Page 12 of The Umpire Strikes Back

Juniper darts inside ahead of me, practically skipping. By the time I step into the kitchen, she’s already in full chatter mode—something about how well she threw the ball and how excited she is to show Kali next time they practice. I slip off my glove and set it on the counter, then turn just in time to see Juniper lean across the kitchen island, her voice loud enough to echo.

“Kali!” she announces with breathless enthusiasm, “Daddy says you look like apretty princessin your dress! But he doesn’t want to be embarrassed.”

Time slows to a crawl, and I swear my face catches on fire. All the chatter in the kitchen abruptly dies, and Hattie’s eyes flick to me with pure glee. Kali’s cheeks flush pink, and she sets the plate of tortillas down. For a moment, the only sound in the room is the gentle hum of the fridge.

“I—uh—” I stammer, my hands hovering uselessly by my sides. I risk a glance at Kali, whose eyes have gone wide. There’s a flicker of something—surprise, maybe pleasure?—before she quickly schools her expression.

“Wow,” she says, her voice light but tinged with humor. “That’s… very sweet, Juniper.”

Hattie chokes out a laugh. “Oh, it sure is sweet.”

I glare at her, wishing I could sink into the floor. “I told Juniper—well, she asked me—” My words come out in a jumbled mess, and I can’t remember the last time I felt so flustered. Normally, I’m the cool-headed one under pressure. But apparently, a six-year-old and a stunning woman in a sundress are enough to shatter that image.

“Relax,” Kali murmurs, picking up a bowl of guacamole and moving closer to me. “No harm done, right?”

The mild scent of her perfume drifts my way, mixing with the aroma of tortillas and taco seasoning. I suddenly realize how close she’s standing, and it sends a jolt of awareness through me. “Right,” I say hoarsely. “No harm.”

“Let’s just say I appreciate the compliment.” She gives me a small, almost playful smile, then turns back to Juniper. “You guys ready to eat?”

“Starving!” Juniper shouts, springing into a chair.

Hattie sets bowls of salsa and cheese on the table, still grinning like she’s witnessing a prizefighter get KO’d. I rub the back of my neck, trying to regain some composure. The four of us gather around the table, and for a moment, I can’t help but think: this feels strangely… nice. Domestic. Comfortable. If you’d told me a week ago that I’d be having dinner with the very umpire who made my blood boil, I’d have laughed in your face. Yet here we are, passing plates of tortillas and toppings around like old friends.

I keep one eye on Kali throughout the meal, watching how easily she banters with Hattie and giggles with Juniper. It’s baffling—how can she fit in so effortlessly when I’ve known her for barely a handful of days? But every time she catches me looking, I feel that flutter again, and I glance away, hoping nobody notices. If Juniper’s earlier statement is anything to go by, my daughter’s paying attention to every move I make.

We dig into tacos, discussing trivial things like the next rec center practice or random local gossip. Each bite of food somehow tastes better than usual, and I can’t decide if it’s Hattie’s cooking or just the strange, warm atmosphere. At some point, I realize I’m smiling—like a genuine, easy grin that’s been missing from my life for a while.

By the time we set our plates aside, the sun’s sinking low outside the kitchen window, casting a golden hue through the curtains. Kali leans back in her chair, looking content. Juniper’s already asking for dessert, rattling off possibilities like ice cream or brownies, her excitement never once dimming.

As for me, I’m thinking about how completely unexpected this night has been. And how I’m not entirely sure I want it to end. Despite the embarrassment, despite our rocky start, there’s something about Kali that makes me feel… alive. Maybe it’s her quick wit, or the way she brings out my daughter’s best qualities, or that sundress that has my heart beating triple-time. Whatever it is, I’m not about to admit it openly yet.

Instead, I clear my throat and lean forward, fiddling with a stray napkin. “So… who’s up for dessert?” I say, feigning casualness. “We’ve got, uh, ice cream. Or I could run out and get something else, if you want.”

Hattie sends me a knowing smile, while Kali raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Ice cream sounds great,” she says. “But only if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” I reply, trying to keep the slight wobble out of my voice. Because the more I think about it, the more I realize I’m in trouble—deep trouble. Especially if Juniper keeps sharing my so-called compliments with Kali at full volume. But at least for tonight, I’m oddly okay with it.

7

Kali

I’m not entirely sure how I ended up here, swaying gently on a back porch swing with Ripley “Riptide” Johnson at my side, the warm glow of a setting sun painting the sky in hues of bright pink and orange. One minute, we were joking around in the kitchen about his cooking skills (or lack thereof), and the next, Hattie was hugging Juniper goodbye and gathering her things. She offered me a quick smile and told me to “have fun,” leaving me feeling both amused and oddly apprehensive.

So now it’s just me, Ripley, and Juniper. Juniper’s hopping around the backyard, practicing her batting stance with an imaginary bat. The only noises are the quiet squeak of the swing’s chains, the distant hum of neighbors, and Juniper’s excited chatter whenever she imagines hitting a grand slam. It’s peaceful in a way I haven’t experienced in a long time.

I can’t help but let my gaze flick over to Ripley. He’s leaning back, one arm stretched out along the top of the swing’s frame, the other resting on his thigh. He’s ditched his baseball cap, leaving his hair slightly messy, and in the soft twilight, I notice a few faint lines around his eyes—signs of someone who’s spent a lot of time squinting at a sunlit field. It’s a nice look on him, I have to admit.

“Beautiful night,” I say softly, feeling the need to break the silence.

He nods, eyes on Juniper as she pretends to round imaginary bases. “Yeah. Hard to beat a Starlight Bay sunset.”

I shift slightly on the swing, the old wood creaking beneath me. “So… thanks again for having me over. I wasn’t expecting such a warm welcome.”

He tilts his head. “I wasn’t expecting to invite you, to be honest.” There’s a hint of a smile ghosting across his lips. “But Juniper can be persuasive.”

“I’ve noticed.” We share a quiet laugh that feels surprisingly companionable. For a second, the memory of me calling a balk on him flashes through my mind, and I think how crazy it is that we’re sitting here, almost like friends.

As if reading my thoughts, Ripley clears his throat. “So… about that game. The one where you called the balk.”

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