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Beau tried and failed completely, touching off another round of laughter. Wiping his eyes, he said, “I feel rather guilty that we are out here enjoying ourselves when matters of such great import are set to transpire in London.”
“Don’t be,” Chase said, shelling another peanut. “All that political stuff will catch up with us soon enough. I, for one, am perfectly happy we’re sitting where we are and that nothing sinister is going on in our world.”
“Oh, Chase!” Glory gasped. “Don’t ever say something like that! You’re asking for trouble!”
“That’s silly superstition,” he scoffed. “The eyes of the whole Fae world are on London. Nobody’s paying any attention to Briar Hollow. Enjoy the lull while it lasts.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a faintly glowing baseball careened into the stands, striking his cup, and drenching them all in a sticky rain of soda.
From the field, Hiram called, “Sorry, folks! Reckon I’m too juiced up tonight.”
Glory looked at Chase with a wide-eyed “I told you so” expression made all the more incongruous by the single drop of soda hanging suspended at the end of her nose.
“See what you’ve done?” she said. “It’s started already.”
Scrubbing at his face with his hand, Chase said, “What’s started already?”
“I don’t know,” she insisted, “but something definitely has, which is what you get for tempting fate.”
Chase reached out and wiped away the soda drop. “You’re cute when you get mad,” he said, grinning at her.
“Oh!” she fumed. “Don’t you start talking pretty now! I’m telling you something awful is coming . . . did you call me cute?”
“Uh huh,” he said. “I did. You want to go to a dance with me tomorrow night?”
For a second, the question rendered the voluble woman speechless. Then she nodded. “I’d like that,” she said, “but I still say something bad is gonna happen.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Chase answered somberly. “There’s a very good chance I will step on your feet.”