Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Logan
The next morning, I’m due to get on a plane at eleven to fly to New York for our next game, but I can’t leave before showing Georgie one of my favorite places in Chicago: Millennium Park.
The park is famous, but there’s one spot in particular I can’t wait to take her to.
Leaves are changing all around us, greens blending into yellows and yellows into reds.
The wind blowing in from the lake isn’t as bitter as it was in yesterday’s storm, but there’s enough bite in the air to promise that winter will be here before autumn is over.
I don’t care. I’ll be heading back to South Carolina the second we win the World Series.
Georgie and I have been through a lot, but I’m excited to learn all of the normal, mundane things that are part of everyday life with someone—like how she takes her eggs or what board games are off-limits because she gets too competitive.
I want to make plans with this woman, so I need to know if she can handle a tense game of Taco Cat Goat Cheese Pizza.
We’re walking hand in hand, stopping often to take selfies in front of iconic backdrops, because that’s what you do when you’re in love. I buy her candied pecans and a pumpkin spice latte from a cart, and when she takes a sip, she grimaces.
“Oof. I see why Doug’s so eager to get a real coffee cart in the stadium.”
I chuckle. “I think I like Cocky Georgie.”
She flushes. “That was rude. Taste buds all differ, and I’m sure there are plenty of people who love … Caffeine Dreams.” She stares at the name, and then clears her throat. “That is … the name they gave their coffee cart.”
I squeeze her hand, laughing. “When did you get a nasty streak?”
She presses her face against my shoulder and laughs into it. “I’m sorry! I didn’t get much sleep, and it’s been an emotional week. I’ll be nicer. I swear.”
I kiss her forehead, laughing. “I’m teasing. You’re as nice as they come, G.”
“Hey, Fischer, can we get a pic?” someone calls from a few feet away. It’s a teenage boy with his family.
“I’m not the Setup Man, but sure,” I say.
“Awesome!” the boy says, pushing his family over. “You killed it last night. Good game.” He looks at Georgie. “Do you mind taking the picture for us?”
I want to insist that she should be in it with me, but she looks so relieved, I know that would be the wrong move. She takes the picture and we say goodbye to the family before continuing.
We only make it a few more yards before someone else stops us.
And that continues a dozen more times before we finally make a run for it.
I grab Georgie’s hand and pull her through the park, dodging tourists clustered around Crown Fountain and cutting through the Boeing Gallery installations, laughing the whole time until we reach our destination.
Cloud Gate.
Or, as it’s more commonly known, The Bean.
We stop underneath the massive bean-shaped reflective sculpture that looks like it’s made of liquid mercury, and we look up and all around at the warped versions of ourselves, legs too long in some reflections, faces too wide in others.
But tucked beneath the sculpture as we are, we’re surrounded by infinite versions of ourselves.
It’s silly and yet so beautiful.
“Two roads diverged,” I say, putting my hands on her hips, my thumbs running across the waistband of her jeans, “and somehow they both led here. Dare I say it was … meant to bean?”
She groans, laughing against me. “That is so cheesy.”
But her dimples are flashing, and I kiss one, then the other, then her lips.
“It may be cheesy,” I say, putting my finger beneath her chin and looking into her gorgeous brown eyes, “but it’s true. You and me, Georgie. We’re meant to bean.”
“It’s not any better the more you say it,” she says, laughing against my mouth.
“Nope.” I kiss her again. “But it’s still true.”