Page 10 of The Magical Tea Shop

“French, you say.” Joel wiggled his brows and worked the lid off the tin.

“Careful, don’t spill those.”

Joel held the tin away from Jaxon. “Ooh, cookies? And they’re pretty cookies. I know you didn’t bake these.” He held one up with its pressed flower design. “Dude.” Joel took a bite and closed his eyes in ecstasy. He blinked at the cookie in surprise. “Wow, these are fabulous.” He took another bite.

“Of course they are; they’re from the tea shop. They’re for after the game and for the whole team, you oaf.” Jaxon made a grab for the tin, but Joel was too fast. “Quit eating them all.”

“You’re up to bat first, Jax. We need you to set the pace. You’re our star hitter since Roman busted his ankle tripping over your dastardly dog.”

“I’m the star hitter? Hardly.”

“Nah, we’re counting on you. Wait, you didn’t bring Montgomery the Menace, did you?” Joel glanced around warily.

Jaxon frowned. “He’s a tiny dog. He’s not dangerous, just, you know, enthusiastic.” Montgomery had been a gift he’d picked out for Candace. Montgomery had gotten him through a tough time.

“Yeah, well, he’s so tiny you don’t spot him underfoot until it’s too late. Your dog needs to keep his enthusiasm to himself. Game’s starting. You almost didn’t make it.” Joel gave him a shove toward home plate. “You’re up.”

Jaxon picked up a bat and walked to the plate. He swung it a few times to warm up before glancing at the bleachers. His breath went out in a whoosh. Ivy was there, next to her sister Holly. To her left were the four members of the Hazard Historical Society. Had everyone in town shown up to watch the game tonight? It was the Rebels, an all-male team versus the Roadies, an all-female team—the business owners versus the road crew. Everyone loved seeing the Rebels get their asses kicked by the toughest women in town.

He took a breath. Nell Coleman was pitching. That meant a fast ball, probably. Feet apart, bat ready, Jaxon braced himself. When the ball came in fast and low, Jaxon held.

“Ball.”

He straightened and got in position for the next pitch. He was ready. At the curve ball flying at his head, he almost held then realized he had to swing, or it would be a strike. At the last moment he swung and missed.

“Strike,” yelled the umpire, Toby, in her booming voice.

The crowd murmured. He had to do better. Joel was right. How he did would set the tone for the entire game. That was why they usually sent Roman up first. He was a real powerhouse.

Jaxon shook his head. He needed to stay focused on the ball, not the crowd. Except Ivy was in the crowd, watching. The next ball came in hard. He swung.

“Strike two!” yelled Toby.

Sweat coursed in a line down Jaxon’s back. Beads of perspiration collected on his forehead. The next ball and the one after that came in high. He held.

“Ball,” said the umpire.

Now Jaxon was sweating profusely. He was out of options if he planned to get a hit. With another ball, he would get a free walk to first base, or he would get a hit. He stepped back and gave a couple of practice swings. He hated the pressure of being up first. It shouldn’t matter so much, but it did.

He glanced at the bleachers over to the spot where Ivy sat, leaning forward, hands clasped. Those hands, her hands—he’d touched those hands, those small, soft hands. He stepped forward and got in position. His hands choked up on the bat. The ball curved with dizzying speed. Time slowed. Everything came into sync. Ball hurtling at his head, Jaxon swung.

Bat connected to ball with a loudthwack.

The crowd roared. Jaxon blinked as the ball flew high. For a moment, all he could do was look on in amazement. At the peak of the arc, he heard Ivy yelling, “Run, Jaxon, run!” He heard the little laugh in her voice.

He tossed the bat and sprinted, fast, for all he was worth. He was rounding second when the fans for the opposing team groaned at a miss by their outfielder, Tessa.

The ball smacked into the mitt of the third baseman, just as Jaxon sprinted past on his way home.

Home.

He slid in to the sound of riotous cheers, but the only voice he could pick out was Ivy’s, laughing and screaming. It was his first home run of the season.

He rose, dusted himself off a bit before he leaned over, hands on knees to catch his breath. He turned to glance at the stands. Ivy was on her feet, clapping, jumping, blonde ponytail bouncing, her sister tugging at her to sit down. He gave her a wave and headed to the dugout.

*

“Did you seethat? It was amazing!” Thrilled, Ivy turned to her sister, eyes shining.

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