Page 15 of The Umpire Strikes Back

“I do nothatepineapple,” Ripley objects, rolling his eyes. “I just prefer my fruit off my pizza.”

I grin at their banter, feeling a sudden swell of affection for them both. This could be a terrible idea, I know. I’m walking a thin line between professional interest and something that feels dangerously close to romance. But I can’t resist the chance to spend more time with them, especially Juniper, who’s grown on me so quickly.

So I grab my bag, lock up the equipment room, and follow them out of the rec center. The whole drive to Starlight Pi’s, my fingers are drumming nervously on the steering wheel.Calm down, Kali,I tell myself.It’s just pizza.

* * *

We arriveat Starlight Pi around noon, and even from the parking lot, I can catch the mouthwatering aroma of marinara sauce and melted mozzarella. The interior is classic small-town pizzeria—red-checkered tablecloths, neon signs advertising root beer floats, a jukebox in the corner. There’s also this whole math theme going on. It’s kitschy and fun. My stomach rumbles.

We’ve barely crossed the threshold when a group of three women at a nearby table perks up. One of them gasps, eyes widening like she’s just seen a celebrity. “Oh my God, it’sRiptide Johnson!” she exclaims. Instantly, they’re on their feet, phones in hand, heading our way like a small swarm of giggling fans.

Juniper moves closer to Ripley, half-hiding behind him. I step aside, not quite sure where to position myself as the women surround him, squealing about how much they love watching him pitch. “Can we get a selfie?” one pleads, holding her phone at arm’s length. “Please, please,please!”

“Sure,” Ripley says, smiling politely. He bends down a bit for the photo, one hand resting lightly on Juniper’s shoulder as if to reassure her it’s all okay. The phone clicks multiple times, capturing angles from every direction.

One of the women then brazenly tries to slip a piece of paper into Ripley’s hand. Another is tapping away on her phone, presumably trying to add him to her contacts, and she reaches out like she wants him to take her number. Their glances at me are anything but friendly—more likeWho’s she?with an undercurrent of annoyance. I try not to let it get under my skin, but it’s hard when they’re all but dismissing Juniper and me from the conversation.

Ripley’s kindness doesn’t waver, though. He continues being polite, not rude, but not exactly encouraging them, either. He steps back a little, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Thanks for the support, guys,” he says, nodding at their phones. “I appreciate it. But, uh, I’m here with my daughter, and we’re just trying to grab some lunch. I’m not looking for anything special right now.” He emphasizes that part softly when one boldly asks for a date. “I’ve already got my hands full—Juniper here takes up all my attention.”

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 feelingsomethingbeyond 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.

9

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