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BLOOP

JAXON

A softly hit, accidental hit, or fly ball that goes over the infield but out of reach of the outfielders for a base hit.

B elieve it or not, we’re still all alive.

For now. Day four, we’re at the Dubai Mall, which is less a mall and more a small country with a Cheesecake Factory.

Fork Guy insists on sampling every free snack table in the food court—dates, fancy chocolates, something suspiciously neon-green that he claims “cleanses the chakras.”

He manages to charm a group of British tourists into joining him for a spontaneous dance-off right in front of the aquarium, waving his plastic tiara as a trophy. The security guard just shakes his head and mutters something about “Americans.”

Jameson and King get lost trying to find the VR park. Brynn drags them into a store selling gold-plated sneakers, and Callie nearly faints at the price tags.

Through it all, Camdyn and I trail behind the chaos, hands linked, occasionally stopping to snap photos or marvel at a waterfall inside a shopping mall.

She leans into me and whispers, “I feel like we’re in a different universe.”

I nod, grinning. “One with way more malls and at least one extra Fork Guy than strictly necessary.”

Eventually, we take the world’s fastest elevator to the top of the Burj Khalifa, our ears popping as we shoot past a hundred floors in under a minute. The view is… insane. The city sprawls out forever, all glass and light, the desert humming beyond.

Naturally, Fork Guy tries to take a “gravity-defying fork selfie” near the viewing deck edge. He’s got one foot on the glass, his phone in one hand, and the forbidden hotel fork in the other. “For the ‘Gram!” he yells—and that’s when security swoops in, all business and walkie-talkies.

A guard grabs him by the arm. “Sir, you cannot brandish cutlery with intent to selfie,” he says, dead serious.

Fork Guy’s eyes go wide. “But it’s a spiritual utensil!” he protests, as another guard whips out a pair of plastic handcuffs and snaps them on his wrists.

Our whole group freezes. Camdyn gasps. Jameson starts filming, because of course he does.

Fork Guy, never missing a beat, launches into a passionate speech about the international importance of forks in bridging cultural gaps.

“Did you know the fork was once banned in Italy? Look at us now—united by utensils! This is peacekeeping in action, my friend. Also, I have weak wrists, so if you could loosen these a bit…”

My mom sweeps in, hotelier business card in hand, and flashes her best “I’m both charming and terrifying” smile.

“He’s with me,” she says. “A little eccentric, but ultimately harmless. Plus, I can upgrade your next vacation for half price.” The head of security looks between Mila and Fork Guy, then sighs, unlocks the cuffs, and tells him to “stick to spoons, please.”

Fork Guy bows, rubbing his wrists. “Thank you for your service. I promise to behave—at least until we’re back at the airport.” Two minutes later, he’s juggling hotel spoons for the concierge and narrating the “great spoon revolution” to a crowd of amused tourists.

As we ride the elevator back down, Camdyn shakes her head, laughing. “How are we not banned from every country by now?”

I shrug, smiling at her. “Mila magic.”

Day five, we take a boat ride down Dubai Creek.

Camdyn and I sit at the bow, toes dangling over the water, city lights shimmering all around us.

The warm air carries the scent of spices and salt, and every now and then the breeze picks up, tossing her hair across my face.

Behind us, King and Brynn are goofing off, pretending to be pirates and yelling “Aye aye!” at passing yachts.

Fork Guy is deep in negotiations with the captain, trying to convince him to let Fork Guy steer “just for a second.” There’s a lot of arm waving, a little bit of panic, and a near collision with a party boat full of British tourists who raise their drinks in salute.

The captain looks like he’s aged ten years in ten minutes.

Callie and Jameson have moved from bickering to stony silence, which is probably an upgrade—or maybe a détente before the next round. Every so often, Callie glances at Jameson like she’s trying to remember if she’s supposed to hate him or not.

That night, back at the hotel, the madness fades for a second.

Camdyn and I sneak up to our suite balcony.

The city below is a glittering sea of lights, the Burj Khalifa rising up like something out of a dream.

She leans into me, her head on my shoulder, and I feel her sigh melt right into my chest.

I play with a lock of her hair, and for a second, I wonder what I ever did to get this lucky. “You know,” I say, trying to sound casual, “I think I’ve figured out our future.”

She looks up, eyebrow raised, half a smile tugging at her lips. “Oh really? You’ve seen the future now? Been hanging out with Fork Guy too much?”

