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“Um, s-s-sorry,” he stuttered.

What was he nervous about? I was the one who was going to be grounded for an eternity for being out past my stupid curfew.

“You…” He swallowed, hard. “Go ahead.” He stood and moved his phone flashlight over the tire.

Maybe I had breathed in some kind of fumes? I mean, why else would the same boy who spent the majority of sixth and seventh grade bothering the hell out of me help me change a tire and then apologize? I’d definitely have to talk to Mom about what kind of gas we used for that grill in the concession kitchen.

I continued tightening the lug nuts by hand while night came to life around us. Crickets chirped in the tall grass near the woods, an owl hooted in the distance, and fireflies dotted the darkness in between the trees. Last time it was this quiet, I was alone with Reed at the railyard. I had hated the tense awkwardness of it all.

But tonight? It was anything but.

It felt strangely peaceful.

Reed lowered the Jeep back to the ground and then put the jack away before handing me the lug wrench.

“You sink into your front leg too much,” I blurted.

“What?” he asked as he rubbed the back of his neck.

What are you doing, Eliza?

But I couldn’t stop now. “Your curveball. It’s not bad, really…but it could be better if you didn’t ease into it so much.” Sweet Jesus. Shut up. He doesn’t want to hear your opinion about his pitching.

His toe turned back and forth into the gravel. “That’s a good point, actually.”

Wait. Seriously?

“My dad used to say that throwing a good curveball starts with keeping a clear head. You have to think about throwing it as hard, if not harder, than your fastball if you want to confuse the batter.” He crouched down and offered to take a turn with the wrench.

And I didn’t hesitate to let him. For some reason.

“I, um…well, I had a hard time keeping my head clear tonight,” he said.

Same. “Baseball has that effect on people.”

His eyes met mine. “Maybe it’s not just baseball,” he whispered.

Chapter Ten

Reed

“Life is hard. Life is humbling. I do all I can to keep it simple.”

—Mariano Rivera

The theater was Eliza’s turf. The catwalk, the railyard, the stadium—those had all been ballsy moves just to get a good read on her. Which I still wasn’t sure I had.

I mean, the girl changed a flat tire like she worked with NASCAR on the weekends, for Christ’s sake.

I shouldn’t be here.

And yet here I was. On the actual stage of the Lyric. Might as well have painted a big-ass target on my chest, but I had promised Granddad over a week ago that I’d help out Thatcher Newcomb, an old friend of his, with setwork today, since we didn’t have practice. And a Fulton always kept his word.

Would Eliza see it that way?

Or would she accuse me of following her and deliberately trying to ruin her summer again?

My gut told me she wouldn’t. That things were different…were changing. Hell, she hadn’t blamed the flat tire on me or knocked me out with the wrench.