The girls whirled around as a group of guys approached. Including Roman.
When they noticed who stood there, his arm around Imogene and me, they all came to an abrupt stop.
“Holy sh—crap,” Roman said, glancing at Imogene before looking back at Lachlan. I wondered if she made him put money into her swear jar, too. It wouldn’t surprise me.
“You’re… You’re Lachlan Hale,” another one of the guys said, mouth wide.
“Yes, I am.”
I leaned into Lachlan once more. “I get the feeling there’s going to be a lot of this today.”
“So do I.”
“Does it bother you?” I whispered into his ear, although I could see the answer in his brilliant smile, eyes dancing with laughter.
I’d often heard stories about celebrities who were complete assholes to their fans. Who ignored them when in public, often being downright rude if asked for a photo or autograph. While I was sure it was exhausting to be recognized wherever you went, it never seemed to bother Lachlan. Granted, I hadn’t been out in public with him much. But the few times I had — when he took me to his Little League field and now today — he didn’t appear irritated at all. In fact, he seemed quite enthusiastic about meeting his fans.
“Not in the least. I was once in their shoes. Was excited to meet my favorite baseball players. Sometimes they were great. Other times, not so much. So I made a promise to myself that if I were ever lucky enough to reach the point where people were excited to meet me as their favorite player, I’d do my best to be just as excited to meet them. As your meemaw always said, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.” He winked, then stepped away from me, permitting Imogene to make the introductions.
I stood back, heart swelling even more. Not just at his philosophy, but the fact he was able to recite one of my meemaw’s sayings. One I’d only told him a few times.
When Roman introduced himself, Lachlan’s expression hardened slightly, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest, biceps stretching the fabric of his t-shirt.
“So, you’re Roman?” Lachlan said in a deep voice, giving him a stern look.
“Y-yes, sir,” Roman answered nervously. “It’s an honor to meet you. I’m a huge fan. I’m a pitcher myself. Not nearly as good as you, but—”
“Everyone has to start somewhere.”
“Do you mind signing my hat?” he asked, quickly taking it off his head.
“Not at all.”
I approached, giving him the marker I’d stuffed into my purse for this very reason.
He was about to sign when he paused, meeting Roman’s gaze. “Before I sign this, I want you to make me a promise.”
“What’s that?”
“That you’ll never treat Imogene with anything less than the utmost respect. I understand you two have been ‘talking’. I was once a fifteen-year-old boy myself. I know what goes through a teenage boy’s mind. Imogene means the world to me. Do you get what I’m saying, Roman?”
“Oh, my god, Lachlan. Enough. You’re embarrassing me…Dad,” she added as she playfully shoved him.
It was just a joke, but as he stared down at her, there was a gleam in his eyes I’d never seen before.
In the past few months, Lachlan had acted as more of a father to Imogene than her own biological father ever did. He took an interest in her hobbies. I’d even caught him helping her with homework a time or two.
Further proof Lachlan Hale truly was a good person.
“Of course, sir. I’d never do anything to intentionally hurt Imogene. I care about her a great deal.”
Lachlan studied him for a beat, as if he possessed some internal bullshit detector. Seemingly satisfied, he nodded and signed the hat, handing it back. Then his expression softened.
“So tell me, Roman… How’s your curveball?”
“It could use some work, sir. And my changeup is sh—” He glanced at Imogene again, who gave him a warning look, all but solidifying my assumption she made him contribute to her swear jar. “It’s not great. I really struggle with it.”
“That is a tough pitch to master.” He patted him on the back. “But we’ll work on it this winter so you’re ready for the spring.”