Page 6

6

Ripley

I still can’t believe that Kali—my new umpire nemesis-turned-reluctant dinner guest—is standing in my kitchen, chatting away with my sister like they’ve been best friends for ages. Part of me wants to pinch myself just to make sure I’m not hallucinating. A week ago, I wouldn’t have imagined sharing a meal with Kali if the world depended on it. Now, here she is, wearing a sundress that does an unfair number on my concentration.

I catch myself staring a little too long at the soft pastel fabric skimming her curves, and I swallow hard, turning my attention back to the food. The plan was simple: whip up an easy taco dinner, show off a bit of culinary skill so Kali won’t think I’m totally useless off the field, and maybe keep the evening short and sweet for Juniper’s sake. But from the moment Kali walked through my front door, I’ve had trouble remembering how to properly stir ground beef in a skillet.

I shift my grip on the spatula, trying not to let my eyes wander over to where Kali and Hattie are whispering conspiratorially near the cutting board. My sister, as usual, has her long brown hair pulled back in a loose bun, an easy grin on her face as she lays out tortillas and carefully chops tomatoes. Kali stands beside her, handing over knives and bowls whenever asked, fitting seamlessly into a kitchen she’s never been in before. It’s such a domestic scene that I have to do a double take—since when do I let near-strangers come waltzing into my life and share my dinner table?

“Rip, you’re burning the meat,” Hattie calls out, not even bothering to hide her amusement.

I jerk back to the pan, noticing the edges of the beef are browning a bit too quickly. “I’ve got it under control,” I say, though my heart’s thumping hard enough that I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince.

“Uh-huh,” Hattie says in a sing-song voice, flipping a stray piece of onion off the cutting board and into the trash. She sets her knife down and glances at Kali with a conspiratorial smile. “You know, Kali, if you keep him talking long enough, he’ll ruin dinner. It’s the one surefire way to tease him.”

I clear my throat. “I’m standing right here, you know.”

Kali laughs, and the sound ripples through the kitchen in a way that has my pulse doing a weird flutter. “Don’t blame me,” she says. “It’s not my fault you can’t multitask.”

“Didn’t seem to have trouble multitasking on the mound yesterday,” Hattie points out, “but apparently cooking is his Achilles’ heel.” She wipes her hands on a dish towel and waves me away from the stove. “You know what? Why don’t you go hang out with Juniper? I can finish browning the meat, and Kali can help with the veggies.”

I stiffen. “But I’m the one who started cooking.”

“Exactly,” Kali deadpans, “which is why the stove’s about to catch fire.”

My mouth drops open. “It is not!”

“All right, Gordon Ramsay, move it along,” Hattie orders, stepping between me and the skillet. She plucks the spatula from my hand as if I’m a child about to break something expensive.

Kali hides a grin behind her hand. Her eyes slide to mine, and for a second, I see something like humor mixed with genuine warmth. I’m not sure what to do with that look, so I huff in mock indignation. “Fine. You two have fun. I’ll leave you to your veggie-chopping extravaganza.”

I pivot toward the living room, where Juniper’s peeking around the corner. She’s dressed in a bright teal T-shirt and denim shorts, hugging her new pink baseball glove to her chest. I guess she’s been itching to show it off since we got it this afternoon.

“Dad,” she pipes up, voice excited, “can we go outside and practice throwing? Kali showed me some new tricks, and I want to see if I can do them.”

I rake a hand through my hair, glancing over my shoulder at the kitchen. My sister waves me off without looking up, and Kali gives a small nod of approval, so I shrug. “Sure, Junebug. Let’s do it.”

She tugs on my arm, practically bouncing in place. “Awesome!”

I lead her through the sliding glass door into our small but comfortable backyard. There’s a modest patch of grass, a towering oak tree on the left side, and a well-worn patch of dirt we jokingly call “home plate” whenever we play. Juniper hands me one of her older gloves to use, and I jog a few steps away to put a little distance between us.

“How about we just toss it lightly at first?” I suggest, slipping on the glove. “Get you warmed up.”

She nods, determined eyes fixed on me. “Okay.”

I lob the ball underhand, letting her catch it easily. She grins, adjusting her stance to the position Kali must have shown her—elbow up, knees slightly bent. She tosses it back to me, surprisingly straight for a six-year-old. I catch it and nod approvingly.

“Nice form.”

She beams, wiggling with excitement. “Kali said I should keep my wrist straight and follow through.”

I toss it again, smiling a little at how quickly she’s picking up these pointers. “She’s right. That’s good advice.”

We do this for a few more minutes, me increasing the speed gradually while Juniper focuses on staying in position. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the oak, and I can faintly hear Hattie and Kali laughing in the kitchen. I try not to picture Kali’s sundress swaying around her legs or how her smile lights up her entire face.

“Dad?” Juniper asks, mid-throw.

“Yeah?”

She catches the ball, hugging it to her glove. “Do you think Kali is, like… a pretty princess tonight? Like Princess Leia? And you can be Han Solo.”

I nearly choke on nothing. “I… what?”

Juniper’s face is earnest. “She’s wearing a dress, and it looks like a princess dress to me. But, like, not super fancy. Just… pretty. Do you think so?”

Heat rushes to my cheeks. I’m not sure how to navigate this conversation. “Uh… well,” I say, rubbing my hand along the back of my neck. “She looks nice, sure. I guess you could say… yeah, she looks like a pretty princess.”

