“Your mom was right. You are good.” He reached over and ruffled Cade’s hair. “Give it time, you might even be better than me one day.”
Cade’s chest squeezed so tight with pride, all he could do was nod.
Noah rested his arms on his knees, the cigarette dangling between his fingers. “So listen. I’ve got a buddy who has two tickets he can’t use to next Sunday’s Bears game. He offered them to me, and I was thinking maybe you’d like to go.”
“With you?” Cade asked.
Noah laughed. “Yeah, with me.”
In his excitement, Cade could barely get the words out. “That’d be great!” He paused, then something inside him, something tentative and awkward and yet hopeful, made him go on. “Thanks, Dad.”
Noah’s expression changed, a momentary falter in his smile, before he nodded. “Sure, kid. No problem.”
On Monday, Cade bragged to his whole fifth-grade class that his father was taking him to the Bears game that weekend. Even Sean, who’d gone to a few Cubs games that summer with his dad and brother, was impressed. By Saturday night he was so excited he could barely sit still through his mother’s bedtime lecture about how he and Noah weren’t allowed to go anywhere—and she meant anywhere—except to the game and back, and how she’d stuck extra quarters in the pocket of his jacket so he could call her from a pay phone “just in case.”
The next morning, he got dressed and wolfed down his breakfast. The game started at noon, so Noah had said he’d pick him up at eleven. At ten forty-five, unable to restrain himself any longer, Cade sat by the living room window to wait.
At eleven fifteen, he was still waiting.
“He was late last time, too. He’ll be here, Mom,” he told her.
By noon, when the game had started, he knew.
Noah Garrity had given him a tryout, Cade’s one and only chance to have a father.
And he’d failed.
* * *
CADE EXHALED, RUNNING his hand over his mouth as he stared out his office window. He’d buried his issues with Noah Garrity a long time ago, and they needed to stay buried.
Luckily, it was Friday evening, which meant he could leave work, pour himself a stiff drink at home, and forget all about—
He suddenly remembered.
Friday evening.
Shit.
Cade checked his watch, and saw that he was ten minutes late for his meeting with Brooke Parker. He thought about sending her a text message to say he couldn’t make it, but she was probably already waiting for him at the restaurant, undoubtedly thinking up all the sweet-as-pie sarcastic barbs she was going to hurl at him when he finally showed up.
He couldn’t decide if that made him more or less eager to go.
He grabbed his briefcase and shoved in a few files he wanted to review that weekend, then headed out the door to grab a cab. Bar Nessuno, one of Sterling’s restaurants, was an Italian pizzeria and wine bar just off of Michigan Avenue. The street was a one-way going the opposite direction, and traffic was as bad as always on a Friday evening, so Cade had the driver drop him off a block away to save time.
He walked briskly to the restaurant and pushed through the door. Against the warm exposed brick décor, the first person he saw was Brooke. She was chatting with the hostess, looking exactly as he’d imagined her that afternoon—sophisticated and all-around sexy in her skirt and heels.
He approached her. “I’m late. I know,” he cut her off the second she opened her mouth. “Sorry. It’s been . . . a strange afternoon.”
She gave him a long once-over. Belatedly, he realized he’d loosened his tie and had yanked open the top button of his shirt while ruminating over everything Zach had dumped on him earlier that day. And he was pretty sure his hair was standing on end from running his fingers through it. Not exactly the way he normally presented himself in a professional setting.
Cade braced himself for the inevitable quip or comment.
“You look like you could use a drink, Morgan.” Then, unexpectedly, her expression softened. She cocked her head in the direction of the tables. “Shall we?”
Out of nowhere, Cade felt a sharp tug in his chest—like a sailboat bobbing around in rocky waters that was suddenly righted by a warm, calm breeze.
As they followed the hostess to their table, he glanced sideways at Brooke. “Thank you.”
She met his gaze with a slight smile. “I’ve had days like that myself, Cade. Plenty of them.”
Eleven
ALMOST IMMEDIATELY AFTER they’d been seated, undoubtedly having been alerted to Brooke’s presence by the hostess, a waitress stopped by to introduce herself and take their drink orders.
“I’ll have a bourbon and bitters.” Brooke caught Cade’s look of surprise. “House specialty.”
Cade turned to the waitress. “In that case, make it two.” He pushed aside his drink menu, his eyes never leaving Brooke.
Something had changed. She didn’t know if it had anything to do with this “strange afternoon” he’d had, or if it was the simple logistics of their meeting—a cozy bar on a Friday evening—but there was a new undercurrent in the air between them. Something bold in his look that said they were playing a different game now.
And sitting across from him, taking in his strikingly handsome appearance—the finger-raked hair and devil-may-care loosened tie—Brooke wasn’t entirely sure she objected to the new rules.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice,” she led in.