"Since when have you been interested in American football?" Abraham asks Crane as they climb the bleachers, looking for a seat.
"I simply thought I should see what all the fuss is about. I've been here several years now, so I believe I am overdue," Crane answers, his eyes scanning the crowd, looking for Lieutenant Mills.
"You're full of shit," Abraham answers. "Who are you looking for?"
"What? I am merely scanning the crowd, searching for seats that will afford us the most optimal viewing," he answers. Perhaps she hasn't arrived yet.
"Still full of shit."
Crane ignores him, following him up two more rows and sitting. He sits on the aisle, in the hope of affording his long legs a little more room. Then, he sees her. She is wearing a leather jacket and carrying a fleece blanket in the school colors – orange and black. There is another young woman with her, and they pick their way through the crowd.
"Which one?" Abraham interrupts his observations.
"Which one what?" Crane replies, raising a haughty eyebrow.
"Those two." He points rather obviously, and Crane grabs his arm and pushes it down. "The taller one or the shorty?"
Crane stares straight ahead, stalwartly not looking in the direction of Lieutenant Mills. "Please refrain from using such colloquialisms. It's embarrassing for us both," he snaps.
Abraham shrugs. "Whatever. They're both hot. I bet it's the taller one. The two of you could have eyebrow competitions."
"Will you shut up?" Crane asks, slowly turning his head to glare at his friend. I'm beginning to regret inviting him.
"Sure, just tell me which one. You were staring pretty blatantly, man. Just saying," Abraham casually says, unfazed by Crane's reprimand.
"The short one," he mutters.
"Really? Hmm. She a student? She looks really young."
"She is a professor in the Criminal Science department," Crane answers, his tone clipped. Unlike you, I have morals.
"Ooo, sexy," Abraham drawls. He looks back down at the two ladies. "Oh, nice ass, too. I can see why you've deigned to climb down from your ivory tower."
Crane sighs. Heavily. The football team is warming up on the field, and the sounds of the marching band rehearsing drift into the stadium on the breeze. He watches as Lieutenant Mills bends and sets her folded blanket down on the bench to use as a cushion. Before she sits, it appears as though she sees him. Her eyes are looking in his direction anyway, and a brief flash of recognition crosses her face. Then, she turns around and sits again.
"She saw you," Abraham says.
"Bram, we are 12 rows behind her. You have no way of knowing that," Crane protests, but hopes Abraham is right.
"Right. I know what I saw. So. Do you want me to explain what's happening in the game, or are you just going to stare at her the entire time?"
"I read up on the rules of American football last night," Crane says. "I have quite a firm grasp on the concept."
"Sure. Whatever you say."
xXx
"So, does this mean I can have Katrina?" Abraham asks as they stand in line waiting for hot dogs. Ichabod winces. "What?"
"Bram, I have never had any romantic inclinations towards Professor Van Tassel, but that does not mean you may 'have' her. She is a human being, not an... uneaten half-sandwich." Behind him, Abbie emerges from the ladies' room to wait for her sister, unnoticed by Crane. "A woman is not a prize one can just 'have'. Her affections are a gift; a treasure to be earned and cherished," he says, unaware that the woman whose affections he wishes to earn is right behind him, hearing his every word. Trying not to stare. Trying to act casual despite her warring impulses. A part of her wishes to bolt like a ridiculous schoolgirl with a crush while another part contemplates turning around and introducing herself. Or jumping on him.
Bram sees her and smirks lightly. "Oh, yes, big words from a man who had to run away to America to get over his ex," he says, a little louder. He sees Abbie's head turn slightly towards them in surprise.
"That is not an accurate statement and you know it," Ichabod retorts. "I did not flee. I was offered a job. Here. And, as you are well aware, it was I who ended things with Mary when I discovered she was only after my family's wealth. Not to mention completely barmy." He doesn't hear Abbie's choked snort as she tries to stifle her laughter.
However, Bram sees it and scowls a bit. "You are absolutely no fun, do you know that?" he asks.
