Page 211 of Left on Base

Two words.

She shakes her head, disbelief washing over her face. “I’m not saying we have to get married right now, but so much of my future with baseball is undecided. I want to know I at least have you.”

“You always will,” she promises, and when she says that, I feel tears prick my eyes. “You don’t have to?—”

I reach for her, hands a little shaky, desperate to close the space between us. My throat tightens, words nearly stuck on the way out. “I want to. I want us. Forever.”

She looks at me and something in her eyes makes my chest ache. Admiration, love, pure fucking beauty. I’d do anything to burn the way she looks right now into my memory, to keep it safe where nothing can touch it.

My palms are sweating. I notice even as I hold her, and I hope she doesn’t. My heart’s hammering so loud I half-expect her to hear it, to call me out for how nervous I am, but all she does is smile, a little wobbly, and blink away tears.

“I don’t know what to say,” she whispers, voice trembling with something close to wonder.

“Well,” I try to joke, but my voice cracks, so I pause, swallowing hard. I manage a shaky smile. “I think you should say yes.”

She laughs—soft and real—and brushes at her wet cheeks. For a second, she’s too overcome to speak, and I think my heart might actually stop. Then she nods, breathing out a laugh that sounds like relief and promise all at once.

“Of course my answer is yes.”

“Okay, well, ima make it official here.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel. My hands are trembling as I reach into my pocket, the little velvet box digging into my palm. I drop to one knee on home plate, dust kicking up around me, gritty against my knee. My heart is pounding hard—so loud it drowns out Fork Guy’s quiet whisper: “Please say yes,” in the background.

I pull out the ring I bought with my signing bonus. God, I spent hours picking it out, picturing this moment, sweating over whether she’d love it or think it was too much. Now it catches the candlelight and flashes, bright and perfect, a promise made solid.

For a split second, I look up at her and everything just… stills. The nerves dissolve. Everything sharpens. There’s only her—eyes wide, breath caught, hands flying to her mouth in shock and hope and love. Suddenly, I’m not nervous. I’m sure. I’ve never been more certain.

“Marry me?” The words leave my lips clear and strong, no hesitation left.

She laughs—a sound that cracks something open in my chest—and before I can process her answer, she drops to her knees beside me. She throws her arms around me, hugging me so hard I almost topple. I can feel her heartbeat against mine, wild and real.

“Yes!” she chokes out, and it’s like the whole world exhales with us.

Fork Guy’s already spinning, waving sparklers, screaming, “SHE SAID YES!”

He tries to set off a confetti popper, but it fizzles. He shrugs like it’s no big deal and throws handfuls of confetti in the air instead.

That’s when I start to smell something… off. Like burnt marshmallows and panic.

“Uh, guys?” Fork Guy looks down. “Is it supposed to do that?”

We all turn. Somehow, in the excitement, he’s knocked over a cluster of candles at the edge of the outfield. The dry infield grass is starting to smolder, a thin wisp of smoke curling into the night.

“Oh my God!” Camdyn yells, scrambling to her feet. “Water! Get water!”

Fork Guy sprints for the dugout, flapping his arms. “I GOT IT! EMERGENCY!”

He grabs a half-empty Gatorade bottle and races back, sloshing blue liquid everywhere, managing to douse the tiny fire—mostly. The spot is a muddy, sticky mess, and the whole field smells like fruit punch and melted plastic.

There’s a long silence. Camdyn and I stare at him. Fork Guy, hands on his knees, grins sheepishly. “See? Nothing brings people together like arson and engagement rings.”

I shake my head, laughing despite myself. Camdyn wipes tears from her face, half crying, half laughing.

“Congratulations,” Fork Guy says, raising his Gatorade triumphantly. “And welcome to the first of many emergencies.”

As Camdyn slides the ring onto her finger, she smiles warmly. “Nothing in our life will ever go as planned with him around.”

I press a kiss to her temple and pull her close. “Imagine when we have kids,” I tease, already bracing myself.

And that’s how we got engaged—on home plate, by candlelight, with Fork Guy nearly burning down the outfield.

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