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)
The women deflate like a bunch of punctured balloons, exchanging disappointed glances. One of them forces a tight smile, whispering a thin “Oh, sure, we get it. Enjoy your meal,” before they retreat to their table, none too quietly. I stand there, chest oddly tight.
He’s not looking for anything special…
That phrase rings in my mind, and something in me crumples a bit. Logically, I know he’s just trying to be respectful—he’s blowing off those groupies, not me. But my brain twists it around, whispering that he’s not interested in any kind of relationship right now, especially not with a newbie umpire who’s barely settled in town. My cheeks warm. Of course he’s not, I tell myself. He’s busy being a dad, busy with his baseball career, busy being a minor league star. Why would he have time or space in his life for me?
Juniper tugs on my hand, snapping me out of my spiral. “Come on, Kali,” she says, pointing to an empty booth near the window. “That’s our favorite spot!”
I manage a smile. “All right, lead the way.”
The three of us slip into the booth, with Juniper and Ripley on one side, me on the other. The moment I slide across the vinyl seat, I feel the tension in my shoulders. My excitement for this meal cools a little, replaced by a nagging sense of… deflation? It’s not that I’m expecting a proposal or anything insane. But hearing him say, “I’m not looking for anything special,” stings more than I care to admit. Especially since I’ve been daydreaming about the man for days.
We grab our menus, and Juniper starts gushing about the different toppings. Ripley teases her about pineapple again, and she does an exaggerated pout. It’s cute enough that I can’t help smiling despite the ache in my chest.
I refocus on the menu, scanning the options: The Pythagorean Pi, Prime Pepperoni Pi, and a Cosine Calzone. My appetite dulls a bit, but I force myself to pick something anyway—The Quadratic Quattro Cheese. I try to hide my swirling emotions, but I feel a little off-balance now, uncertain about how to handle this new wave of disappointment.
Ripley glances at me with concern. “You okay?” he asks quietly, brow furrowed.
I force a nod. “Yeah, I’m good. Just, uh, hungry,” I lie, shrugging a shoulder. “Let’s order before we starve.”
He seems to accept it, and we turn to the waitress who arrives with a pitcher of water. Juniper chatters excitedly about the rec center session—how much fun she had, how she can’t wait to show her Aunt Hattie her new throwing form—and I murmur words of encouragement. Still, the echo of “not looking for anything special” drums in the back of my mind.
I hate feeling this vulnerable. I’ve only known the man a short while, but everything about him—his devotion to his daughter, his easy humor, his gorgeous, lopsided grin—has me completely disarmed. Now, I’m stuck facing the possibility that I might be alone in feeling something beyond a casual friendship. Maybe he just wants me to coach Juniper. Maybe he’s just being nice because his kid likes me. And maybe that’s all there is to it.
In the midst of my internal battle, Ripley cracks a joke about how pineapples belong in fruit salads, not on pizza, and Juniper squeals in mock outrage. I can’t help but laugh. That’s the thing about being around them—it’s comforting, even when I’m anxious. I realize with a twinge of guilt that maybe I’m reading too much into one little comment, letting my own insecurities run wild.
“All right, you pineapple weirdos,” I say, trying to adopt a teasing tone. “I’ll stick to the cheese pizza. You two can sort out your fruit fiasco on your own.”
Juniper giggles, hooking her arm through Ripley’s. “Dad, you have to try it once, please? I bet you’ll like it!”
He frowns in exaggerated horror. “I’d rather walk across hot coals, Junebug. But hey, maybe Coach Kali wants to try it.”
Our eyes meet, and for a split second, I see a softness there that makes me wonder if I’m overreacting. There’s warmth behind his gaze, a kindness that’s more than mere politeness. But then I remember the crowd of women fawning over him, and the casual way he said he doesn’t want anything more. I swallow hard, turning my attention back to Juniper, forcing another smile.
And so the afternoon goes—filled with sauce and cheese, pepperoni debates, and pineapple-lovers vs. pineapple-haters. On the outside, I join in the laughter, but inside, a small part of me pulls back. Because I’m realizing just how deep my feelings might be going for this man, and I’m not entirely sure I’ll have the courage to handle it if he truly only wants to keep things… uncomplicated.
Still, sitting here with them feels strangely right, like I’ve stumbled into a little family scene I never knew I wanted. And that, more than anything, scares me to death. Because I’m not sure if I have the strength to watch that door close—especially after I’ve already peeked inside and caught a glimpse of what life could be.