Page 8 of Stealing Summer

“Clearly,” I replied, trying to sound unimpressed.

“Then I guess you’ve been warned.” he pushed away from the wall, a shadow of a grin playing on his lips. “Stay away from that one.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” I smiled, then tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Well, I should get back,” he said, his voice echoing slightly in the empty hallway of the clubhouse as he tilted his head toward the door. “See you around.”

Without another word, he slipped out of the exit. And just like that, he was gone, leaving me standing alone, my thoughts a jumbled mess of curiosity—wondering who the heck that was and why my heart was still beating so fast.

I slid into the seat next to Mom as I checked my phone, wondering how Kristina was doing—but there were no alerts and nothing from her.

“Still no word?” Mom asked as she sipped on her iced tea.

I shook my head, trying to keep the frown at bay. “Nope. Nothing yet. But she’s probably busy. She said it was a pretty intensive program.”

“Sometimes it’s good to disconnect and enjoy the moment,” Mom offered with a reassuring smile.

“True. I just hope she’s enjoying it.” I managed a weak smile.

“I’m sure she will text you as soon as she can.” Mom gave my hand a comforting squeeze.

I noticed a girl sitting alone at a table nearby watching the festivities, with a hint of boredom in her eyes. Her curly blonde hair was full of volume, and her energy radiated a sense of approachability.

Intrigued, I made my way over to her and introduced myself. “Hi there, I’m Chandler Hartford,” I greeted her, trying to sound as friendly as I could.

She looked up at me slightly; her smile was warm and welcoming. “Willow, the coach’s daughter and underpaid assistant. Nice to meet you.”

We started a conversation easily and effortlessly—realizing how much we had in common. Willow’s laughter was infectious, and I was drawn to her stories and how much knowledge and passion she had about the game. There was an instant connection—a sense of kinship that felt like reuniting with an old friend.

Just as we began to exchange phone numbers, the sharp clink against glass silenced us. We turned toward the sound, and it was the Coach, ready to make an announcement.

“May I have your attention, please?” His voice boomed through the gathering as conversations dwindled into silence. “I’d like to take a moment to welcome back all our returning families and extend a warm welcome to the new ones joining our team this year. I have high expectations of these boys and we’re going to have a great season.”

“Let’s play some ball!” Coach Levy exclaimed, a twinkle in his eye that suggested he was as excited for the season. Then, with a slight shift of his stance, he gestured toward the back. “Now, let’s hear a few words from last season’s MVP. Come on up, son!”

The energy shifted, becoming electric as all eyes turned to the back. I glanced over and my pulse quickened as I tried to place who it was. Cheers erupted, whistles and howls pierced the air. The guy I had just been talking to in the clubhouse earlier rose from his seat and made his way toward the coach. His presence seemed to capture the attention of every eye in the area.

“Who is that?” I leaned over to whisper to Willow, still not taking my eyes off of him.

Willow smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, I see someone is caught in his spell already—That’s Reese Carrington, our starting pitcher, and a fellow local like myself.”

Reese Carrington? Shit. My stomach plummeted, embarrassment and disbelief tangled in a sickening knot. Moments like these have to be the reason phrases like ‘died of embarrassment’ are a thing.

The coach patted him on the back and shook his hand with a proud expression.

I guess I never paid close attention to what he looked like when we played against him, but he was taller than I had remembered. His backward hat that he didn’t have on earlier sat above his short, messy dark hair.

“We’re taking it to the championship this year, baby!” he declared, his smile now fully cocky—not a hint of hesitation.

The response was immediate. Cheers detonated through the air, and his teammates roared his name—the name I was bashing earlier.

Teammates and others quickly swarmed around him, and the chatter resumed once again.

I paused, still in shock before I whispered to Willow, “I don’t remember him looking like that last summer.” My gaze was drawn back to Reese like a magnet. “He’s insanely attractive. When did that happen?”

“I know, right?” Willow giggled. “He filled out real nice this past year. His fastball is also about 93 miles per hour.”

"Does he play college baseball?" I asked, curious to know.

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