Crane raises an eyebrow at him. "It is not my purpose in life to serve as your jester—"
"Hey, Abbie, should we get some hot dogs? I know I'm hungry," a voice close behind Crane says, and his words stop as he hears the name "Abbie."
Oh, God, is she right behind me? I should turn and say hello. Or smile at least. I should…
"He who hesitates is lost, big guy," Abraham goads, pointing with his eyes towards the two women.
Crane slowly turns to see the pretty lieutenant heading to the back of the line with her companion. He finds himself staring, but cannot stop. They seem comfortable. Is she Miss Mills' close friend? Lover? The two women stop talking and stare up at the menu as they wait in line. They both stand the same way, though Abbie is noticeably shorter. They both chew their lower lips and furrow their brows. Then, it hits him. Sisters. I'd wager they are sisters. There is a definite resemblance. Abbie's eyes move and catch his. She holds his gaze for a moment, then smiles the smallest, sweetest smile he thinks he's ever seen. It makes him feels slightly warmer.
"Crane! You're up, dude," Abraham lightly shoves his shoulder. "Damn, you've got it bad," he mutters.
"Yes, um, two hot dogs and a Coke, please," Crane orders, unaware that Abbie Mills, three people back, is still watching him, straining to hear his voice.
xXx
"So, what's the deal with the tall beardy guy?" Jenny asks once they are back in their seats.
"What do you mean?" Abbie carefully replies, taking a bite of her hot dog. She thoughtfully chews and swallows before adding, "What tall beardy guy?"
Jenny rolls her eyes. "The one who was totally eye-fucking you in the line at the concession stand. You know. Tall, dark, and British. Blue eyes, long hair. Black wool coat. Skinny as shit."
Abbie takes a sip of her soda, carefully keeping her face neutral. "Oh. That's Dr. Crane. He teaches History in Franklin, the building next to mine." He was totally doing what to me with his eyes?
Jenny snorts, not buying her sister's act for a second. "You guys having an affair or something? Maybe had a steamy one-night stand? He's not really your usual type, but I could totally see you climbing Mount British. I mean, the novelty of it alo—"
"I don't even know him apart from what I just told you," she answers, cutting off her sister's words. Her hot dog is suddenly very interesting.
"All I'm saying is I'd tap that. He is hella sexy," Jenny comments, breaking off a chunk of soft pretzel and popping it into her mouth. "His friend looks like a dick though."
Abbie almost chokes on her soda from her sudden laugh. She coughs a few times, then recovers before speaking. "From what I understand, you're right. Professor Abraham Van Brunt. Teaches philosophy, and is a total douche. Was caught having an affair with one of his students a couple years ago."
"So what? She was over 18, right? Or he?"
"She, and, while not technically illegal, it's still unethical. And, kind of slimy," Abbie argues. Honestly, she wonders how Crane and Van Brunt are friends. She's heard nothing but good things about Crane, and everything she's observed about him – and overheard him saying just now – points to him being a really good guy. Van Brunt seems kind of creepy.
"Well, the Good Doctor appears to be way into you, Abs," Jenny says, more serious now.
"We've never met," Abbie says. Jenny looks surprised. "We keep seeing one another this term, like our teaching schedules are the same or something. I've never seen him at a football game before though…" she trails off, thinking of yesterday. He was at the café. Maybe he heard Brooks trying to convince me to come to the game, and… No. That's just silly.
"It's fate," Jenny says, turning all faux-mystical, waving her fingers. "Destiny. It has been written long ago that the two of you should meet and immediately start getting it on— ow! Hey!"
Abbie smacks Jenny's shoulder. "Shut up," she says, but she's laughing. "It's not fate, it's coincidence," she says.
"Right," Jenny agrees, clearly placating her sister. She crumples up the waxed paper from her pretzel and tucks it into the paper boat in which Abbie's hot dog had been.
"Look, remember when we went to Disney?" Abbie asks. Jenny nods. "Thousands of people there. There's no way we could have seen every person in the park who was there at the same time as us," Abbie continues.
"Your point?"
"Even with all those people, remember how we kept seeing that same family? Like, everywhere we went, they were there, too?"
