Ever since my note was delivered to the barista to give to Derek Jeter, I’ve wondered if he’s received it. I got to stop wondering yesterday. The door bell to Tampa Bay Outfitters dinged. I looked up and saw him standing in the door way, all 6’3″ of him. He smiled as he put his aviator glasses on his head. I smiled and muttered a “hello.”
He walked around the Patagonia table. Then he came closer to me and said, “Are you Beth?” I nodded, unable to find words. “So you want to play catch I hear?” I shrugged my shoulders and smiled even bigger. Then I said way too quickly, “Sure thing, Derek.”
He pulled out his glove that was stuck in the back of his camouflaged shorts and said with a wink, “Let’s go.”
I had a sundress on but I sauntered after him, grabbed my glove from my SUV, and we threw the ball in the parking lot for about twenty minutes.
“You should’ve been the first girl to ever play Major League Baseball,” he said.
I laughed and said, “That was always my dream! But this experience is just as good.” Then he gave me a hug, thanked me for the Starbucks gift card, kissed me on the head, and told me he couldn’t wait to see me again.
Oh, this is an unreality.
The barista said he read the note, laughed, said he didn’t remember the snowman cookie, and threw the note away.