Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 40927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
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, so now you’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 with this. 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—”