Jenny laughs. "Oh, yeah. With the pale, freckled, red-haired kids who all wound up sunburnt," she remembers. "So, what you're saying is that this Crane fellow is like those Weasleys we kept seeing at Disney?"
"Kind of. All I know is we keep crossing paths with each other. That's all. Now, shut up and watch the game," she says, turning her attention back to the field.
Jenny chuckles, but doesn't further press the issue.
Possession of the ball has just switched back to the other team, so the offense returns to the sidelines as the defense heads out. Andy Brooks pulls off his helmet, gets a drink, and looks up into the crowd. A moment later, he spots Abbie and waves, smiling brightly. She returns his wave, though with far less enthusiasm.
"Damn, girl, you've got all the boys coming to your yard," Jenny comments.
Abbie sighs. "He's one of my students. Majoring in Criminal Science, so I can't shake him off. I'm his damn advisor, too." We should have sat further up in the stands. Like back where Dr. Crane is seated.
Brooks turns away, talking to a coach for a few moments. Then, he looks up at Abbie again. She intentionally avoids his gaze.
"He so has a crush on you," Jenny leans over and says.
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Abbie says, rolling her eyes.
"Well, you're welcome, Sergeant Sarcasm," Jenny shoots back. She angles her head when he turns around, his back to them. "Looks like he's a tight end to me..."
"Okay, ew," Abbie replies, making a face. "And, I think he's actually a wide receiver."
Jenny just laughs. "I don't really care. He's got a nice ass. That's the only reason I watch football, you know: the tight pants."
"Jenny, he's like, twelve years old," Abbie says. "Also, just... no."
"Right. You prefer your men closer to your own age. That's reasonable," Jenny says, nodding.
"Obviously."
"And, taller." She pauses, trying unsuccessfully not to grin. "And, British."
"Jenny..." Abbie sighs, but her laughter betrays her.
"And, bearded."
xXx
"Looks like you have some competition," Abraham says, indicating Brooks waving at Abbie.
"For a man who claims to be a fan of this sport, you certainly are spending a lot of time not watching it," Crane says. He, too, saw the young football player notice his lieutenant in the stands. Curious. That is the same young man from the coffee shop. I am not certain his attentions are appropriate. He feels a strange mixture of jealousy and concern for Abbie, but pushes it down, certain it is unwarranted. She would never welcome such attentions from a student. I don't know how I know this, but I feel quite sure of it.
"For a man who claims he's not here because of this woman, you certainly are spending a lot of time acting like Lady Macbeth," Abraham retorts, breaking into his friend's thoughts.
"Ah, a rare display of cleverness," Crane says, actually smiling. He turns to the laughing Van Brunt. "Very well. I concede. Yes, I am interested in Lieutenant Mills. Will I act on that interest? I do not yet know."
"What's not to know?"
"Well, for starters, she may already be involved with someone. Secondly, why would a beautiful woman like her be interested in the attentions of a man such as myself? And third, while we seem to be continually orbiting one another, we never actually cross paths."
Abraham stares.
"What?" Crane asks.
"You haven't dated anyone since you've been here, have you?" he asks.
"Um, no," Crane answers, "but I hardly see how this is relevant."
"Use that big brain of yours, man. She doesn't have a wedding ring. Which should be the first thing you notice."
I was too entranced by her eyes – and lips – to look at her hands. "She still may have a boyfriend. Or, girlfriend."
"You never know unless you try," Bram says, casually shrugging. "That's not her girlfriend with her."
"I had deduced that they are sisters, yes," Crane says.
"If she had a boyfriend, don't you think he would be at the game with her?" Abraham continues. "Or is that wide receiver slipping it to her during her office hours?" he asks, nodding towards the field.
"Don't be crass, Bram," Crane says. "But, I will grant that you do have a point. Short of stalking her, I have no way of knowing unless I ask."
"Exactly. So, why are you still scowling?"
"She couldn't be interested in me," Crane softly admits. "I'm merely an odd, tall, lanky Englishman who enjoys books about the American Revolution. She's a stunningly beautiful, intelligent woman who probably has men pursuing her all the time. I'd just be another man in a line of suitors."
