Hank’s daughter grinned shyly. “Don’t, Daddy, I’m just co-captain.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Taylor said, offering her hand. The girl took it, shook it warmly.
“She’s pretty, Dads. You did well.”
This time, Taylor blushed shyly. “Yes, she is,” Hank said,
“but we are just friends and I don’t want you to make anything else out of it.”
“Right, that’s why you brought her up here on parents’
weekend,” Jackie said. Behind them, a whistle blew loudly.
“Oops, gotta run! You’re staying for the game?”
“Of course,” Hank called as she trotted away. “And dinner afterward!”
The players gathered in the center of the field, lined up against each other. Another whistle blew and the game started. Hank’s daughter was on the line, the right side, and she took a pass cleanly and expertly from the center and began moving it downfield.
As the game began, Taylor entwined her arm through his, holding on to him as they stood on the sidelines next to the bleachers.
“She’s beautiful,” Taylor said. “She looks like that picture you showed me of Anne.”
“Yes,” Hank said. “She’s just like her mother. In a lot of ways …”
“You must be very proud of her.”
Hank pulled his arm loose from hers, then draped it across her shoulder and pulled him to her. “Yeah,” he said. “I am.”