“I appreciate that.”

“Did you see those apple pies over there? Blair baked them. With Betty’s recipe.” He looked sheepish. “I had it all this time, you see. I had my reasons for keeping it to myself, but Blair reminds me so much of Betty—such a good heart and a bright spirit—I knew she was the right person to trust with it.”

I swallowed hard. “Blair will take good care of it.”

“She stopped by to see me today.”

Jealousy kicked me in the gut. “Oh?”

“Yes. She brought me a pie of my own, and we sat on the porch and had a piece with some tea, even though it was just nine in the morning.” He chuckled at the thought.

I swallowed hard. “Sounds nice.”

“We had a nice chat,” Frankel went on, scratching his head, “and she talked a lot about this event and all she’d learned working for you. I hope you won’t think this too forward, but she also mentioned that the bank has been reluctant to give you a loan.”

“Reluctant is one way to put it,” I said stiffly.

“Well, I was thinking. I’m a very good customer at that bank. My family has been for generations. And I bet if I co-signed on that loan, they’d be more willing to approve it.”

My jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

“Sure. I see the good work you’re doing here, and I know how hard it can be to keep a small, family-owned business running. I believe we have to invest in the people we know, the people who make this town what it is. Your family has been in business here a long time too, and I’d like to keep it that way. Let me help you.”

I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll come over sometime soon and we can talk about what you need. Then I’ll make an appointment with the bank, and we’ll go in together.”

I held out my hand. “It’s a deal, Mr. Frankel. And thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Griffin. Now can I offer a piece of advice?”

“Sure.”

“Girls like Betty and Blair don’t come along too often. They’re special. One in a million.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I offered Blair the loan first. I thought she could use it to start her own bakery in town, but she said no. She said if anyone deserved the help, it was you.”

Again, I found myself at a loss for words, which made Frankel laugh.

He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t let her get away, son.”

I swallowed hard. “I won’t. I promise you, I won’t.”

That evening, Cole and I sat side by side in the dugout, waiting for the game to start. “Hey, I’m sorry about yesterday,” I said.

He gave me a funny look. “You don’t owe me an apology.”

“Yes, I do. You were trying to be honest with me, and I didn’t want to hear it, so I was a dick. It’s not you I’m mad at.”

He laughed. “I know. I’ve been your best friend for twenty-five years, remember? I see through all your bullshit by now.”

I laughed too, feeling better. “Anyway, thanks for the advice.”

“You gonna take it?”

“Yeah. But don’t let it go to your head.” I grinned at him. “Now let’s win this thing so I can go fix what I broke.”

The game was a nail-biter—no score until the top of the seventh, when Cole’s arm started to give him trouble and the Mavs scored a two-run homer. Thankfully, I managed to get on base in the bottom of the eighth, Moretti hit a double right after that, and then Beckett ripped a monster line drive up the third baseline that the Mavs’ third baseman couldn’t get a glove on and the left fielder fumbled. I scored, Moretti scored, and Beckett made it to third. But the batter after that struck out, and we took the field for the final inning with a tie game.

Thanks to Cole’s resilience and a kick-ass double play, we managed to keep them from scoring during the top of the ninth. All we needed was one run to win this game and keep our championship title—which we got when I swung at a fastball at the top of the strike zone and sent it flying over the fence in left field.

I ran the bases with a smile on my face and crossed home plate to celebrate the win with my teammates, who were rushing out of the dugout, hands in the air, yelling at the top of their lungs.

That’s when I looked up in the stands and saw her. She was in the visitors’ section of the bleachers, wearing the white dress she’d worn the night of our picnic, a floppy sun hat on her head, and sunglasses covering her eyes.

At first glance, I thought maybe I’d been mistaken. My mother and Cheyenne had both insisted Blair had left the house as quickly as she’d arrived this morning, claiming she had to get back to her job.

But it was her. I knew it because she took off her sunglasses right then, and the moment we locked eyes, my heart exploded. She immediately shoved them back on and started making her way to the end of the row, as if she were trying to make a quick escape. I wanted to stop her, but I felt myself being hoisted onto my teammates’ shoulders and paraded back to the dugout. By the time they set me down, she was gone.

I didn’t wait around. I grabbed my keys and took off running. If I didn’t catch her on foot, I’d catch up to her on the highway. There was no fucking way I was letting her go again.

“Dempsey! What the hell! Where you going? Come back!”

Ignoring the jeers from my team, I sprinted toward the parking lot and was halfway to my truck when I heard the boom of a tire blow out.

With a glance at the sky, I picked up my pace.

Twenty-Four

Blair

No.

This couldn’t be happening.

What the hell did the universe have against me?

Had I been a total jerk in a previous life? Was this some karmic bullshit I couldn’t escape? Maybe there was such a thing as fate, and my stars were way, way out of alignment.

Just like my steering wheel.

I flopped forward and banged my head against it.

I’d only wanted to see the game. It had been so important to him, to everyone. I’d thought if I sat in the visitors’ section, wore a hat and sunglasses and stayed quiet, I’d go unnoticed.

But he’d seen me, I knew he had. We’d locked eyes, and I hadn’t been able to breathe.

Then I’d panicked—it was so embarrassing! So obvious that I was still clinging to hope, even after he’d told me in no uncertain terms we were through. I’d rushed out of the stands and raced toward the parking lot, praying I could get out of there before anyone else spotted me. Jumping into my car, I tossed my hat aside and took off so fast, my tires spit gravel.

But I was flustered and I’d gotten turned around in the lot, unsure which way the exit was. Was it over there by the tennis court? Over this way by the soccer field? My eyes blurry with tears, I found myself speeding up and down row after row like I was in a maze I couldn’t get out of. There were a bunch of orange and white barrels everywhere, and the pavement was all rocky and pockmarked. Finally, I saw a way out, and I hit the gas.

And then—boom! I felt a familiar explosion beneath my car and slammed on the brakes.