Chapter 8
Ethan
I flipped the little sign on the door from OPEN to CLOSED.
The street outside had settled back into its usual Saturday quiet, though I could still hear faint echoes of Lily Harper’s “racket” bouncing around in my skull.
I told myself it was just the silence I’d been craving, nothing more, but somehow the absence of her music left the shop feeling too still, too hollow.
I busied myself sweeping the entry rug and breaking down the last of the cardboard boxes.
Keeping my hands moving kept the thoughts at bay.
The fair, the store’s sagging sales, Mom alone in that brick ranch without Dad—the weight of it all pressed down on me.
And then there was Lily, her red blazer flashing through my memory like a warning sign.
The way she held herself, that confident smile, pulled at something deep inside me.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was changing too fast. One minute, I was just trying to keep my father’s legacy intact; the next, I was wrestling with the idea that someone like her could disrupt everything I knew. Too many things I didn’t want to unpack all at once.
The bell over the door jangled again. I glanced up, half expecting more townsfolk to come poking their heads in about Summerfest. Instead, it was Nate, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, that familiar crooked grin already forming as he kicked mud from his work boots against the doorframe.
He carried two sodas in one hand and set one on the counter in front of me.
“Figured you could use this,” he said.
“Appreciate it,” I muttered, cracking the can open.
He studied me for a second, then smirked. “So. The infamous city girl moved in?”
“Moved in, set up, and nearly shook the walls down with her stereo,” I said.
“Whole place has smelled like bubble gum lip gloss and permanent marker since noon.” Even as I spoke, I couldn’t help but recall the way her laughter had filled the air and how that vibrant energy seemed to cling to the room.
Nate chuckled. He took a swig of soda. “I came to see if you’re heading to the ballfield tonight. Matt’s coaching Ian’s league game, and since Sarah’s hanging with Rachel at Scoops, he asked me and Ben to wrangle Ava and Lucas on the sidelines. We could use an extra set of hands.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, man. Haven’t exactly been in a baseball mood lately.”
“You’re never in a baseball mood,” Nate said. “That’s the problem. You’ve skipped the last two weeks. You know how it kills Maggie that she can’t make it to all of Ian’s games. She counts on us to help her out with him.”
He knows he can always play the kid card to make me feel guilty. “I can’t believe she’s done this single mom thing for eight years.”
“I know. Man, it doesn’t seem that long ago we were taking turns pretending to be Indiana Jones in the hayloft while Maggie yelled at us for losing her Cabbage Patch Kid.
And now she’s got a real kid.” Nate paused, lost in thought, but quickly snapped out of it.
“So anyway. She needs us tonight. And Ian needs us, too. You’re coming. Non-negotiable.”
I started to argue, but Nate just raised a brow. Classic.
The truth was, I felt the weight of expectation pressing down on me.
My dad would’ve wanted me to be there for my friends, to support them like he always did.
But the thought of being social right now felt like a mountain too steep to climb.
All I wanted to do was curl up in bed until this grief and depression faded away.
I sighed, dragging a hand through my hair. “Fine. I’ll stop by. But only for a little while.”
“That’s the spirit,” Nate said, already heading for the door.
***
Phillips Park sat at the far end of Main, just past the fire station, its chain-link fence glinting under the last sweep of daylight.
The parking lot was packed with pickup trucks and minivans, kids spilling out in uniforms two sizes too big, dragging bats and gloves.
Parents set up folding chairs along the first-base line, coolers at their feet, while little kids darted between them with popsicles already dripping down their arms.
I parked Dad’s truck along the gravel edge and cut the engine.
For a second, I just sat there, listening to the distant crack of a bat and the high-pitched cheers that followed.
The smell of popcorn and grilled hot dogs drifted through the open window, and for the first time all day, my chest loosened.
Dad loved nights like this. He never missed a game—not mine, not Ben’s, not Matt’s. Even when the chemo made him too weak to stand, he’d parked right here on the gravel edge, windows rolled down, honking the horn whenever Ian made a play.
For a moment, it felt like being thirteen again—dust in my teeth, glove on my hand, Ben pitching fastballs too high, and Matt yelling from first base that I’d never make the catch. Nate would just laugh until he doubled over. That was every summer of our childhood.
And Dad was in all of it. Coaching when the team didn’t have one, patching the field when budgets got tight, handing out popsicles from a cooler he kept in the back of this very truck. The field felt empty without him, even surrounded by noise.
“Uncle Ethan!” The shout carried across the diamond the second I stepped out of the truck.
Ian was in the dugout, waving his glove, his cap sliding down over his ears.
A few feet away, little Lucas was teetering on the lowest row of the bleachers, tiny hands clutching the rail as he tried to climb higher.
I crossed the grass toward them just in time. Lucas wobbled, arms pinwheeling, and I reached out to steady him before he pitched forward. He squeaked in surprise, then grinned and wrapped sticky fingers into my shirt.
“Saved me,” Ben said with a laugh, running a hand through his dark hair as he watched Lucas settle happily on my hip. “Kid’s part monkey, I swear.”
“Uncle Ethan!” Ian shouted again from the dugout, pumping his fist in the air.
