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Kali

I’m weaving through the narrow streets of downtown Starlight Bay, one hand on the wheel and the other propping my phone up so my sister, Bristol, can see my face. The Saturday morning sun is bright, shimmering off every window I pass, and the tourists are already out, strolling along the sidewalks with iced coffees and sunglasses. The air smells like fresh bagels and the ocean just two blocks away—a sweet reminder that no matter how small this town is, it has its own little charms.

“Come on, spill it,” Bristol insists, her eyes sparkling through the phone screen as we Facetime each other. “You can’t drop a bomb about calling a balk on Ripley ‘Riptide’ Johnson and not give me the juicy details.”

I snort, easing my ancient Honda into a parking spot near the rec center. “I told you what happened. He broke the rules, I called the balk. End of story.”

“Sure,” she drawls, flipping a strand of pink-streaked hair behind her ear, “because you absolutely did not notice how scorching hot he is, right? I mean, the man’s practically a walking highlight reel.”

My cheeks warm. “That’s not the point.” I grab my duffel bag from the passenger seat, juggling it along with my phone and keys. “I’m an umpire. My job is to stay impartial, not drool over some hotshot pitcher who thinks he’s untouchable.”

Bristol’s grin is practically feral. “You just admitted he’s a hotshot. That’s close enough to admitting you think he’s hot too.”

“Will you let it go?” I sigh, slamming my car door with a hip. “I’m on my way into the rec center to coach some adorable munchkins, not to debate Riptide’s… physical attributes.”

“Speaking of adorable munchkins,” Bristol says, “did you hear that Riptide?—”

“Gotta go!” I say, cutting her off with a playful grin. “My class is about to start. Love you, bye!”

I hang up before she can press me further, tucking my phone into the back pocket of my athletic shorts. The old brick building of the Starlight Bay Rec Center looms before me, large glass doors reflecting my own image—ponytail, ball cap, and a look of determination I hope offsets my nerves. This is my first time coaching the Saturday morning kids’ program, and I want to make a good impression.

Inside, the space smells faintly of rubber gym mats and that unique rec-center scent that reminds me of my childhood—a mix of sweat, lemon disinfectant, and excitement. Parents and kids mill around, some shyly checking in at the front desk, others already racing around with plastic whiffle bats.

I smile at a few parents and wave to the rec coordinator, Mr. Lewis, as I head toward the baseball section in the back gym. That’s when I see him.

Of course, it’s him . Leaning against the wall near a poster of “Rules of Baseball” is none other than Ripley “Riptide” Johnson himself. He’s in casual clothes—athletic shorts and a form-fitting T-shirt that clings just enough to make me swallow hard. He looks every bit as good off the mound as he does on it, hair tousled like he just rolled out of bed looking perfect.

I can’t ignore the way my pulse jumps. Damn it, Bristol. This is exactly what I didn’t want—being reminded just how annoyingly attractive he is. But that’s not even the most startling part. Standing beside him is a tiny blonde girl, clutching a pink water bottle and gazing around with wide, curious eyes.

No way. No way .

I try to sidestep them, maybe sneak around to the equipment room, but it’s like Ripley has a built-in radar for me. His gaze snaps toward mine, and our eyes lock. My stomach flips. I attempt a neutral smile.

“Oh, fantastic ,” he says, voice dripping sarcasm. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Believe me, the feeling’s mutual,” I mutter, tugging at the brim of my hat. “What are you doing here?”

He glances down at the little girl. “Juniper’s signed up for baseball camp. Thought this was going to be a great experience, but now...” He looks at me pointedly. “I’m reconsidering.”

Juniper, all of probably six years old, puts her hands on her hips and frowns at her dad. “Daddy, you promised I could learn how to play.”

He looks between her and me, clearly torn. “I did promise, Junebug. But I didn’t know she —” He jabs a thumb in my direction. “—would be the coach.”

I set down my duffel bag and squat to be on Juniper’s level, hoping to diffuse the tension. “Hi, I’m Kali. I’m helping run the kids’ baseball sessions today. It’s nice to meet you, Juniper.”

She smiles politely. “Hi! I’m six. I want to learn to pitch—and hit home runs. Daddy says?—”

“She doesn’t need the details, Junebug,” Ripley cuts in, crossing his arms.

“I don’t see the problem,” I say sweetly, standing back up. My heart’s hammering in my chest, but I keep my tone light. “Everyone’s welcome here, even exasperating pitchers.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m the exasperating one? Last time I checked, you were the one handing out balk calls like party favors.”

I fold my arms. “Then don’t break the rules, big shot.”

He lets out a dry laugh. “You know, Juniper, maybe we can find a different session on a different day. One without this coach.”

Juniper’s eyes go wide. “But Daddy, I like this place! And she clearly knows the rules,” she adds, with a pointed look at her dad.

I bite back a grin. This kid’s got spunk. Ripley rakes his hand through his hair, clearly outnumbered and not loving it. “Fine,” he relents at last, sighing dramatically. “But don’t think I’m going anywhere. I’ll be right here, watching.”

“Perfect,” I say, trying to sound confident instead of shaky. Why does the idea of him watching me twist my stomach into knots? “You can observe all you want. Just don’t interrupt my class, or I might have to?—”

“Throw me out?” he suggests, smirking.

“Call security,” I correct. “Security is more fun than an ejection.”

He chuckles low, but there’s heat in his eyes—a challenge I can’t ignore. “I’ll behave, Coach. I’m just here for my daughter.”

“Great,” I say, forcing a bright smile I’m not sure I feel. “Let’s get started, then. Juniper, come with me. We’ll get you a glove that fits and warm up.”

Riptide nods tersely, stepping aside to let Juniper follow me. I can feel his gaze trailing me, and I swear my skin tingles under his scrutiny. Focus, Kali, I tell myself. You’re here to teach kids baseball, not to get into a stare-down with the world’s most arrogant—and unfortunately attractive—pitcher.

Still, as I lead Juniper toward the equipment rack, my mind buzzes with a thousand questions. What are the odds he’d bring his daughter to my session? And why does the sight of him—hair tousled, arms folded, T-shirt hugging every muscle—scramble my common sense? And more importantly, is he married? I’m half-tempted to pull out my phone and Google the man, but I need to remain professional.

I can Google him later. In the privacy of my own home. Maybe glance at a few pictures. Late at night. In my bed.

Under the covers.

My cheeks heat as I remember where I am.

I push the thoughts aside, forcing my attention on Juniper and the other kids gathering around. I’m a professional here, after all. Sure, Ripley’s going to be watching my every move, but I can handle this. I called a balk on him before—I’m certainly not going to let him intimidate me now.

With a deep breath, I plaster on my best coaching smile. “Okay, kids! Let’s have some fun today!” And maybe try not to get completely distracted by the tall, smoldering pitcher lurking in the background, who I now hope isn’t married.

Would it be weird to ask his daughter about her mother? It’s not, right?

I huddle the kids together, finding gloves for each of them. When I hand Juniper hers, I smile. “Will your mother be joining us today too?” I am so ashamed of myself.

Juniper blinks. “My mother isn’t around. I’ve only met her once. Maybe twice. Daddy says she’s not a good person.” Juniper shrugs as she puts the glove on.

I don’t know if I should be happy or sad about this information. I glance over at Ripley, feeling bad he’s had to step up for a mother who didn’t. What must that have been like for him? For her?

My gut twists, but a slow smile spreads across my face when I realize… he’s not married.

Score.