Page 61 of The Fall Classic

She freezes, staring at the screen. She’s wearing my hat, and her eyes go wider than I thought eyes could go.

“Oh no.” She squeaks. Her mouth stays open. “Hi.”

“Hey,” I say, my grin not going anywhere.

There’s a knock at the service window, and Georgie’s face flies up then back down at me, torn.

“Can I get a napkin?” someone’s calling, their voice muffled.

I hear rustling and the sound of the window opening and closing before I see her again, her cheeks rose red as she holds the phone and sits on what looks like a bucket or stool, maybe, in a corner of the truck

“I should have told you,” she says finally.

“What, that you’re so good at your job you can read people’s moods and give them exactly what they need?”

Her eyes well, and I feel the tug in my chest pull tighter. “No, that I work in a coffee truck.”

“And you’re awesome at it.”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Sighs and sniffs. “I’ve only worked on the truck for a few months. But I grew up working at Meant to Bean, as you probably guessed.” She pauses, the red in her cheeks fading to pink. “I’m not embarrassed about the work. I’m proud of it. I just didn’t know how to bring it up. We met there, and I probably should have told you that first night.”

“I don’t mind. You could be digging ditches or running a bank, and it wouldn’t change anything. I like you.”

The words are out before my brain has caught up. My brain! The one that’s been on high alert at even the most minor events of my adult life, just decided to sit this one out while I went full disclosure on someone I’ve known for under two weeks?

Thanks a lot, dummy.

But Georgie’s smile could heat Chicago in winter. “Did you say running a bank or robbing a bank?”

I laugh. “Running. If you were robbing one, I’d assume you had a good reason. Robin Hood stuff. Getting your great-aunt’s brooch back from your thieving ex, or something.”

Her laugh takes over her face. “That’s good to know if I ever consider a career change.”

I chuckle. “I don’t think you need a career change unless you want one.”

“I don’t. But I’m taking business classes,” she says. “At night. Online. I’m almost done with my degree.” She covers her eyes with one hand. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“I’m glad you are. How long have you been working on your degree?”

“Five and a half years. I started when I was nineteen.”

“While working full-time?”

“Yeah.” She exhales. “It’s silly, doing it online …”

“I did a couple of semesters online,” I say. “So I could live at home and be around my mom more.” I swallow, remembering sitting in the den where her hospital bed was, listening to lectures with her, doing homework in the same room while she rested. They’re hard memories, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything. “Where you learn doesn’t change what you learn, and working full-time while you do it is impressive, not silly. ”

“Thanks for saying that,” she says. A low-grade frustration drones in me at whoever or whatever has made her feel like she has to minimize her hard work. She’s been doing this for over five years in the midst of everything else on her plate, and she told me like it was a confession instead of an accomplishment. She’s nibbling on the inside of her cheek. “I haven’t actually told anyone what I’m doing, so don’t mention it to Alma, okay? Or my stepfamily, if you ever meet them,” she adds in a rush.

“Your secret’s safe with me. But you have a lot to be proud of. Whether it’s running the best coffee truck in South Carolina or robbing banks. Whatever’s next, you’ll be great.”

She smiles, and this time she doesn’t try to keep it small. “You always say the nicest things.”

“Yeah, well, you’re very hard to be nice to.”

She drops her head, laughing. Man, I could watch those dimples all day.

My phone alarm goes off and I silence it fast, but Georgie catches it. “You need to go.”