“Batter up!” Magnolia tucks the wooden bat under her arm, bringing her hands up to cup her mouth. She bellows out a raspyahhhhsound, mimicking the roar of a crowd at a baseball game. She keeps her voice low and hushed, curling one hand into a fist and bringing the pretend microphone to her mouth. “Next on base we have the infamous Magnolia Banks, known around town as The Great Bambi of Copper Ridge.”
I burst out laughing at that, and Magnolia crinkles her nose in my direction.
“It’s The Great Bambino, babe.”
“Yeah, but I’m a girl, so it’s Bambi.” She winks at me before licking her pointer finger and raising it up toward the sky just like Babe Ruth did back in the day. She swings the bat up, resting it on her shoulder, and bending perfectly at the waist with a playful little shimmy of her ass, knowing it’s my biggest distraction.
“Lukas Hart is good,” she mumbles again, her fake announcer voice in play. “He’s good alright, some say the best to come out of the Midwest, but is he good enough to sling one past the great Mags “Bambi” Banks?”
I toss the ball up, casually catching it in my opposite hand without breaking eye contact. “He’s good alright, but I don’t think anyone can top the infamous Mags Banks.”
She flashes a bright smile at that, bending again into her swinging position. I roll my shoulders back and twist so my side faces her. With my hands raised and the ball connecting to the inside of my glove, I throw out a few teasers for Mags—pretending to shake my head at the invisible catcher behind her, arguing with our eyes on the best type of pitch to throw. She giggles, and my eyes flick to hers. I bite my bottom lip, pausing to adjust the brim of my ballcap a little lower before I get back into position. Then my arm is swinging back, opposite leg raised, and I toss the ball in her direction.
Not a baby throw by any means, but not the ninety-some-mile-an-hour fastballs I’ve been cranking out since I was seventeen. And like the true champ she is, Mags swings with all her might.
The bat meets the ball with a loud crack that echoes over the open field. The ball flies over my head, and I jump, only to feel it brush past the tip of my glove. Mags squeals, tossing the bat to the side, and then we’re both running.
She runs to the front porch, slapping the railing that marks first base before running on to second. I turn, sprinting down the back field after the ball, hearing her call out some trash talk after me.
I dip low, snagging the ball where it landed against an old stump and then twist; my legs pounding and thighs burning as I sprint back up the hill.
Magnolia is fast, there’s no doubt about that, and those long ballerina legs carry her far, but I’m still taller, stronger, so I’m already up the hill before she makes it to third.
“Dang it!” she squeals, pumping her arms with an exaggerated move as she sprints toward our red cooler andblanket that marks home base. I can’t help the laugh that’s rattling out of me, and I run toward her with a full-fledged smile on my face as I toss my glove and the ball to the ground. She looks over her shoulder, her blonde hair whips across her face, and her eyes widen when she sees me. “Lukas!” she yelps, twisting to face me just as I reach her.
She screams when I wrap my arms around her waist, gripping her as I lift her hips. Her slender legs are kicking, and she’s playfully punching my arms. “I almost had you! I could’ve beat you!” She wiggles so much that my balance trips, and then we’re both falling to the ground. Twisting us at the last second so Magnolia falls on top of me, I release a heavy grunt when my back slaps the ground.
Her cherry blossom scent wafts through the air surrounding us, and she adjusts her legs to swing one over my body, straddling me, her chest still heaving from her sprint. “I almost had you, Lukas Hart,” she whispers, pushing up on her hands to look at me face to face.
Her head blocks out most of the sun, leaving an orange glow around her hair. With one hand, I sweep her mess of tangled strands away from her face, only for it to fall forward again. “You almost had me,” I echo, the moment between us growing soft.
I run my hand up her bare thigh, curving around to touch the skin that’s peeking out from her jean shorts. She stares down at me, eyes locked on mine, and the more she stares, the more I feel the burning in my throat intensify.
“I’m going to miss this the most,” she whispers, and it’s enough that the dam nearly breaks loose.
I pull on her arms, forcing her body to fall flat against mine. And then I wrap my arms around her back, holding her to me, pressing a kiss into her mess of blonde hair. “It’s only temporary, remember? We’ll be back here some day, pretending that you stand a chance against me at baseball.”
I hear her sniffle a little and then she laughs, rolling to the side a bit and tucking her arms against my chest. We lie like that for a moment, tangled around one another, staring up at the clouds passing by.
Next week, I leave for training camp with the Florida Complex League—a rookie baseball league that drafted me right out of high school. They gave me a month to say goodbye to my family, Magnolia, and my home in Copper Ridge, then I fly down to Florida to join in on the training schedule.
Magnolia will spend the summer in Copper Ridge training, dancing, doing what she’s so good at before she leaves in the fall for The American Ballet Theater.
We’ll be hundreds of miles away from each other for the first time since we met; states and time zones apart, and I’d be a lying fool if I said I wasn’t scared.
“Whatcha thinking?” she asks, her hand pressed to my chest.
Even though I’m a rookie, I’m getting paid to play baseball for a living, which has been my dream since I was a little kid. I have a shot at playing for the majors some day—the actual majors—yet there’s a huge part of me, an ulcer, burning a hole deep in my gut that tells me I’m going to miss the hell out of the woman lying in my arms.
I swallow thickly, inhaling once sharply through my nose to quell the sting. “Just thinking about dinner,” I lie half-heartedly. “Mom’s making fried chicken tonight, and she’ll be disappointed if we don’t head over there soon.”
Magnolia scoffs, propping herself up on an elbow and using her other hand to grasp my chin, tilting my face toward hers. “Don’t play the cool card with me, Lukas. I know you better than that.” Her eyes dart wildly back and forth across my face before she leans down, pressing her soft lips to mine.
My hand reaches for the back of her soft hair, curling my palm and firmly pressing my fingertips to hold her to me. Shekisses me once more, a slow, lingering kiss, before pulling back, resting her forehead against mine.
I’ve never been good at talking. Not about how I feel, anyway. Everyone in my family says I keep to myself, but the truth is, I’ve just never liked talking about my feelings. But it’s easy with Magnolia. She gets me. Even when I don't really get myself.
“I think I’m going to miss you like hell, Mags,” I finally croak out, my voice cracking with honesty. “As excited as I am to be doing this, I’m scared to be doing it without you there.”