A woman sitting in front of them turns around. She's older; likely the mother of one of the players. "Excuse me, I couldn't help overhearing, but I just have to say that you should definitely ask this woman out. Whoever she is."
Crane blinks in surprise while Abraham chuckles knowingly beside him. "I should?" Crane asks, curious as to this woman's reasons.
"Well, yes. If she's as beautiful and intelligent as you say, she might not have guys asking her out because they may feel intimidated. Also, you're selling yourself short, young man. You're very handsome. And, heck, if I was," she pauses, looking him over, "twenty years younger, I'd go out with you just to listen to you talk."
Crane smiles, his cheeks slightly coloring. "Thank you, madam. I must say it is helpful to hear a woman's perspective on the matter."
"You're welcome. Um, may I ask who the young lady in question is?" she asks.
"She's about 12 rows down, in the brown leather jacket. Long, straight, very dark brown hair. In front of the student with the bright orange hair," Crane says.
"Sure, you tell her right away," Abraham teases. Crane ignores his jab.
"Sitting beside another young lady with long, curly hair?"
"Yes."
"Hmm." The woman leans to the side. "I can't see her face, but I'll watch for it," she answers, smiling. "Oh, I was going to add: if you're always seeing her, make your paths cross."
"I was just going to say that!" Abraham protests, throwing his hands in the air.
The woman laughs and turns around.
"I was," he insists.
"I believe you," Crane answers. The first half is over, and the players jog off the field as the marching band takes it.
"There's my Joshua," the woman turns slightly towards them, pointing to the band. "The center snare drum."
"Ah, you're here for the marching band then," Crane nods, smiling.
"Well, I do like football, too, but yes, I'm a band mom."
After the band performs, Abbie rises, turning towards them, possibly heading to the restroom.
"Oh, my, she is lovely," Band Mom says, turning back towards Crane. "Such a tiny thing. What does she teach?"
"Criminal Science," Crane answers. "I overheard one of her students address her as 'Lieutenant', so I presume she is former military or law enforcement."
Her eyebrows rise. "Really? Fascinating. Are you also a professor?"
"Yes, I teach History, and Bram teaches Philosophy," Crane explains.
"What is your name? I'll have to ask Joshua if he was in your class," she asks. "I think he took History already..."
"Dr. Ichabod Crane," he answers.
"Professor Abraham Van Brunt," Abraham adds, though he suspects the woman is not really interested in him.
"Crane and Van Brunt, got it. I'm pretty sure he hasn't taken any Philosophy courses," she says. "He's a music major."
"What is your name, dear lady?" Crane asks.
"Oh, my name is Lynn Gardener," she says.
"Pleased to meet you," he smiles. "Does your son share your surname?"
"Um, yes," she answers.
"Joshua Gardener... yes, I believe he was in my afternoon Tuesday-Thursday class last spring," Crane says, nodding. "Tall lad, blonde hair? Ah, suddenly his penchant for pencil-tapping makes sense..."
Mrs. Gardener's eyes widen. "You remember him?"
"I remember everything, madam," Crane says.
"He's got a photographic memory," Bram supplies.
"Eidetic memory," Crane corrects. "Everything, not just images."
"Goodness," Mrs. Gardener exclaims. "Sorry about the pencils. It's a drummer thing. The world is their drum set."
"Indeed," Crane answers, nodding.
After the game ends, Crane and Abraham stick around to watch the marching band's "Fifth Quarter" performance, partly out of deference to their new friend and partly because Crane is fascinated by the marching band. He notices Abbie and her sister have also stayed.
As they exit, Crane notices the two women are stuck, waiting for an opening in the crowd so they can file out. He pauses, tugging Abraham's sleeve to make him stop as well. Summoning his courage, Crane smiles and nods at them.
Abbie returns his smile in a silent thank-you, and she and her sister step out in front of the two men.
Just as Abraham starts nudging Crane to try to talk to Abbie, the sisters turn abruptly, heading to Abbie's car.
"He who hesitates is lost," Abraham repeats.