Page 136 of The Fall Classic

“Sorry, all I have are these boring old heels.”

He tuts. “That won’t do, sorry. Wait one second.” He lets go of me and takes a few steps toward a hay bale, where an ornately wrapped box in burgundy and gold is sitting. Logan grabs it and hands it to me. “For my lady.”

Butterflies swirl in my stomach. “What’s this?”

“A present, silly. Open it,” he says.

I start unwrapping the shimmery paper carefully, peeling the tape slowly from one corner.

“Georgie, rip it open. You’re not keeping the paper.”

“Bossy Logan,” I say, but I rip the rest of the paper off, and my heart stutters when I see the iconic star logo. “You got me Converse?”

“Dress Chucks,” he clarifies. “Your old ones were too small.”

“How did you know what size to get?”

“I texted Liv. She got the key from Alma and snuck into your apartment. Or do you prefer sneaked? I’m on the fence.”

I feel like I’m floating as I open the box. Inside is a gorgeous pair of pale pink platform high-tops. I trail my fingers across the buttery-soft suede. I’ve never felt anything so luxe in my life. And the platform sole is the perfect touch—thick and sturdy under my palm, but with a subtle gold line in the middle of the platform instead of the usual black.

If there were ever dress Chucks …

“Logan, they’re perfect.”

“I hoped you’d like them,” he says. He guides me over to a chair and sits me on it before getting down to his knees and pulling off my heels. “You won’t be needing these,” he says.

He puts them in the box he pulled the new Converse from. Then he hands me a pair of new socks from another bag and slips them on my feet, his hands strong, careful, and his touch sending waves of tingles through me. He slides the Converse on me next, one at a time, and I watch him lace them with a slow, methodical confidence that makes my heart pitter a little extra.

When he’s done, he holds on to my bare calf, and it’s only the cold that keeps me from spontaneously combusting.

“How do they feel?” he asks.

I wiggle my toes, rotating my ankles, and bobbing back and forth on the soles of my feet. I haven’t had a new pair of shoes in so long, I forgot that they’re supposed to be comfortable. “Amazing. Logan, thank you.”

Still on his knees, he looks up at me, his eyes glittering in the glow of the pumpkin lanterns strung along the fence line. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he says, putting his hand in his pocket and pulling something out.

Before I know it, he’s pinning a patch carefully to my new shoes.

Recognition jolts through me. “Is that a Meant to Bean patch?”

“Yes.”

The world seems to quiet around me, like someone pulled us from the middle of the music and laughter and cheering and dropped us on a desert island.

“How? We haven’t offered patches in over a decade. Where did you get that?”

“I found it on a concourse at a Spring Training game six months ago.”

My throat catches, halting my breath.

“I was at a game with my family—my dad was the umpire—and I saw you taking Lulabelle up the stairs in the section opposite us. I couldn’t stop thinking about you after we met at the fan event in Phoenix. You were wearing that white tank top and those jean shorts with your Chucks and all those patches, and you were holding your copy of Narnia and blushing at Lulabelle saying I was your favorite player. I couldn’t forgive myself for not getting your number after we met. So when I saw you, I had to find you. Lucas and Coop both ran with me. We searched high and low. I ran the entire concourse looking for you, but you were gone. When I finally accepted reality, I was walking back to the last place I saw you, and that’s when I spotted the patch. You were wearing a patch when we first met, and I knew—I just knew—it had to be yours.”

I’m breathless and dizzy. “You’ve kept it since then?”

“Yes.”

“You ran for me?”