Mia pumps her fist in the air like we do after a big play and she whoops. “This is awesome!” Then she says, “Okay, I’m going to wash my hands and get pizza. I think Auntie Avery is listening to us in the kitchen.”
Hallie and I laugh.
I text Mrs. Kinkaid and she comes in. Avery appears from somewhere down the hallway, obviously having heard every word of our conversation with Mia. She’s carrying the boxes of pizza with a stack of plates on top.
“Good job, Coach G,” Avery says when she sets the pizzas on the coffee table.
“Thanks,” I say, smiling at her.
“I’m really glad I don’t have to hunt you down and break your other leg.”
“Ave!” Hallie shouts.
Avery just shrugs.
Hallie’s mom appears on the porch.
“Mom?” Hallie says.
And then a second later, Jonathan appears right behind her.
“What?” Hallie’s mom says. “He knew we were getting pizza. You can’t flaunt pizza and not invite the man in.”
Jonathan just smiles. Avery hands him a plate.
We all eat dinner in the living room so I can keep my leg up.
When I’m leaving, Hallie and I step onto the porch.
I pull her aside. “I officially turned down the job in DC today.”
She asks me, “Are you sure? If it’s something you want to pursue, we can figure it out.”
“I’m sure.” I tip my head toward the front door where Mia’s still inside. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything.” Then I place my hand on Hallie’s arm. “Or this.”
I rest on my crutches and reach for her. “We belong in Waterford. I want this life—with you.”
She smiles up at me, looping her arms around my neck and carefully placing a kiss on my lips.
When she pulls back, she says, “Maybe we should exchange numbers.”
I smile down at her and say, “Maybe.”
Epilogue
Hallie—One Year Later
The best thing to hold onto in life is each other.
~ Audrey Hepburn
The stands are crowded for a Little League game. And beyond our seats in the bleachers, around the edges of the field, parents and people from all over Waterford have set up lawn chairs, canopies and sun shades. The smell of barbecue fills the air. The sound of the crowd cheering carries out into the park. It’s the perfect spring day and I’m surrounded by my crew and family, all here to cheer on Greyson and Mia.
We made it to the championships for the second year in a row. And Mia’s hit a home run every time she’s been at bat. This is her second and last year being coached by Greyson—the final game of an era in her life, and his.
The Sparkly Llamacorn is running back and forth in front of us with both her hands low in front of her thighs. She raises them up then she moves to the next section of fans and lowers her hands, raising them again. We all stand and sit likeshe’s our choir director, doing the wave and shouting “Go Sparkly Llamacorns!” until our throats are raspy.
It’s the fifth inning and the Llamacorns are ahead by two runs. We’re playing the Cumberland Catfish. Their mascot is a guy with a fish on his head. It’s not an actual fish, but his whole head is a fish with eyes on either side and a wide open mouth. It’s extremely realistic. From the shoulders down, he’s wearing a Bass Pro Shops T-shirt and jeans.
