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Shopping? “I should be getting back to the farm—”

“I promise it’ll be superfast. Let me just grab my wallet and keys.” She hurried up the steps and disappeared through the front door. Which left Mr. Crowley and me alone in the most uncomfortable silence I had ever experienced, other than the time I had to sit outside of a dressing room when I was ten while Mom helped Nana find new bras.

I cleared my throat. “Congrats on getting to the championship, sir.”

“Thank you.” He drummed his fingers on his forearms. “Is your team ready to play the Pistons?”

“I think so.”

“That’s a big game. And then the championship?” He made a clicking noise with his tongue. “Pressure like that can really get in some people’s heads.”

Translation: “some people,” like me.

“I’ve got my head in the right place, sir.”

“Let’s hope so.”

What the hell did that mean?

“How’s the farm doing this year?” he asked.

“Fine.” My jaw ticked. “It looks like Granddad will have a good crop this year.”

“That’s good to hear.” He raised an eyebrow. “I know they need a good season. Must be hard not having that consistent paycheck. And being behind on payments and such…”

How did he know about that?

The front door banged open. Eliza tucked her wallet under her arm as she threaded her hair through her Yankees hat. “All right, let’s go.” She gave her dad a quick peck on the cheek before taking my hand and tugging me toward the driveway.

“Be back in a couple of hours, Eliza,” Mr. Crowley’s voice warned. “We’ve got a lot of setting up still to do.”

“You got it, Dad,” she said.

“Fulton?” TJ lifted his head from under his bike and sat up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I just asked Dad if he could come to the Founder’s Day party tomorrow with me.” Eliza unlocked the Jeep and tossed her wallet in the back seat. “We’re going shopping. Wanna come?”

“Ha. Hard pass.” TJ stood and glanced back and forth between us. “He really said you could come, Fulton?”

I shrugged. “More or less.”

“But why would you actually want to?” He flipped his hat around. “I’d give anything not to go.”

I chuckled and nodded toward Eliza. “I’m going for her.”

A slow smirk spread onto his face as he grabbed a drip pan. “Isn’t that sweet.”

Eliza opened the driver’s-side door of her Jeep. “Shut up, TJ.”

“Heard you hit the shit out of that pitcher last night.” I handed him a wrench he didn’t ask for but that I knew he needed for the drain plug. My version of a peace offering for hitting him with a pitch and for the mess we had to clean up at the Fourth celebration.

He took the wrench and nodded. His version of…acceptance? “They had no depth in their bullpen.” He let the oil slowly spill out into a drip pan. “It got worse the more the game went on.”

I grabbed a rag from the top of a toolbox and tossed it to TJ. What would Granddad say if he knew I changed a tire with one Crowley earlier this summer and now I was helping another change out the oil?

“You pitching against Middletown this week?” He wiped his hands on the rag before tucking it into his back pocket.

“Nah. Coach wants to save my arm for the championship.”