He's really taken to the Blue Sox, and even though she turns her attention back -- again -- to the field below, she has to laugh.

(She seriously doubts she imagined that flirty edge to the last little grin he aimed at her.)

And to her amusement, he keeps being just as verbal in his support for the Sox through the next two innings while they fight to hold on to a precarious one-point lead.

During a lull in the action, her eyes are drawn to the smiling faces of what looks like a whole family of hardcore Tarantulas fans on the jumbotron. She went to a Dolphins game once with Kevin, and she remembers the vague unshakable dread liked fog in the back of her mind at the idea of having her face displayed up there, larger than life.

Way down in Florida, the odds of someone recognizing her were very low, but low isn't the same as nonexistent. The possibility stuck with her the whole time.

Here, there's no recognition to be concerned about. Maybe that makes it easier to lose herself in the game or lose herself in her company, and maybe, by the time the seventh inning stretch rolls around, she finds herself leaning toward Sawyer as she looks toward the game.

(There's no maybe about it.)