Page 14 of The Umpire Strikes Back

I can’t help but laugh, the events of the night swirling in my head. “Well, let’s just say I ended up on his back porch swing, talking about life while his daughter practiced batting in the backyard.”

“Whoa,” Bristol exclaims, and I can practically hear her grin through the phone. “You serious?”

“Dead serious,” I confirm, slowing the car as I pass a row of little bungalows similar to Ripley’s. “He’s… different than I expected. And Juniper is adorable. It was nice… comfortable, even.”

“So did you twotalk talk,or was it awkward?”

I consider for a moment. “We actually talked. Like, about why I moved here, how he got into ball,Star Wars, stuff like that. And you know, about the balk call. He said it was the right call.”

Bristol’s teasing voice goes up an octave. “Oh, sonowyou’re all buddy-buddy?”

“Hardly,” I snort, though a flutter of something hopeful ignites in my chest. “We just… made peace, I guess. He’s not so bad, Bri. Juniper’s smitten with the idea of me coaching her. And… well, I might not hate the idea of seeing him more.”

She squeals so loudly I have to pull the phone away. “Calm down,” I say, laughing. “It’s not like that. We’re just?—”

“Just what?” Bristol challenges, ever the instigator.

I park in front of my apartment building, staring at the glow of the porch light as I exit my car. “I don’t really know yet,” I admit softly. “But tonight was… good. That’s all I can say.”

And as I end the call, unlocking my front door and stepping inside, I realize that might be enough for now. Good. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this kind of gentle excitement about where things could go—friendship, something more, I’m not even sure yet. But I do know that for the first time in a long while, I feel like I’ve found something worth exploring here in Starlight Bay.

8

Kali

It’s been four days since dinner at Ripley Johnson’s house, and yet every time I close my eyes, I see flashes of that night—the creak of the wooden porch swing, the buttery glow of the sunset, the soft sound of Juniper’s giggles in the background. It’s embarrassing how many times I’ve replayed the memory. Even more embarrassing is how often my mind veers into daydream territory: images of him leaning in, fingertips at my jaw, brushing my hair aside before pressing his lips to mine. That last one is on constant rotation no matter how hard I try to squash it.

The thing is, I barely know the guy, but something about him keeps tugging at me, like a current under my skin. I used to think I had a pretty good handle on my emotions. I moved to Starlight Bay precisely because I was craving calmness, routine…stability.Instead, I meet a hotshot pitcher with an adorable daughter, and suddenly I’m entertaining fantasies of pancake breakfasts in matching pajamas. It’s completely ridiculous.

But I can’t help it. There’s just something about the way Ripley looks at Juniper—like she’s his whole world—that absolutely melts me. And the way he stood in his kitchen the other night, half-flustered when I teased him about burning the taco meat… or how his gaze flicked to me every so often, with this quiet intensity that made my pulse flutter.

I’m distracted again today, and it’s Saturday, which means it’s time for my weekly kids’ baseball coaching session at the rec center. Normally, I love this gig. I get to hang out with these bright-eyed little kids who are so eager to learn and have fun, and for an hour or two, I get to forget every worry in my life. But as I’m setting down foam bases and hauling out the plastic cones, my brain won’t shut up about Ripley.

Get it together, Kali.I mentally scold myself, adjusting a bright orange cone into position on the gym floor. The group of kiddos huddles nearby, hugging their shiny new gloves or fiddling with water bottles. I run a quick head count—eight kids, all accounted for. Well, minus one. I give them a cheerful “Good morning, everyone!” and start explaining the day’s drills. We’re doing a simple fielding exercise, focusing on teaching them how to properly catch grounders and toss underhand to a partner.

That’s when the door squeaks open, and I hear a familiar voice calling, “Hey, kiddo, watch your step,” followed by an excited squeal.

Him.My stomach does that annoying little flip, and I glance up to see Ripley guiding Juniper inside. She scampers over to join the other kids, waving enthusiastically at me. Rip stands by the entrance for a moment, scanning the room. When his gaze lands on me, he smiles. It’s not a wide grin—just a small, soft upturn of his lips—but it’s enough to send a rush of warmth through my veins.

He’s wearing jeans that fit him a bit too well and a casual T-shirt that highlights the muscles in his arms. Great. As if my focus wasn’t already shaky enough, now I have to deal withthis.I gulp, quickly turning back to the kids so I don’t look like I’m blatantly ogling him.

“All right, everyone!” I say, clapping my hands together, trying to sound upbeat and professional. “Let’s line up at the first cone, and we’ll do a quick demonstration on how to scoop up a grounder. Remember, stay low, glove on the ground?—”

I falter momentarily as I glimpse Ripley moving to the sidelines, arms folded, watching me. My heart stutters. Why am I acting like a middle-schooler trying to impress her crush?I’m a grown adult, for crying out loud.Clearing my throat, I refocus on the kids and run through the demonstration. Juniper, for her part, is all smiles, eyes bright with excitement as she copies my motions, elbow in, knees bent.

Throughout the lesson, I do my best to stay calm and keep everything running smoothly. But I’m hyperaware of Ripley’s presence. Every time I look up, he’s there, leaning against the wall with casual confidence, giving Juniper a thumb-up when she does something right, or nodding approvingly when I praise one of the other kids. My chest tightens in a weird combination of nerves and delight. I can’t decide if I want him to keep watching me or if I want him to look away so I can breathe.

The session goes by in a flash—probably because my brain is so overloaded withRipley, Ripley, Ripleythat I barely register time passing. By the end, the kids are grinning and sweaty, and they gather around me for the usual round of high-fives.

“You all did awesome today!” I say, beaming as I slap their little hands. “Same time next week, okay?”

They scatter, parents stepping up to collect them, but Juniper lingers behind, fiddling with the Velcro on her glove. She shoots a quick glance at her dad, then looks up at me with hopeful eyes. “Coach Kali,” she says, tugging on my shirt, “Daddy and me are gonna get pizza at Starlight Pi’s. We always do that after baseball. You should come!”

My heart flutters. Before I can form a coherent response, Ripley approaches, his expression a mixture of amusement and something else—something maybe a bit shy. “Only if you want to,” he adds quickly. “Juniper’s big on post-practice carbs.”

I laugh, warmth blooming in my chest. “Carbs are a vital part of any athlete’s diet.” My voice trembles just a hair. “I’d love to join you. Starlight Pi’s is the place on Maple, right?”

Juniper squeals, dancing in place. “Yes! The one with the fun math riddles and the best crust! I get cheese with pepperoniandpineapple, but Dad hates pineapple. We argue about it every time.”

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