known she had competition, known her quest would be far from easy. Unless she wanted to withdraw from the field, she’d simply have to swallow her anguish and find other ways to make him want her, to make him love her.
    She wondered what he’d do if she stood up right now and snuggled into his lap. Wondered how he’d react if she locked her arms around his neck and kissed him senseless.
    Would he kiss her back or push her away? Her pulse thumped at the daring notion.
    But she couldn’t take the risk, could she?
    No, not yet.
    Not here.
    The time, she feared, still wasn’t right.
    “Well, that’s fine,” she lied in a breezy tone. “It’ll give me time to do some extra painting.” She worried a fingernail over a seam in her jeans. “What about the Fourth of July? You all booked up then too?”
    A peculiar, guilty look swept over his features, his eyebrows drawing together. “Aren’t you going home for your mother’s annual get-together?”
    She shook her head. “Not this year. I decided to stay and see what the city has to offer. I assume from your expression