Page 49 of Never Will I Ever

The corner of Kaleb’s lips lifts in the slightest smirk as hisattention returns to me, and he nods ever so slightly. His approval sends warmth flooding through my extremities, and a smile tugs my own lips up.

The teams are finalized a few minutes later, and with our separate teams, Kaleb and I assign a kicking order and field positions.

The entire group, regardless of which team they’re on, is buzzing with excitement as we head into the first inning. The kids really seem to be enjoying the change of pace from all the hiking, fishing, and kayaking.

Or maybe that’s just my own bias talking.

To keep things fair, Kaleb and I take on the role of pitching for our respective teams, and with my team in the field first, I take my place on the pitcher’s plate.

It’s bittersweet, feeling the rubber beneath my feet again, knowing this is likely the only capacity I’ll be in this position again. A sense of longing curls in my stomach at the thought, but as Colton comes up to the plate as the first kicker, I push it aside and do what I do best.

Well, I take it easy on them, of course. After all, they’re just kids.

A couple even get a decent kick off me before my team manages to round up three outs, and we’re swapping positions for our chance to kick. On my way in, Kaleb holds out the clipboard we’re keeping score on in exchange for the ball.

“Feel free to double check my math,” he teases over his shoulder while heading onto the field.

I frown and glance down at the paper.

His team didn’t score at all, so I’m not sure what math he could possibly—

My eyes land on a note scribbled near the top of the page in what I’ve come to recognize as Kaleb’s handwriting.

Apparently, pitching skills in baseball translates to kickball. Who would’ve thought?

I smirk, glancing up to find him already grinning at me while bouncing the ball at the pitcher’s plate—almost like he’s preparing for a game of dodgeball instead.

Chuckling to myself at his antics, I return my attention to his note and scribble out a response while my kids take their turn kicking.

That sounds an awful lot like a compliment. You feeling okay? Not having heat stroke or something? I’d hate to win by forfeit.

I keep my expression stoic as I hand off the clipboard to him between the next half-inning, making sure to underlineandbold the three runs my team scored this at-kick.

It’s childish to pass notes to each other like this, I know that. But the amount of time we have without a billion sets of preteen ears around is limited, so if I want any sort of private conversation with Kaleb—even one tossing playful jabs—then this is how it’s gotta happen.

And once we hit three outs and I’m handed the clipboard again, I find myself giddy to see what he’s written next.

The only way you’ll beat me in kickball is in your dreams.

I snort as I read the message, shaking my head before calling out that Liam, Jared, and Max are the next three up to kick.

The inning is so quick, all three of the boys getting out one after another, I don’t even have a chance to write out a reply before passing off the clipboard to Kaleb. Though, from the smug grin on his face, part of me wants to whack him upside the head withit instead.

A few more innings pass without much excitement, both with regard to the game and the little taunting notes from Kaleb. It’s not until the top of the fifth inning that I notice him scribbling on the paper, a small smirk on his lips.

Call me crazy, but something tells me it’s not the score he’s grinning at, despite his team coming from behind to tie the game during this at-kick.

When I head back in for our turn to kick and Kaleb hands me the clipboard, I have to force myself not to check what it says the second it’s in my hands.

My willpower lasts all of three seconds.

Found something interesting in my cabin after lunch.

My stomach twists in a knot of anxiety as I reread his message a couple times, noting that the butterflies may as well be a swarm of hornets at this point.

Clearing my throat, I call out the kicking order for my team while scribbling out a flippant response.

Oh, don’t tell me. A spider? No, maybe a raccoon?

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