Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
***
“We got an interesting call at the firehouse yesterday,” Cal tells me as we make the drive to the stadium. Luckily the traffic isn’t bad on the Schuylkill and we’re making good time. The stadium is less than six miles from my apartment, but you never know how traffic is going to be on game days.
“What happened?” I ask, turning my head in his direction. I’m interested in his story and it gives me the chance to watch him talk. He’s cute, very boy-next-door. He’s not very tall, but he’s several inches taller than me. A little on the stocky side, with thick dark hair, a little messy. He’s wearing shorts—like only a guy would in late September—and a Philadelphia Eagles jersey. His sunglasses block the midday sun but I can see the corner of his eye as he talks.
“A call came in—motor vehicle vs toddler.”
“Oh, how awful.”
He pulls his hand from the steering wheel and says, “Just wait,” with a little shake of his head and a smile. “So we arrive on scene and there’s no car. No one is even outside. Nothing, right? Usually there’s a crowd, but it’s just us. Then the ambulance and the cops pull up right behind us. We all get out and look at each other for a second before one of our guys goes up to the house as one of the cops is checking the street for tire marks. So a teenager answers the door and lets us inside. Turns out the motor vehicle was a matchbox car one kid threw at another and the mom called 911 for a flesh wound.”
“No!” I say, laughing. “People are nuts.”
“It’s happened twice since I joined the fire department!” Cal grins and glances over at me in the passenger seat.
“I guess it’s a blessing when it’s just a toy car.”
“Yeah, that’s one way to look at it,” he agrees, taking the Packer Avenue exit for the stadium.
“How long have you been a firefighter?”
“Six years. But I’ve always known I wanted to be a firefighter, ever since I was a kid. I love it, just like I bet you love teaching.” He grins and I nod.
“Yeah, I’ve wanted to be a teacher since grade school. I’m so grateful I got a job in my field. I love my class, they’re the greatest kids. I’m so lucky.”
He flashes a smile my way and we continue talking about his job and mine, places we like to go in Philadelphia, that kind of thing. He mentions that he’s on a fall softball league with the guys from his firehouse and tells me I should come watch him sometime. This date is going so well and Cal is nice. I mean, I might not feel butterflies with him exactly, but he’s nice.
Cal pulls into the parking lot and we follow the slow trail of cars being directed to open spaces, filling in the rows of parking one after another. We finally come to an open space and pull in. Cal flips the visor down and grabs the game tickets, handing them to me before turning off the car.
We walk side by side towards the gate, still chatting. Yup, this date is perfect. The sun is shining, birds are chirping, clouds are in the sky, blah blah. I’ve totally got this dating thing.
We reach the gate and have our tickets scanned, then follow the directions towards our section, dodging people in the crowded venue. Cal grabs my hand and holds tight as we bob and weave, the smell of hot dogs and popcorn permeating the air while vendors walk around selling everything from team caps to beer. The closer we get the more I’m convinced we’re going the wrong way. “Wow, are these really our seats? We’re so close. Are these season tickets?” I stop, staring at the tickets in my hand to verify we’re in the right place. We’re on the fifty-yard line near the Eagles’ bench. I think this is a better view than you get on TV.
“Yeah, got them from a friend.” He grins as we find our seats and settle in. “I definitely owe him one, don’t I?” he says with a wink.
We settle in and I check out the coaches and players standing what feels like feet away. They’re running warm-up drills and we’re so close I can hear the helmets crashing. I’m not that into football, but it’s pretty cool to be this close. Around me the hum of the excited crowd escalates as the giant electronic screens count down the minutes until kickoff. I’m leaning all the way forward in my seat, taking it all in so that I have to turn my head back to see Cal. But he’s not looking at the field, instead looking behind us.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Just looking for a hot dog guy. You want a hot dog?” he asks me, still glancing around.