Juniper’s grin expands, and she throws the ball back to me. “I knew it! I can’t wait to tell her you said that.”

My heart skips a beat. “You’re not going to tell her that. Right? Because I didn’t exactly— I mean, I don’t want you?—”

“I can tell her, can’t I?” Juniper interrupts, her eyes wide and guileless. “Why wouldn’t she want to know she looks pretty? You always say compliments are nice.”

I swallow, at a complete loss. “Let’s just… let’s keep it between us, okay, kiddo?”

She smirks, and I realize my daughter’s a little more devious than I give her credit for sometimes. “We’ll see,” she says mischievously.

I groan inwardly but decide I can’t exactly force a vow of secrecy. “Fine, just… don’t embarrass me in front of her, okay?”

“I won’t embarrass you,” Juniper says, but her tone is entirely too innocent.

We throw the ball a few more times until we hear Hattie shout from the back door, “Dinner’s ready! Tacos are on the table if you want them hot!”

“Let’s go,” I tell Juniper, ruffling her hair. My stomach rumbles in anticipation. The smell of spices and sizzling meat has been drifting through the yard, reminding me I haven’t eaten much all day.

Juniper darts inside ahead of me, practically skipping. By the time I step into the kitchen, she’s already in full chatter mode—something about how well she threw the ball and how excited she is to show Kali next time they practice. I slip off my glove and set it on the counter, then turn just in time to see Juniper lean across the kitchen island, her voice loud enough to echo.

“Kali!” she announces with breathless enthusiasm, “Daddy says you look like a pretty princess in your dress! But he doesn’t want to be embarrassed.”

Time slows to a crawl, and I swear my face catches on fire. All the chatter in the kitchen abruptly dies, and Hattie’s eyes flick to me with pure glee. Kali’s cheeks flush pink, and she sets the plate of tortillas down. For a moment, the only sound in the room is the gentle hum of the fridge.

“I—uh—” I stammer, my hands hovering uselessly by my sides. I risk a glance at Kali, whose eyes have gone wide. There’s a flicker of something—surprise, maybe pleasure?—before she quickly schools her expression.

“Wow,” she says, her voice light but tinged with humor. “That’s… very sweet, Juniper.”

Hattie chokes out a laugh. “Oh, it sure is sweet.”

I glare at her, wishing I could sink into the floor. “I told Juniper—well, she asked me—” My words come out in a jumbled mess, and I can’t remember the last time I felt so flustered. Normally, I’m the cool-headed one under pressure. But apparently, a six-year-old and a stunning woman in a sundress are enough to shatter that image.

“Relax,” Kali murmurs, picking up a bowl of guacamole and moving closer to me. “No harm done, right?”

The mild scent of her perfume drifts my way, mixing with the aroma of tortillas and taco seasoning. I suddenly realize how close she’s standing, and it sends a jolt of awareness through me. “Right,” I say hoarsely. “No harm.”

“Let’s just say I appreciate the compliment.” She gives me a small, almost playful smile, then turns back to Juniper. “You guys ready to eat?”

“Starving!” Juniper shouts, springing into a chair.

Hattie sets bowls of salsa and cheese on the table, still grinning like she’s witnessing a prizefighter get KO’d. I rub the back of my neck, trying to regain some composure. The four of us gather around the table, and for a moment, I can’t help but think: this feels strangely… nice. Domestic. Comfortable. If you’d told me a week ago that I’d be having dinner with the very umpire who made my blood boil, I’d have laughed in your face. Yet here we are, passing plates of tortillas and toppings around like old friends.

I keep one eye on Kali throughout the meal, watching how easily she banters with Hattie and giggles with Juniper. It’s baffling—how can she fit in so effortlessly when I’ve known her for barely a handful of days? But every time she catches me looking, I feel that flutter again, and I glance away, hoping nobody notices. If Juniper’s earlier statement is anything to go by, my daughter’s paying attention to every move I make.

We dig into tacos, discussing trivial things like the next rec center practice or random local gossip. Each bite of food somehow tastes better than usual, and I can’t decide if it’s Hattie’s cooking or just the strange, warm atmosphere. At some point, I realize I’m smiling—like a genuine, easy grin that’s been missing from my life for a while.

By the time we set our plates aside, the sun’s sinking low outside the kitchen window, casting a golden hue through the curtains. Kali leans back in her chair, looking content. Juniper’s already asking for dessert, rattling off possibilities like ice cream or brownies, her excitement never once dimming.

As for me, I’m thinking about how completely unexpected this night has been. And how I’m not entirely sure I want it to end. Despite the embarrassment, despite our rocky start, there’s something about Kali that makes me feel… alive. Maybe it’s her quick wit, or the way she brings out my daughter’s best qualities, or that sundress that has my heart beating triple-time. Whatever it is, I’m not about to admit it openly yet.

Instead, I clear my throat and lean forward, fiddling with a stray napkin. “So… who’s up for dessert?” I say, feigning casualness. “We’ve got, uh, ice cream. Or I could run out and get something else, if you want.”

Hattie sends me a knowing smile, while Kali raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Ice cream sounds great,” she says. “But only if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” I reply, trying to keep the slight wobble out of my voice. Because the more I think about it, the more I realize I’m in trouble—deep trouble. Especially if Juniper keeps sharing my so-called compliments with Kali at full volume. But at least for tonight, I’m oddly okay with it.