Page 44 of Crew

Drew walked into the kitchen, rubbing a hand down his face, still half asleep. He didn’t even look at the toaster, just went straight for the espresso machine like I had.

“I assume no one died.” He started his coffee.

“They’re alive,” I responded, “but the toaster might not be.”

“It smells like a campfire in here.” He finally looked at the toaster. “Is that marshmallow?”

“It was supposed to melt,” Jolene explained, arms crossed. “It just melted too much.”

“It melted dramatically,” Reese added.

My husband dropped onto a stool next to them. “So? What’s for breakfast now that you broke the toaster?”

“We think you should make us waffles.” Reese batted her eyelashes.

Drew raised a brow. “Did I walk into the part where I’m being punished for your mistake?”

Jolene rested her chin on her hand. “We’re basically starving.”

“You had toast.” He slid from his stool and headed for the fridge.

“We had charcoal,” Reese corrected. “We threw it in the garbage.”

I set my mug down and reached for the waffle mix in the pantry. “You’re lucky we have practice later, or I’d let you suffer.”

“Practice?” Jolene groaned again like it was the worst news of the day.

“You knew we had it,” I reminded her. “Double-header this weekend.”

“But it’s summer,” Reese groaned. “Normal people are sleeping in and going to the pool. Not running bases in ninety-degree heat. Can’t we just have a day off?” It wasn’t ninety degrees out. If anything, it would be mid-seventies with a breeze from the San Francisco Bay.

“You play travel ball.” Drew took strawberries out of the fridge. “This is the life you chose.”

Jolene pointed accusingly at my husband. “Yousigned us up when we were six. We were innocent.”

“You begged to play,” I reminded her.

“And now we’re the only team with actual former MLB players as coaches. We’re basicallyA League of Their Own, but our dad is the cranky coach.” Reese rolled her eyes in Drew’s direction.

Drew gave her a flat look. “I’m not cranky.”

I lifted a shoulder. “You can be.”

He glared at me but before he could say anything, Jolene asked, “Are we running infield drills today?”

“Of course,” I replied, grabbing my coffee cup. “Then batting practice.”

“Ugh, I just want to get a tan,” she muttered. “And not one with jersey lines.”

“You said you wanted to play college ball one day,” I reminded both of them. “That starts with putting in the work.”

Reese leaned back in her stool as she looked at something on her phone. “Are you gonna make us do those dumb bucket drills again?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“You know”—Drew poured batter into the waffle iron—“when I was your age, we did bucket drills until our arms went numb and no one complained.”

Reese didn’t look up from her cell. “Yeah, well, when you were our age, dinosaurs still roamed the earth.”