Page 5 of The Umpire Strikes Back

“Ha-ha,” I deadpan, grabbing my duffel. “Keep it up, Sis. I’ll remember this.”

“Sure you will.” Hattie smirks, guiding Juniper toward the hall to grab her overnight bag. “In all seriousness, I’m just glad you survived another game without getting ejected. And that you won.”

As Juniper races back, backpack swinging wildly, I swoop her into my arms. “All right, you ready to head home, slugger?”

“Ready!” she chirps.

I share a smile with Hattie, who waves us off. “See you soon, big shot. Don’t let the umps get under your skin.”

“I’ll do my best,” I say, making a face. And as I step out into the warm night air with Juniper in my arms, I realize that no matter how annoying that balk was—or how unexpectedly stunning that umpire turned out to be—there’s a whole lot more in my life that matters than just one bad call. Still, I can’t help thinking about Kali again. Maybe I should forget her. Then again, maybe that’s going to be harder than I thought.

3

Kali

I’m weaving through the narrow streets of downtown Starlight Bay, one hand on the wheel and the other propping my phone up so my sister, Bristol, can see my face. The Saturday morning sun is bright, shimmering off every window I pass, and the tourists are already out, strolling along the sidewalks with iced coffees and sunglasses. The air smells like fresh bagels and the ocean just two blocks away—a sweet reminder that no matter how small this town is, it has its own little charms.

“Come on, spill it,” Bristol insists, her eyes sparkling through the phone screen as we Facetime each other. “You can’t drop a bomb about calling a balk on Ripley ‘Riptide’ Johnson and not give me the juicy details.”

I snort, easing my ancient Honda into a parking spot near the rec center. “I told you what happened. He broke the rules, I called the balk. End of story.”

“Sure,” she drawls, flipping a strand of pink-streaked hair behind her ear, “because you absolutely did not notice how scorching hot he is, right? I mean, the man’s practically a walking highlight reel.”

My cheeks warm. “That’s not the point.” I grab my duffel bag from the passenger seat, juggling it along with my phone and keys. “I’m an umpire. My job is to stay impartial, not drool over some hotshot pitcher who thinks he’s untouchable.”

Bristol’s grin is practically feral. “You just admitted he’s a hotshot. That’s close enough to admitting you think he’s hot too.”

“Will you let it go?” I sigh, slamming my car door with a hip. “I’m on my way into the rec center to coach some adorable munchkins, not to debate Riptide’s… physical attributes.”

“Speaking of adorable munchkins,” Bristol says, “did you hear that Riptide?—”

“Gotta go!” I say, cutting her off with a playful grin. “My class is about to start. Love you, bye!”

I hang up before she can press me further, tucking my phone into the back pocket of my athletic shorts. The old brick building of the Starlight Bay Rec Center looms before me, large glass doors reflecting my own image—ponytail, ball cap, and a look of determination I hope offsets my nerves. This is my first time coaching the Saturday morning kids’ program, and I want to make a good impression.

Inside, the space smells faintly of rubber gym mats and that unique rec-center scent that reminds me of my childhood—a mix of sweat, lemon disinfectant, and excitement. Parents and kids mill around, some shyly checking in at the front desk, others already racing around with plastic whiffle bats.

I smile at a few parents and wave to the rec coordinator, Mr. Lewis, as I head toward the baseball section in the back gym. That’s when I see him.

Of course, it’shim. Leaning against the wall near a poster of “Rules of Baseball” is none other than Ripley “Riptide” Johnson himself. He’s in casual clothes—athletic shorts and a form-fitting T-shirt that clings just enough to make me swallow hard. He looks every bit as good off the mound as he does on it, hair tousled like he just rolled out of bed looking perfect.

I can’t ignore the way my pulse jumps.Damn it, Bristol.This is exactly what I didn’t want—being reminded just how annoyingly attractive he is. But that’s not even the most startling part. Standing beside him is a tiny blonde girl, clutching a pink water bottle and gazing around with wide, curious eyes.

No way.No way.

I try to sidestep them, maybe sneak around to the equipment room, but it’s like Ripley has a built-in radar for me. His gaze snaps toward mine, and our eyes lock. My stomach flips. I attempt a neutral smile.

“Oh,fantastic,” he says, voice dripping sarcasm. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Believe me, the feeling’s mutual,” I mutter, tugging at the brim of my hat. “What are you doing here?”

He glances down at the little girl. “Juniper’s signed up for baseball camp. Thought this was going to be a great experience, but now...” He looks at me pointedly. “I’m reconsidering.”

Juniper, all of probably six years old, puts her hands on her hips and frowns at her dad. “Daddy, youpromisedI could learn how to play.”

He looks between her and me, clearly torn. “I did promise, Junebug. But I didn’t knowshe—” He jabs a thumb in my direction. “—would be the coach.”

I set down my duffel bag and squat to be on Juniper’s level, hoping to diffuse the tension. “Hi, I’m Kali. I’m helping run the kids’ baseball sessions today. It’s nice to meet you, Juniper.”

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