Page 17 of The Umpire Strikes Back

I smack my forehead lightly. “Right, the mini vacation. She’s been talking about that all week, how could I forget?” I throw a glance at Juniper over in the living room. She’s got both arms in the air now, pretending to be a soaring airplane. Sometimes I swear my kid never runs out of energy. “So you want me to drop her off this afternoon?”

“That’d be perfect,” Hattie says. “I’ll have her back tomorrow evening. I’ll bring her to the field for your game. Tell her we’ll be stopping for ice cream on the way—she’ll be thrilled.”

I chuckle. “You spoil her rotten.”

“Of course,” Hattie snorts. “Anyway, see you later.”

We hang up, and I pocket my phone with a sigh. So dinner tonight is just going to be me and Kali. That’s… definitely not how I pictured it when I asked her. But the idea sends a strange jolt of excitement and nerves through my gut.This might actually be better.A chance to figure out what’s going on, uninterrupted by six-year-old commentary.

* * *

The day slipsby in a blur. I help Juniper pack a small bag while she chatters about Aunt Hattie’s plan to visit some kind of roadside attraction. Then we pile into the car, and I drive her to Hattie’s place. My sister greets us with a teasing grin, asking if I’ve got a “hot date” while Juniper’s away. I dodge the question as best I can, muttering something about just hanging out at home.

Once Juniper’s taken care of, I head back to my place, the house eerily quiet without her. I toss a look around the living room, noticing stray socks and Juniper’s crayons scattered on the coffee table. I tidy up a bit, my nerves hitting me full force now that I’m alone.Why am I so wound up?

I decide to keep dinner simple. I’ll grill some chicken, maybe throw together a salad. Nothing fancy. But halfway through seasoning the chicken, I realize I’m basically pacing the kitchen. Am I expecting this to turn into a date? I’m not sure. All I know is that I want to see Kali, talk to her, maybe figure out how she feels. Because I’m starting to realize how I feel—it’s more than casual. It’s… something bigger, something that doesn’t settle quietly in my chest.

Finally, around 6:10, there’s a soft knock at the door. I wipe my hands on a dish towel and take a calming breath before answering.

Kali stands on the porch, wearing a light sweater over a casual sundress, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. She looks more relaxed than last night, but there’s still a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. The sun’s dipping low, casting a warm glow across her face. For a moment, we just stare at each other, neither of us quite sure what to say.

“Hey,” I manage, stepping back. “Come in.”

She enters, glancing around as if checking to see if Juniper’s lurking behind the couch. “Quiet,” she remarks, a tentative smile appearing. “Where’s your little shadow?”

I scratch the back of my neck. “She’s with my sister tonight. They have an early trip in the morning.” I shrug, trying for nonchalance. “So it’s just us.”

Her eyes flick up to mine, and I can see the questions swirling there. It’s almost palpable, this tension like something unspoken and electric in the air. I take a breath, remind myself to keep it cool.

“Hope you’re okay with chicken and salad,” I say, nodding toward the kitchen. “I was going for easy.”

“Sounds great,” she says softly. “Better than me microwaving leftovers in my apartment.”

I manage a chuckle, gesturing for her to follow me. “Well, let’s get to it, then.”

And as she steps past me into the living room, I can’t help the swirl of thoughts in my head. She’s here, we’re alone, and I have no idea what’s about to happen. But I do know one thing: I want to find out what’s got her so spooked, and maybe, if I’m lucky, give her a reason not to be.

10

Kali

I follow Ripley into the kitchen, and I’m immediately struck by how impossibly good he looks tonight. The casual T-shirt he’s wearing clings to his chest and shoulders in a way that shows off his lean, athletic build, and the low kitchen light casts subtle shadows along his arms, highlighting the faint lines of muscle. He moves with an easy confidence, every step measured and sure, like a man who’s spent his life training his body to react on a dime. The natural grace pulls me in, makes my heart flutter in a way I can’t quite dismiss.

Even the way he turns to glance back at me—dark hair slightly tousled, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth—sends a spark through my chest. I wish I could play it cool, but the heat crawling up my neck won’t let me. Maybe he notices, maybe not. My attention breaks when the scent of grilled chicken drifts by, reminding me where I am.

Then I see the table near the window, set with two plates and a little jar of wildflowers in the center. My breath catches. It’s understated and sweet, but beneath that simplicity, there’s something undeniably romantic about it. A warmth stirs in my stomach. Am I ready for this? I’m still not sure. But looking at Ripley—tall, confident, and so damned attractive—I feel a flutter of hope that makes me want to find out.

“How’s the chicken look?” Ripley asks, fiddling with the knobs on the stove. “I tried not to burn it this time.” His gaze flicks to mine, and there’s a playful spark in his eyes.

I give a shaky laugh. “It smells better than the tacos, so you’re already winning.”

He flashes a grin that makes my stomach flip. “That’s a low bar,” he says, gesturing for me to sit. I oblige, smoothing my palms against the fabric of my sundress as I settle into the chair. My nerves feel raw and every sense is heightened, from the clink of silverware to the gentle hum of the fridge.

We start eating, and the chicken is actually delicious. It’s tender, with a hint of lemon and herbs. I’m impressed, but also too distracted by how close his leg is to mine under the table to fully appreciate the taste. The conversation flows, though. We discuss everything from weird baseball superstitions to which Marvel hero is the best. Every exchange is peppered with laughter and sidelong glances that set my blood pumping.

Eventually, we talk about deeper stuff like childhood memories, old regrets, and the wild paths that led us both to Starlight Bay. I confide that I grew up in a crowded city, always searching for a place that felt more like home. He tells me he grew up in a dusty farm town, dreaming of that big-league call-up. The more he talks, the more I sense the old fire he still carries, even if he doesn’t outright admit it.

“So,” I say quietly, finishing off a roasted carrot, “you never gave up that dream? The majors?”

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