A pretty young artist sat under a tree and sketched idly. After several attempts to draw her attention to the biceps he’d been working on for six months, one of the players took a more obvious route. The Frisbee landed on her pad with a plop. When she looked up in annoyance, he jogged over. His grin was apologetic, and calculated, he hoped, to dazzle.

“Sorry. Got away from me.”

After pushing a fall of dark hair over her shoulder, the artist handed the Frisbee back to him. “It’s all right.” She went back to her sketching without sparing him a glance.

Youth is nothing if not tenacious. Hunkering down beside her, he studied her drawing. What he knew about art wouldn’t have filled a shot glass, but a pitch was a pitch. “Hey, that’s really good. Where’re you studying?”

Recognizing the ploy, she started to brush him off, then looked up long enough to catch his smile. Maybe he was obvious, but he was cute. “ Georgetown.”

“No kidding? Me too. Pre-law.”

Impatient, his partner called across the grass. “Rod! We going for a brew or not?”

“You come here often?” Rod asked, ignoring his friend. The artist had the biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen.

“Now and again.”

“Why don’t we-”

“Rod, come on. Let’s get that beer.”

Rod looked at his sweaty, slightly overweight friend, then back into the cool brown eyes of the artist. No contest. “I’ll catch you later, Pete,” he called out, then let the Frisbee go in a high, negligent arch.

“Finished playing?” the artist asked, watching the flight of the Frisbee.