Page 22 of The Fall Classic

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says. “We might lose.”

“That’s fine. I’m a big enough fan to handle it, either way.”

He gives me a crooked grin that makes my heart flip. “Thanks. Okay, see you tonight, Georgie.”

We’re almost to the door when it opens.

And in comes Marlowe.

My stepmother is in red stilettos and a tailored charcoal business suit that’s too crisp and orderly for the emotional chaos Logan has stirred up in me. Her arrival is like pressing a hot iron on a wrinkle without straightening it first.

This isn’t going to come out smooth.

I try to sneak with Logan out the other door, but a chill runs up my back, telling me her eyes have found me.

“Georgiana,” she says across the room.

Logan’s hand was on the door, about to open it and let us both out, but it’s two seconds too late. I turn around. “Hi, Marlowe.”

Logan is behind me with his duffel bag, and I’m standing in between them like a human shield, although it’s not like she’ll flip out because I’m standing in a coffee shop in Mullet Ridge when I’m very much supposed to be running a coffee truck in Sugar Maple.

She’s not an evil stepmother, or anything. Just one I have a way of inconveniencing or disappointing no matter what I do.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, looking me over, her eyes lingering around my waist, where my apron belongs.

I open my mouth, hoping for some truth to spill out that will hide the bigger truth that I took a break to talk books with the cute guy I have a crush on.

Nothing.

“Is everything okay?” Logan asks in my ear.

“Yes. Have a good practice,” I say, turning my head toward him and willing him to not ask questions and go already.

He does neither.

His eyes narrow. “You’re not coming?”

The sound of Marlowe tapping her heels is like the ticking countdown of a bomb.

“Georgie,” Alma calls from across the room. “One thing before you go.”

I look between Alma—bless that woman!—a foot-tapping Marlowe, and Logan, whose concern only makes him more attractive.

“I’ll see you tonight?” he asks quietly.

I nod, barely able to turn enough to say goodbye. “Yes. See you.”

The door chimes, and there’s a quick blast of AC to keep the heat out. And then I turn to Marlowe.

“Who was that?” she asks.

“A regular,” I say. “He works for the baseball team and helped me get tickets for Lulabelle and me to tonight’s game. An early birthday present, if Nicolette’s okay with it.”

Marlowe’s face softens, and I feel hope rise in me. “Lulabelle will love that,” she says, and her approval is like taking a bite after fasting. I’m suddenly aware of how starving I am.

“But you should have checked with Nicolette first. Maybe she and Mark wanted to take Lulabelle to the game. Did you think of that?”

Disappointment weighs on my shoulders, pushing me down. After ten years, you’d think I’d have grown past the need for her to love me.