Page 127 of The Fall Classic

I drape my arms around her shoulders, and she hugs my chest, and we seem to fill up the truck. “I’m excited for you,” I tell her. “There are big things coming for you.”

“I can’t think about that,” she says.

“Then maybe think about this,” I say, putting my hand on the back of her neck and leaning down. Her lips part, and the breathy sound she makes against my mouth makes heat roar in my stomach. My mouth meets hers, and the taste of the Diet Coke she had earlier makes me smile. I start chasing that taste. How did I ever think Coke Zero could be better than this? She wraps her hands in my shirt the way she always does, and for a second, I wonder who’s gripping who.

I’m okay either way.

The longer we kiss, the more the knot in my stomach loosens, the countdown in my brain turns off, and worries about my pitch and the season fade.

Soon, it’s just Georgie and me.

And it feels right.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Georgie

As much as I want to live in a bubble with Logan and nothing and no one else, Dad and Marlowe are everywhere these days. For the past week, they’ve taken to showing up wherever I’m working unannounced. Dad’s been taking time off to “strategize,” and Marlowe looks like a plant that’s finally being watered after a long drought.

They’re standing in my apartment on my day off as Marlowe explains that she wants me training everyone on the truck. A voice in my head says she’s planning to have an entire workforce of capable, cross-trained baristas so she can open a hundred new trucks and create a never-ending cycle of debt that allows her to effectively take over Meant to Bean.

That’s not what she says, though, and it’s not like me to read something so mean into such a nice gesture.

Even though I’m sure I’m right.

“You’ve worked so hard building up the truck,” she says, leaning on the back of the couch and looking at me in the kitchen, where I’m hand-washing the remains of the breakfast I had with Logan before he had to leave for rehab. “You deserve this break, sweetie.”

Does she mean that? Or is she trying to impress my dad? Or trying to get what she wants?

Honestly, I’d be happy if the answer was all of the above, because at least it would mean she cares.

I hate how much one “sweetie” can do … or undo. I’m twenty-five years old and that simple term of endearment always makes me want to throw myself at her feet and beg for a hug.

“It’s not a big deal,” I say, rinsing my dishes.

“It is, Georgie Girl,” Dad says, putting his arm around Marlowe, who practically preens. “You’ve made the truck so much more of a success than we thought it could be. We’re so proud of you.”

I smile, even though I shouldn’t. “I’m glad you both feel so confident about the truck⁠—”

“About you,” Marlowe says, and my desperation to be loved starts to spread.

“Thank you.” I can feel myself smiling too hard and have to fight my limbs so they don’t reach out for the hug Marlowe won’t give me. I put my hands on the counter—wringing them together again—and Marlowe does the unexpected.

She reaches a hand out to mine and squeezes.

Her hand is warm and strong, and this is the most loving thing she’s done since she hugged me on my birthday when dad wasn’t even around to see.

I WILL NOT CRY.

“We have a lease meeting scheduled for next Friday. Why don’t you join us?” Marlowe asks.

“I’ll be in Charlotte for the week,” Dad adds, “but I’ll get home early Friday for it. I can pick you up.”

My parents are wanting me around, wanting to make me part of the business. How am I supposed to say no to this?

Am I supposed to say no to this?

Suddenly, I remember Jane’s business card is on my bed in my room, along with my laptop and homework. I can almost hear the card beating like a heart buried beneath the floorboards.