Page 35 of The Fall Classic

Lucas

You are so mushy.

I smile and check the time—4:29 PM. I put my phone away, anticipating Georgie’s arrival with all of the intensity of a stalker but none of the creepiness.

I repeat: none of the creepiness.

I’m scanning the parking lot when I see a food truck pull in.

I do a double take.

That’s not a food truck; it’s a coffee truck. It’s pulling around to the back of the lot, though it certainly doesn’t need to. There are enough spaces open for the driver to fit.

I keep looking for the 2010 Nissan Sentra Georgie told me she drives, but I don’t see anything. Until a long blonde braid appears around the side of the ice cream shop.

Georgie?

And is she wearing an apron?

She seems to realize this at the same moment I do, because she pats her hips, then tugs the thing off as fast as she can. She looks around the parking lot, bolts back behind the ice cream shop, and then reappears twenty-five seconds later, breathing heavily.

She’s driving the coffee truck.

I am such an oblivious fool.

She had a Meant to Bean patch on her sneakers—the one that I’ve tucked into my wallet because I can’t risk losing it. I stared at it for months without connecting the dots.

Doy.

She adjusts her hair, and I pull my gaze from her long enough to open my truck and hop out. The sound of my door shutting makes her look over, and she raises one hand, her cheeks pink.

I raise my hand, too, and my heart pumps harder noticing how pretty she is.

Her long hair is in a loose braid, and she’s wearing a sleeveless white button-up shirt that’s knotted in the middle and a tight blue skirt that goes down to her knees. And of course, she’s wearing her Chucks, which no longer have a single patch, not even one from Meant to Bean.

She said she works with her stepmom and stepsister. Do they own it? What’s holding her back from admitting it? She can’t think I’d judge her, can she? Does she think I wouldn’t date a barista?

Wait, are we dating?

I know Lucas said it, but is this a date? Or a continuation of our coffee talks?

She didn’t actually ask me out for ice cream, but I took the easy way out for both of us.

I’m embarrassed I didn’t ask her outright.

“You found it,” she says, stopping a few feet from me.

“I found it,” I say. “Did you know they have something called Pothole Pecan?”

“Yes! It’s delicious. There are so many potholes in town, it’s a staple on the menu.” She leans in, like she’s about to confess something. “But honestly, I prefer Compost Crunch. It’s really similar, but it has almonds and toffee bits and slivers of dark chocolate with flaky sea salt. It’s incredible.”

“I can’t wait to try it,” I say. I don’t know why this makes her smile, but anything that brings out her dimples is proof that I did something right.

We stand and smile at each other for a second until I remember my manners. “You look really pretty, by the way.”

She only beams more. “Thank you. You look handsome.”

I shrug off the compliment, not because I’m down on myself, but because she’s gorgeous and looks like this is a first date and I look like I showered after the game, threw on the first T-shirt and shorts I could find, and rushed over here.