Page 154 of The Fall Classic

Like usual.

Customers stream by while my attention flits between my presentation, the clock, and the game.

I’ve always loved baseball. My parents were casual fans, but one of my earliest memories was of my parents taking me to a Mudflaps game when I was maybe three or four. They sat me between them and held hands over the seat back behind me. They were so affectionate that day. My dad said something that made Mama laugh so hard she spit soda everywhere, and that only made Daddy laugh uncontrollably, which made me laugh, because what kid can see her parents laughing hysterically without joining in?

We went to a game every year until she got really sick. There was something about the atmosphere that turned our family into a team. It wasn’t Mama and Georgie on one side of the state and Daddy on the other. We were simply together. The three of us.

I know now that there was more to it than the magic of baseball. Neither of them could do a lick of work at the stadium, probably because the crowds at the game always strained the cell service too much for them to get reception. It didn’t matter to me then, though, and it doesn’t matter to me now. We never felt more like a family than when we were watching baseball. And for that, I’ll always love the game.

I love it so much more, though, because it brought Logan into my life.

“Hey, Georgie,” someone drawls, and I look away from the TV on the wall to see another barista—a cute girl named Abby who’s working the counter today. “My meemaw called ’cause she’s got a flat over on Ridge Road. I was hoping to run over and help her put the spare on. Any chance you could fill in for me for ten or fifteen minutes?”

I look at the clock. It’ll probably take longer than fifteen minutes, but I’m still thirty-six minutes out from my meeting with Jane, and everyone working today can handle a rush, if one comes.

“Sure, Abby. Call me if anything changes.”

I close my laptop and take it into the back room before putting on an apron and joining in behind the counter. Neither Alma nor Liv is working today, but everyone knows me, even if they don’t know that the shop has belonged to my family for decades.

It’s a busy afternoon, and the shop smells of pumpkin spice and cardamom. Every time a customer comes in, there’s a blast of cool fall air that makes me shiver, partially because I’m wearing a dress instead of the jeans and sweatshirt I’ve been wearing since the weather turned.

As more and more customers come for the coffee, they stay for the game. Because Logan, Lucas, and Rojas all came from the Mudflaps, there are a lot more people watching baseball than reading or hanging out on their phones, for a change. They’re interacting more.

I kind of like it.

In fact, I like it so much, I forget that I’m supposed to be worrying about Jane and my parents and I become one with the crowd, watching and cheering as Jake Rodgers gets on base in the bottom of the third. The guy after Jake strikes out, but the batter after him gets on base, too, giving the Firebirds two runners on base just for Cooper Kellogg to come up to bat.

“Can we get two ice waters and two hazelnut cozies?” a woman with a low, confident voice asks.

I rip my attention from Coop hitting a bomb of a foul ball to see Jane … and Kayla.

Because why wouldn’t my boyfriend’s billionaire owner friend be here for this meeting?

Both women are smiling as I blush and stammer. “Of course! Sorry I was distracted,” I squeak.

Jane gives me a calm smile that steadies my pulse. “It’s an exciting game. I can’t promise not to be distracted, myself.”

I smile and start on their order, but a collective hiss issues from the customers, and I look up to see a replay of Kirby—the opposing pitcher—throwing a pitch that almost clips Coop’s jaw.

It makes my stomach flip to see how close he was to getting hit.

I haven’t met Coop, but he’s been on FaceTime a handful of times when Logan and I have talked over the last few weeks. He’s been a sweetheart to me every time he’s grabbed Logan’s phone. Liesel, too.

I keep my eyes moving between the game and the espresso machine until I grab the portafilter straight off the group head, bare-handed⁠—

I hiss and drop it, but I don’t even look at my palm. I’m too shocked to care.

Kirby hit Cooper.

I finish the drinks quickly—and carefully, after the burn—and walk slowly back to the counter, watching in horror as both benches clear and a fight erupts on the screen. I see Logan running from the outfield, watch as Jake Rodgers pummels Kirby⁠—

No one in the shop can do anything but stare.

We stay like that for two, maybe three minutes, until Jake and Kirby are ejected from the game.

“I can’t believe it,” Kayla says, visibly shaken. “Liesel must be so worried.”

She starts texting, and even though I have no right to ask this, I can’t not: “Will you let me know what she says about Cooper? I know how worried Logan and his family must be,” I say softly.