Page 80 of The Fall Classic

“A girl could get used to this,” she says into my neck below my ear, her breath barely stirring my shaggy hair.

“So could a guy,” I say.

Before we can reach the stairs, Alma’s marching out of the shop, speaking rapid Spanish and wielding a wooden spoon like it’s a sword. The new girl is behind her.

“What are you doing to her?” Alma demands, pointing the spoon at me.

“I’m fine,” Georgie says, lifting her head off my shoulder. “I didn’t eat today and⁠—”

“You didn’t eat?” Alma waves the spoon over her head. “What are you thinking that you didn’t eat? I leave you food every day, no? You are supposed to take it with you!”

“I forgot,” she says. “I’m sorry, Alma. I’ve been tired⁠—”

“She messed up. She gets it.” I look at Alma directly. “Don’t yell at her.”

Alma rears back. She looks at me for a long moment, the wooden spoon lowering an inch. Then she looks between us, says something short in Spanish to Olivia, and Olivia nods once and heads up the stairs ahead of us.

I guess this is Alma giving me her blessing?

I carry Georgie up the sharp metal stairs, embarrassed that I’m huffing. A professional athlete saving the girl of his dreams isn’t supposed to huff.

Olivia unlocks the door, pops into the apartment, and then calls out, “Watch your step.”

I cross the threshold and—wow. She’s not wrong. I have to navigate carefully—book towers that must have started as stacks, a reading chair buried in homemade afghans. Mugs like the ones down in Meant to Bean all over the place, as well as homemade artwork—half of which is unfinished.

I get Georgie to the small couch and set her down carefully. I take an afghan from the pile on the reading chair and spread it over her, and then I sit on the edge of the coffee table and hold my finger next to her nose to make sure her breathing is steady. Once I know she’s okay, I sit back and watch her.

A few minutes later there’s a knock and Olivia is at the door holding a bag and a drink carrier with a large hot chocolate and a large vanilla Whip Smart.

“Thank you,” I say. Olivia peers around the apartment before nodding, checking on Georgie like she’s already decided she’s in her corner. “I’ll take good care of her. And if I don’t, I fully expect Alma to make me pay for it.”

She nods, and some of the worry in her brow clears. “Alma and I are taking over the truck tomorrow. You make sure she rests.”

“That’s good to hear,” I tell her. “Thanks. I’m Logan, by the way.”

“Yeah, Alma told me. I’m Olivia.” She turns to leave then turns back. “You know, a lot of guys don’t do this—keep a girl safe when she falls apart. She’s lucky.”

As much as I want to get back to Georgie, I can’t look away from Olivia yet, not when she just said that. “Some guys do, but you’re right: Too many don’t. I’m sorry.”

She looks at me funny. “It’s clearly not your fault.”

“I’m half Canadian. Saying sorry is in my blood.”

She gives me an okay, weirdo look before leaving that I shrug off. When I say goodbye to Olivia, I look back to see Georgie fast asleep on the couch.

I shift some vases to the side of the coffee table and set our drinks and food down. Between Alma and the restaurant, there’s enough food here for a couple of days, at least, which seems to be exactly what Georgie needs. I take a long drink of my vanilla Whip and then move the afghans off the armchair and dig into one of the meals from the restaurant.

It’s probably good—I’m too busy watching the color slowly return to Georgie’s face to notice.

And something stirs in my memory.

Lucas taking care of Scottie months ago, when he wasn’t supposed to care yet.

I shoot him a text while I eat.

Logan

Remember when Scottie was sick earlier this year and you took care of her?