I nudge her, grinning. “No tarot needed. I just know. I’m gonna get drafted, play in the MLB, buy us a house—maybe two, if you want a beach one and a city one.

We’ll have three kids. A dog. Maybe a trampoline in the backyard, but only if you promise not to let Fork Guy babysit.

He’d probably try to teach the dog how to read tarot. ”

She laughs, that perfect, bright sound, and squeezes my hand. “Three kids, huh? You sure you’re ready for all that chaos?”

“I’ll have you,” I say, looking out over the city. “That’s all the backup I need. I don’t care where I end up, Cam. I want you in it. I want us. The rest is just details.”

She goes quiet for a second, then looks at me, serious and soft all at once. “Promise?”

I kiss her forehead, pulling her a little closer. “Promise. Even if Fork Guy tries to sneak into our wedding dressed as a fork.”

Down below, the city keeps buzzing, the lights still burning. But up here, it’s the two of us, the future wide open and—at least for tonight—exactly the way I want it.

Our final day in Dubai, that’s when things are taken to another level.

Lunch kicks off at a rooftop restaurant overlooking the city, where the tables are somehow both floating and bolted down.

The whole crew is there, sunburned and buzzing, chowing down on mezze and shawarma like we haven’t eaten in days.

Fork Guy spends half the meal teaching the concierge how to juggle hotel spoons, then convinces three German tourists to join in.

By the time dessert rolls around, he’s orchestrated a spontaneous “spoon circus” to the delight (and mild horror) of the waitstaff.

King and Brynn can’t stop plotting a midnight swim in the rooftop pool—King’s already scouting for towels to “borrow.” Mom is on the phone with the hotel manager, deep in a conversation about “pillow firmness metrics” and “the optimal thread count for REM sleep.” Camdyn and I sit side by side, her knee pressed against mine, soaking in every last ounce of the view, the laughter, the weirdness that somehow became our normal.

The afternoon is one last adventure: sandboarding on the dunes.

King wipes out spectacularly, Fork Guy tries to ride his board standing on one leg “for balance and spiritual alignment,” and Jameson gets lost and emerges with a mouthful of sand, swearing he’ll never leave home without a compass again.

Brynn and Callie race down the biggest hill, screaming with laughter.

Even Mom gives it a go, her scarf flying behind her like she’s some kind of desert superhero.

Then—

Back at the suite, just as we’re all starting to crash, Callie’s voice explodes down the hall. “JAMESON! You are the most infuriating, stubborn, clueless?—”

Jameson yells back, “You’re the one who can’t let anything go! Why are you even?—?”

Fork Guy peeks out, grinning like he’s front row at a soap opera taping. “Ooooh, drama!”

Callie storms in, cheeks blazing, eyes wild. Jameson follows, looking like he’s been hit by a sandstorm.

She drops the bombshell: “I’m pregnant! There. Now you can stop arguing every five seconds!”

Silence. Absolute, drop-a-pin silence.

Fork Guy gasps, clutching his pearls (well, a string of hotel sugar packets he’s calling “pearls” for the day). “Is it mine?”

Nobody answers Fork Guy.

King chokes on his water. Brynn drops her phone. Mom freezes mid-step, one eyebrow arched so high it’s in another tax bracket.

Jameson’s mouth hangs open like a goldfish.

Callie glares at him and all of us. “Congrats, you’re all going to be uncles and aunts. Someone better learn diaper duty, because I’m not doing this alone.”

Fork Guy raises a hand. “I’m great with babies.”

Camdyn squeezes my hand tight and leans into me. “Didn’t see that coming.”

I stare at her, then at Jameson. “I don’t think Jameson did either.”

Fork Guy’s already texting his mom for “baby-rearing tips from the Fork Family vault.” King and Brynn are whispering frantically. Mom’s still frozen, mentally rearranging her life plans for all of us, probably.

Jameson stares at Callie, a mix of terror and awe on his face, and for once, he’s speechless. Both of them are on full-ride sports scholarships. Jameson’s had a straight shot to the MLB, and now… who knows?

And suddenly, reality hits me hard. I glance at Camdyn, remembering her own freshman year, how she got pregnant, how she lost the baby in the middle of super regionals.

I remember how everything changed for her—how it could have changed for both of us.

My heart aches for her, and now for Jameson and Callie too.

The future, which always seemed so clear, suddenly has a thousand different roads.

I wrap my arm around Camdyn, holding her close, grateful for the chaos, the love, the second chances—and for this weird, wild trip that gave us a little time to be kids, before life gets real again.