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After the band passed, my thoughts returned to the task at hand. I needed to know what was in the journal, and I'd have plenty of time later to explore the intricate details of daily life in Blue Harbor.
The street was empty before me, and I took it as my opportunity to make a break for the parking lot. Clutching the messenger bag tightly to my side, I stepped off the curb and into the street. The asphalt, having baked in the sun all morning, was warm, and the heat radiated up through the leather soles of my shoes. I quickened my pace when I was nearly halfway across.
The moment I reached the center of the street, the sound of something clattering around me caught my attention. I pivoted on my heels to inspect the pavement around me. My mouth dropped open when I saw my smartphone, with its royal purple case, lying face-down on the asphalt. A wave of panic washed over me. Should I retrieve it or not?
My initial instinct was to keep walking and worry about finding a new phone later. I was in a hurry to get out of the crowd and investigate the journal in my bag. As I took one more step, I decided I couldn't abandon my phone with all its connections, photos, and stored messages. It was possible they could be retrieved, compromising my privacy, and the device was only steps away.
Sighing, I smiled sheepishly at the crowd and returned to where my phone lay. As I crouched to pick it up, I heard the sound of laughter and cheering suddenly growing louder. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw a group of young men in crisp blue and white Blue Harbor Beacons baseball uniforms rounding the corner.
It was a lively, friendly bunch. The players waved to the crowd and tossed handfuls of candy to children at the curb. A pitcher, tall and lean with a shock of red hair, wound up like he was pretending to throw a fastball, causing the crowd to cheer. A stockier boy, most likely the catcher, leaped forward and crouched as if he were catching the imaginary pitch.
My pause was a few seconds too long. I didn't see the man walking backward in front of the team, waving a hand and calling out instructions. I didn't notice him until it was too late, and he was upon me. Just as I started to shout, "Hey!" we collided.
He was a solid wall of muscle, and the force of our impact sent us both tumbling to the ground. He yelped, and we landed in a heap of flailing arms and legs. As I lay on my back, clutching my phone in one hand, I opened my eyes to find a pair of striking emerald green eyes staring back at me.
The asphalt's heat warmed my back while the other man writhed and wiggled against me as he attempted to stand. He turned his head, and his breath was hot against my cheek.
"Oh, man—damn—I'm sorry. Are you okay?" Concern blended with embarrassment. "I didn't see you there. Guess it's what you get for walking backward, eh?"
I struggled to catch my breath as my heart pounded hard in my chest. The man had a tall, athletic frame and wore his chestnut-brown hair buzzed short. I spotted streaks of dirt on the uniform caused by our collision, but they only added to the stranger's effortlessly handsome and charismatic presence.
"I'm f… fine," I managed to choke out. "Just a little winded is all."
The man's eyes sparkled. "I guess you could say I swept you off your feet." He laughed at his own joke and pushed himself up to standing before offering a hand to help me.
His grip was warm and firm, raising goosebumps on my forearm. As he helped me to my feet, an invisible current surged between us, and the magnetism was undeniable. I couldn't help but notice how his biceps flexed, straining against the fabric of his uniform.
"I'm Tyler," he announced with a smile. "Tyler Kincaid, head coach of the Beacons, and I teach at the high school, too. I don't recognize you. New in town?"
With a quick nod, I brushed my clothes to try and smooth my rumpled appearance. "Ronan Gallagher. I'm here to sort out some family drama."
I watched as the wheels turned in Tyler's mind. "Gallagher, as in Ian Gallagher, the old man who lived in that big house on top of the bluffs north of town?"
My eyes opened wider. "Yes, that was my great-uncle. Did you know him?"
Tyler shook his head. "I never formally met him, but you couldn't live in Blue Harbor without having heard of him. All sorts of stories and secrets seemed to swirl around that house. Some here even think he hid a treasure away somewhere, but I'm guessing that's wishful thinking."
I wasn't sure whether it was an actual treasure, but Great-Uncle Ian certainly did leave some things behind. I gripped the messenger bag tighter, wondering what my new acquaintance might think if he knew about the journal I'd just retrieved.
As I opened my mouth to respond to Tyler's comment, he glanced over his shoulder and started to turn. "Hey, bud, I'd love to chat more, but I need to catch up with the team. We've got an exhibition game late this afternoon against the community college, and I've got to lead batting practice before."
I didn't have a chance to respond. As he jogged away, I stepped off the street but kept my eyes glued on how Tyler's broad shoulders stretched his uniform. His easy gait, with long, purposeful strides, moved something inside me, perhaps a combination of admiration and longing.
His players greeted him with high fives when he caught up to the team. Tyler laughed, and I watched closely until they turned another corner and disappeared from sight.
For a few minutes, my thoughts returned to what it would have been like to grow up in the small-town world. Instead, my parents raised me in an apartment in a less-than-desirable neighborhood in L.A. I was always an outsider, a nerdy kid with my nose in a book, dreaming of making it out of the world where we barely scraped by. From the outside, a small town like Blue Harbor appeared relaxed, comforting, and safe.
When I finally reached my car, my thoughts were still whirling around in my head over the events of the day so far—the journal found in the safe deposit box, Blue Harbor's celebratory parade, and my brief encounter with the ultra-charming Coach Tyler Kincaid.
My hands shook slightly as I punched a button, bringing the car back to life. I couldn't wait to find my hotel and open the journal. What secrets would its ancient pages share? Would they shed new light on Great-Uncle Ian and tell of a fortune hidden somewhere in Blue Harbor?
As I pulled out of the parking lot and left the town square behind, the cheering of the crowds faded, but I couldn't forget Tyler's green eyes, firm grip, and the opportunity to see him again at the Blue Harbor Beacons' baseball game later in the day. But first, I had to read that journal and start sorting out Great-Uncle Ian's legacy before someone tried to take it from me.
Chapter two
Tyler
"Coach T, we're gonna destroy the Walleyes!" Ace, our appropriately nicknamed lead pitcher, swaggered through the dugout, making exaggerated fish faces to mock our opponents. "We're state champs. They're toast."
