Leah seasoned some chickpeas before tossing them in a food processor.
“And what do you think his type is?”
Naomi had heard Ethan’s perspective, but she knew from experience people often didn’t actually know how to articulate what they wanted. “The kind of person who listens when he talks, even though his face is distracting.”
Leah switched on the blender and then leaned across Naomi’s mixing bowl to steal an olive off a serving tray. “Know anyone like that?”
Naomi started on a new batch of dough, pretending to hunt for flour to buy herself time. Leah didn’t know her well enough to notice, but Naomi’s plan to add distance between herself and Ethan through this matchmaking exercise wasn’t working. The more she tried to think about the kind of person who might deserve him, the more she realized she was going to have to let go of wanting him for herself. And she had a really hard time letting go of things she wanted.
Pausing the blender, Leah tested her hummus mixture before adding more red pepper flakes and a splash of olive oil. “You know, I might actually have someone. But you wouldn’t find her here.”
Finding compatible candidates was her job, Naomi reminded herself, a sinking feeling in her stomach. “Oh yeah?”
“Her name’s Amelia Greene. She was Ethan’s camp girlfriend. Blond, nice teeth, perfect tan. She recently moved to Santa Monica from Atlanta. I heard she’s playing first base for her synagogue’s softball team, funny enough, and you’re in luck, because word on the street is they’re playing Beth Elohim in the Sunday synagogue league this week.”
“Beth Elohim has a softball team?” For a place lacking in members, they certainly kept the ones they had busy.
“Oh yeah. Ethan pitches. Not ’cause he’s particularly good, but he’s one of the few members without arthritis.” Leah gave her a once-over. “You look pretty athletic, and they always need more women for the team. Maybe you should sign up as a walk-on. It’ll give you a better lay of the land than this situation. Softball’s like fifty percent standing around.”
Considering her total failure at cooking Shabbat dinner, a recreational sport sounded like a pleasant reprieve. Naomi had played varsity soccer in high school, and by the sounds of it, most of Ethan’s softball teammates were senior citizens. How hard could it be?
Chapter Seventeen
NAOMI KNEW ABOUTbaseball pants, in theory. Her high school soccer team had practiced a few fields over from the baseball players, and she’d seen a few glimpses of the catcher’s well-muscled thighs. Since then, she’d caught a few games on television casually while at a bar and thought,Wow, those are pretty damn tight. Casual observation had not prepared her for the sight of Ethan Cohen’s butt in a pair of snug white capris.
The vision took her so by surprise that she blurted out, “Holy shit. That ass is working overtime.”
Thankfully, she was out of his earshot.
Leah’s suggestion had seemed simple a few nights earlier, and Ethan had confirmed they needed more female players over text. Apparently, Mrs. Rubenstein’s hip was bothering her, and they needed a right fielder.
Naomi had borrowed an old glove from Josh, who had smirked and told her she’d gone soft as he thrust the worn leather into her palm.
“Since when do you play organized sports? Actually, since when do you do anything organized?”
Naomi had told him to mind his own business.
The Beth Elohim softball team was painfully wholesome. According to Ethan, they met an hour before the game for warm-ups and “general camaraderie,” whatever that meant. When she’d pulled up to the field, she’d seen one of the players unpacking orange slices—“for the seventh-inning stretch.”
Ethan had seen her arrive and jogged in from the outfield to meet her. Up close, the bright white of the uniform contrasted sharply with his dark hair and beard, drawing her attention to his face.
“What’s with the full getup?” The opposing team played in matching T-shirts and gym shorts.
“Oh.” He pulled on the bottom of his shirt. “Morey ordered them. He said if we want to play like winners, we have to look like winners.”
She eyed his uniform from top to bottom. “So, all the other teams make fun of you?”
“Oh, yeah.” Ethan smiled as he bent down to retie his shoelace, blinking up at her against the sunshine. “Big-time.”
“You get a lot of heckling from the crowd?”
Ethan followed her gaze to the mostly empty bleachers dotted with a few older women Naomi recognized from the synagogue, wearing giant straw hats and passing around cookies.
“You’re about to find out.” He handed her a soft pile of neatly folded clothes, her very own uniform. “You can get changed in the public restrooms over there.”
She shook out the shirt and held it against her tank-top-covered chest. Not a bad fit. “How’d you know my size? You been checking me out?” Flirting with him was still fun, even if he couldn’t really keep up.
“Wish I could take credit.” Ethan adjusted the brim of his cap. “But I can assure you the uniforms are all Mo.”