CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Kate
It’s Little League finals day, and the excitement in the air is electric.
After some back-and-forth coordination, the parents finally agreed to hold our preschoolers’ championship game in one of Michael’s proposed stadiums. It’s not massive—nothing like the ones he plays in professionally—but it’s cozy and pristine, with freshly chalked lines and bleachers that are already packed with proud parents, waving relatives, and enthusiastic siblings waving handmade signs.
I’m currently in the back, waiting for him. Michael mentioned a few of his teammates might drop by, and now that I see them, I immediately question their existence. They’re walking toward me, wearing athletic gear.
Michael is still taller, sure, but when he walks over with two of his closest teammates, his six-foot-four frame suddenly looks… average-sized. Which of course makes me look like a little thumb.
“So, you’re Katie,” one of them says. “I’m Chris.” He extends his hand and I shake it.
“Just Kate,” Michael interferes. “You don’t get to call her Katie. That’s my thing.”
And then I feel the redness creep its way to my face. I can practically feel my ears glowing red. Fantastic. I’m no longer just a misplaced thumb. Now I’m a swollen thumb.
“Hello, Kate, I’m Vince,” the other one says.
“Hi,” I manage, my voice about two octaves too high. I clear my throat. “I mean—hi. Hello. Nice to meet—”
Michael slips a hand on my shoulder and I malfunction. “...your faces. You. Nice to meet you.”
They smile, polite and friendly, and I try my best to keep my cool as the four of us stand there like a sofa set with one wobbly leg. Michael lowers his head to mine and whispers, “Are you okay?”
I nod at him, and smile. But then he adds, “You’re blushing.” Understatement of the century. My face feels like a live volcano. “Wow, you’re that starstruck with these two?”
Oh. He thinks I’m flustered because of them.
“I’m not—” I start to say, but I stop because Chris and Vince start walking toward the court. Michael doesn’t press me, and we just follow.
I sigh and smile. No need to tell Michael that I am not blushing because of his friends.
I mean, sure, they’re large towers, but they don’t make my heart do weird little flips and make my stomach want to combust. It’s the way he said that calling me Katie is his thing, and the way his stupid hand is on my stupid shoulder.
It’s the little laugh he made. It’s my delusion.
He turns to me again and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “You okay now, tomato?”
I want to fall into the earth.
“Totally,” I say, voice tight. “Loving every second of this.”
I walk toward the bleachers, as fast as I can, and as calmly as I can. The way Michael reacted earlier made me feel a bit… weird. My naive little heart thought we had something, but why would he think I would be flustered by his friends? Isn’t it supposed to be obvious that it’s because of him?
Ugh. This is what happens when you never date anyone and live off rom-coms and Pinterest quotes. Your brain starts assigning meaning to things like shoulder squeezes and nicknames. You spiral. You make things up. You imagine entire relationships based on one well-timed smirk.
Haley’s right. This might be a heartworm.
I settle onto the metal bleachers, squeezing myself in between loud dads.
The game is split into two groups: red team versus blue team.
Two teachers coach from the sidelines, and Michael’s the referee—whistle around his neck, clipboard in hand, and that infuriatingly breezy confidence he wears like a second skin.
Meanwhile, I am just here. Sitting. Observing. Spiraling quietly while pretending to be a responsible adult, watching the kids on the bench.
The game starts with a sharp whistle and a blur of tiny sneakers squeaking against the court.
Kids are running in every direction, missing passes, giggling, yelling at each other to “guard your person!” even though most of them don’t know what that means.
I can’t help but laugh at these little munchkins.
I can always rely on them to make my day brighter.
But then Michael is right in the middle of it, doing his referee thing. Cheering them on. Laughing. Squatting down to tie someone’s loose shoelace. Being, annoyingly, himself.
And every now and then, my eyes find him again. And I spiral internally again. But it’s fine. I’m fine.
Really.
Michael blows the whistle, and the kids burst into action—if you can call it that.
It’s more like a weird stampede. Two kids are arguing over who gets to dribble, three are chasing the ball like it’s a rogue balloon, and one is spinning in circles, arms outstretched like an airplane.
Michael’s in the middle of it all, trying to maintain order, his deep voice echoing through the gym: “No traveling! That means you can’t run with the—okay, never mind. Good hustle, Caleb!”
I chuckle to myself as I watch him whistle, run, and help a kid.
He’s patient, as I’ve already established by now.
Even when there are adults in the sidelines, he doesn’t try to show off or put on a performative charm.
He’s not taking the spotlight away from the children.
He gives a high five to a kid who scored on the wrong basket and even gives a couple of fist bumps mid-play.
I clap every time a ball shoots in the basket. No matter which team.
The red team scores accidentally when the ball bounces off someone's head and into the net. Michael throws his hands up like it was a buzzer-beater. “And that’s a point! Impeccable headwork!”
The kids cheer like they’ve won the Olympics. I find myself laughing—until Michael looks my way, catches me smiling, and gives me a tiny wink.
Help me.