Before I could answer, a blur of pink sneakers barreled into me. Ava—four years old, blonde curls bouncing—latched onto my leg like she hadn’t seen me in years. “You came!” she said, beaming up at me.
I crouched down, giving her a high five with my free hand. “Wouldn’t miss it,” I said, even though two hours ago I’d been dead set on exactly that.
“Good thing,” Nate said, strolling up with his easy grin and a soda in hand. “We’ve been on kid duty since the first pitch. Matt’s out there trying not to lose his mind, so Ben and I have been chasing these two around. Figured you’d show eventually.”
I snorted. “Yeah, well. Here I am.”
Nate tipped his soda toward me. “Ava’s been asking about you nonstop. You know she loves it when you push her on the swings.”
Ava tugged on my arm, all determination and dimples. “After the game, Uncle Ethan? Please?”
I sighed, but the corner of my mouth tugged up despite myself. “We’ll see, kiddo. Depends if Ian decides to hit a home run for me.”
That sent her squealing back toward the fence, hollering encouragement at Ian like her life depended on it.
“See?” Nate said, smirking as he took another swig of his soda. “Knew you couldn’t resist. You talk tough, but those kids have you wrapped around their fingers.”
Lucas patted my cheek with a sticky palm, sealing the verdict. I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help the corner of my mouth twitching upward.
For a brief moment, I let the laughter wash over me, a joyful distraction from the weight I carried.
Ava darted past with Lucas stumbling after her, Matt and Sarah’s two little whirlwinds, while Ian sat in the dugout, his glove practically swallowing his hand.
The kid had Maggie’s same focused stare, like the world narrowed down to whatever he cared about most.
Watching all of them together tugged something loose in my chest. These were the kids of the people I’d grown up with—the same friends who’d been brothers and sisters to me long before any of us had the vocabulary for family.
It was hard to keep up the tough facade when they looked at me like I hung the moon. They reminded me there was still joy to be found, even with everything I was trying to hold together.
Ben was leaning against the fence, a toothpick tucked in the corner of his mouth. “Remember when Coach put you in right field, Ethan, and you swore you’d rather be anywhere else?”
“Because right field is where fly balls go to die,” I said. “I just stood there swatting mosquitoes while you three had all the fun.”
I turned my attention to Ian. On his first at-bat, he connected with a pitch, the bat making a clean crack as the ball sailed into the outfield. The kid bolted for first, arms pumping, legs churning, a grin splitting his face. I cupped a hand around my mouth. “Run, Ian! Don’t look back!”
He didn’t. He made it to second before anyone caught the ball, and when he looked to the bleachers, it was me he was searching for.
I held Lucas tighter with one arm, raising the soda in the other.
His gap-toothed grin stretched ear to ear, and he pumped his fist at me like we'd just won the World Series.
For the next hour, it was grounders and pop flies, kids chasing foul balls into the weeds, parents hollering from their lawn chairs.
I ended up talking with half a dozen neighbors—Mr. Emory reminiscing about when his boy used to pitch, Mrs. Shipley passing me a brownie wrapped in foil, and a couple of teens commenting on the music spilling from the shop windows.
But underneath the usual chatter, Lily’s name kept surfacing like a stone skipping across a pond.
“City girl like that won’t last two weeks,” someone muttered near the concession stand.
“Did you see those heels? Lord help her,” another woman said, not bothering to lower her voice.
“She’s gonna change everything,” a man grumbled, handing out juice boxes. “Thinks she’s better’n the rest of us.”
I clenched my jaw and pretended I didn’t hear any of it, focusing instead on Ava tugging at my sleeve, begging me to push her on the swings between innings.
I tickled Lucas until he shrieked with laughter, loud enough for Matt to shoot us a mock glare from the dugout.
Ian waved proudly every time he caught a grounder.
And for a while, with the sun sinking gold behind the outfield fence and the whole town gathered in one place, it felt almost… okay.
Almost like it used to.
But the game ended, the kids scattered back to their parents, and the crowd trickled away toward Scoops or home.
Nate and Ben were still talking about how good Lily’s energy had been at the shop, how maybe she was exactly what the fair needed.
I smiled when I had to—laughed at the right spots.
But underneath it all, the weight came rushing back in.
By the time I climbed into Dad’s truck again, the familiar quiet pressed down on me.
The scoreboard lights blinked in the distance, then disappeared as I turned onto the road home.
I thought about Mom, probably sitting alone with her cup of tea.
Hopefully, Carol stopped by. I thought about the ledger waiting on my counter, stubborn numbers that refused to stretch.
I thought about Dad, how he would’ve been in the bleachers tonight, booming voice carrying over the field.
And, against my better judgment, I thought about Lily Harper—her radiant smile, the way it lit up her face, her sketches taped up in my windows, the way she walked into the community center and somehow turned a room full of skeptics into believers.
Three months, I reminded myself. Three months of her music blasting in my store, of her turning my town upside down.
But every time I thought about her determined eyes, I felt the walls I’d built around my heart start to crack. Three months, and then she’d be gone. And I wondered if I could find a way to keep the light she brought into this town from fading away with her.