Six Summers to Fall

by C.W. Farnsworth

It’s annoying—how easy it is to recall what we’re hoping to forget, but how hard it is to remember what we’re desperate to.

The only person here whose opinion matters to me is the girl in my arms.

The pink that works its way across her cheeks is more spectacular than the sunset.

Because it’s terrifying to admit you like someone, let alone love them.”

At this point in my career, I’ve seen hundreds of people wear my jersey. Maybe thousands. But this feels very different. This is the person I could see taking my last name, not just wearing it.

I tuck my card away and fold up the receipt. “I’m usually focused on the game, not who’s watching. It doesn’t bother me most of the time. Tonight was different.” “Because your parents were there?” This girl. “No. Because you were there, Harper.”

“I only called you Sunshine ironically once,” he tells me. “Every other time, it’s been because that’s how I feel around you. Bright and happy. Being around you makes me so fucking happy, Harper.” “I’m falling in love with you,” I whisper. His fingers continue playing with my hair, my favorite smile appearing. “Good. I’ve been falling for a while, baby.”

“Cowboys aren’t my type.”