Page 122 of The Fall Classic

Since then, I’ve been sitting in the booth with a book. Very little reading has actually been done. I’m too busy watching Georgie light up every customer’s life. We had a movie marathon last night on her couch, but we were … preoccupied. Turns out when you’re kissing through a movie, you don’t get much out of it. She missed most of An American in Paris but loved what she saw of Roman Holiday.

I’ve never enjoyed either movie better.

When Alma’s granddaughter, Ava, comes into the shop, Georgie waves me over and introduces us.

Ava’s even shorter than Alma, but she has her abuela’s energy when she eyes me. “Are you Georgie’s boyfriend?”

I nod.

“Want to come to my quinceañera?”

“Of course. If my girlfriend wants me to,” I add, because Georgie is chewing on the side of her cheek, not smiling. “When is it?”

“Friday, the twenty-fourth.”

I swallow and look up at Georgie. I got back yesterday, but the countdown started before that. If rehab goes well—and everyone’s confident it will—I’ll be due back in Chicago that weekend.

“I may have a conflict, but I’ll see if I can make it,” I tell her.

I hate seeing Georgie’s brave smile at Ava. I don’t want her to give brave smiles. I want her to give smiles brimming with confidence and faith in us—what we have, where we’re heading together.

After the season, I promise myself.

Ava pulls out her phone, and Georgie gushes over the pictures of the dress and makeup for the big day, and I return to the booth and watch.

“So we’re doing the traditional dance for the first song with my parents and grandparents and all my uncles, but then I’m doing a choreographed one with my court,” Ava tells Georgie, leaning over the counter. Alma is steaming milk nearby for an order at the outside counter.

“Abuela, can you tell Isabella not to match my hairstyle? She’s trying to make it all about her.”

Alma looks up and smiles. “Of course, mija. It’s your day.”

“And can we talk about the neckline? Everyone else’s dress is so much lower⁠—”

“No.” Alma doesn’t even glance up this time.

“You haven’t even seen the picture⁠—”

“I don’t need to see the picture. You already look beautiful.”

Ava huffs, then tries a different angle. “Fine. But can I invite Dallas? He said he’d come if I asked him.”

That one does it. Alma sets down the steaming pitcher, and what comes out of her mouth is fast and sharp.

“¡Ni se te ocurra invitarlo a mi casa! Ya te dije que no, y no se hable más del tema.”

I catch only a few of the words, but I was a teenager once. I’m fluent in that tone.

Georgie looks over at me, her eyes big, her lips rolled together to keep from smiling, and I realize she knows a lot more Spanish than I do.

Ava mopes but says, “Sí, Abuela,” and soon, she’s giving Georgie a hug goodbye and then waving at me like we’re old friends.

Georgie comes over on her break, but I stop her before she can sit.

“Want to take a walk with me outside?” I ask.

Something sparks in her eyes, and I wonder if she’s thinking what I’m thinking.

Kissing.