By halftime, most of the kids are sweaty, tired, and lobbying for their ‘sports drink,’ which is really just watered down orange juice.
Michael jogs toward the bleachers with the ball under one arm, his shirt sticking to his back.
He looks like every athlete in every sports movie I’ve ever obsessed over.
He gives the kids a short pep talk that includes references to teamwork, friendship, and something about sharing snacks being the foundation of society. The parents are eating it up. One mom whispers to another, “He’s even cuter in person.”
I want to butt in and say that he’s not only cuter in person. He’s kinder too.
But I don’t. I just sip from my water bottle and pretend my heart isn’t doing jumping jacks. Honestly, jumping jacks and somersaults and cartwheels are old news. My heart is like a basketball at a children’s league. All over the place. Going through wrong hoops.
The second half is just as chaotic as the first, but Michael makes it fun.
He lets the kids take ridiculous shots and pretends to get knocked over dramatically every time someone runs into him.
He lifts one of the smallest boys so he can score, and the entire gym claps like they’ve witnessed a miracle.
The game ends in a tie, because of course it does. Everyone wins. Participation trophies for all.
Once the victory is celebrated and everyone is happy, I start helping by gathering the kids’ bags and water bottles. That’s when I see Michael jogging toward my direction. But my view of him is disrupted by another man. A much shorter man, who’s wearing a crisp polo and jeans.
“Hey,” he says with a friendly smile. “You’re Miss Cruz, right? I’m Dan. My daughter’s in your class—Bea?”
“Yes, of course! She’s such a sweetheart,” I say, instantly turning into Professional Teacher Mode. Polite. Warm. Focused.
Michael stands behind the man, and waits for him to finish talking.
“I just wanted to say thanks for organizing all this,” he continues. “Bea had a blast. And you’re… great with the kids.”
“Thank you,” I say, already moving to check on another child.
But he steps a little closer. “Actually, I was wondering… would you… maybe want to grab coffee sometime?”
“Sorry, what?” I say, blinking. “Like coffee, coffee?”
He laughs. “Yeah. Just thought I’d shoot my shot.”
Behind him, Michael raises an eyebrow. His expression flickers—something unreadable passing across his face—but then he recovers. Smiles. Gives me a thumbs up.
A thumbs up.
My stomach does something strange again. Isn’t this the dream? A guy showing interest in me? A guy who lives in town, lives like I do? Safe?
I think of Michael’s hand on my shoulder earlier. His voice calling me ‘tomato.’ His laugh. His smirk. The way he looked at me like I wasn’t invisible.
And then I think of that thumbs up. Cool. Casual. Like this meant nothing. Like I should go for it. Like I should say yes.
So maybe I will. “Sure,” I say, a little too brightly. “Coffee sounds… great.”
Dan’s smile widens. “Cool. I’ll text you then?”
“Sure,” I repeat. I feel like a robot.
He walks away, and I finally look at Michael. He lowers his thumbs up, still grinning, but it feels… different now.
“Well, look at you, Katherine,” he says. “You didn’t even need the charisma training.” He runs a towel over his hair.
“Shut up,” I say. The way he said it was teasing, but I can’t shake off the feeling that he’s not exactly in a cheerful mood.
Maybe I’m just making an assumption, but still.
“It’s just a casual invitation. He might not even text me,” I say, partly because I don’t really expect that to happen.
Partly because I honestly don’t want it to.
“Of course he will,” Michael says.
“How are you so sure?”
He shrugs like it’s obvious. “You’re very textable.”
I laugh, but it feels hollow in my throat. “What does that even mean?”
“It means…” he tosses the towel over his shoulder, eyes catching mine for a second too long, “if I were him, I’d text you.”
I want to ask him what he means. I want to ask him if the thumbs up was a joke or a dare. I want to ask him if he’s really fine with this. With Dan. With me. But I don’t.
Because that would be messy. That would mean giving in.
“Did you see me, Miss Kate?” Polly’s voice cuts through the tension in the air. Michael chuckles and carries Polly on his shoulders. “I had three points!”
I laugh, for real this time. “You were amazing, Polly,” I say. She gives me a fist bump.
“I’ll see you outside,” Michael says as he walks away with Polly. I nod, watching them disappear into the crowd.
I don’t know why I feel so weird right now.
Like something’s off. Is it because of Dan?
Is it because of what Haley said about me setting myself up for pain?
Is it the way Bon and Emily looked at me like I was already in love and just didn’t know it yet?
Or is it the way Michael acted too casually earlier, like nothing really shifted between us over the past few days?
I sigh as I smile at the parents taking photos with Michael, Chris, and Vince. Kids run around, and I keep my eye on them, but my brain is still all over the place.
I don’t know why a thumbs-up from Michael has been replaying in my head. I don’t know why saying yes to Dan made me feel like I’d closed a door I wasn’t ready to admit was open.
I take a sugar cookie from the refreshments table, and munch on it until most kids are out of the arena. Sweets are always a good idea. When love is unclear and feelings are messy, sugar is consistent.