She’d only missed two innings, she noted by the scoreboard, and the home team had a run.

Top of the third, two outs, a man on first.

Gabe played the batter deep at third.

She waited to make the climb up until the batter—powerful swing—struck out.

As she threaded her way up, a number of people greeted her, and that was nice. Nice to live where people knew you, and took time to say hello.

Zane gave her a long glance from under his ball cap, behind his dark glasses, as she settled in beside him.

“How’s Gabe doing?”

“Got the RBI, solid double in the first. Fielded a hot line drive and beat the runner to second, snagged a pop-up.”

“Excellent. What do you want on your dog?”

“Mustard.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Got it. Hey.” She leaned in front of him to speak to Emily and Lee. “I’m buying dogs at the end of this inning. How do you like yours?”

“Thanks. Just mustard.”

Lee leaned past his wife. “Loaded.”

“Now, that’s a dog.”

She watched the first batter fly out on the second pitch.

“So where’s Brody?”

“Around here somewhere with his non-girlfriend girlfriend.”

“Jenny? She’s adorable. He’s probably working up to asking her to the end-of-school dance. He wanted to do it casual, so a ball game works.”

That pulled Zane’s attention away from the next batter. “How do you know that?”

“He mentioned it. He knows she’s waiting for him to ask, and probably knows he knows, but he doesn’t want to make it a big thing. Gabe’s on deck.”

“Yeah.”

They watched the first pitch to the batter, a called strike. Muttered together: “High and inside.”

In solidarity, Darby gave him a light elbow to the ribs. “So have you worked through your sticker shock, figured out any priorities?”

“Maybe.”

The second pitch brought the count to 1–1.

“You’ve got a chance for revenge Wednesday.”

“Why Wednesday?”

“Forecast for rain throughout the day, so I called your office late on Friday afternoon, made an appointment. All right.” She clapped as the batter took another outside pitch for ball two. “Good eye.”

“Emily said you’re nearly finished with reception.”

“Am finished, looks awesome. We’re back at the house the rest of the day. I’m going to hit Bungalow Six for a couple hours tomorrow between checkout and check-in.”

Late swing, fouled back.

She turned her head so their eyes met briefly, shielded by sunglasses, shadowed by the bills of ball caps.

“Is that how you spend your Sundays?”

“Gotta dig holes while the sun shines, Walker.”

Ball three. Full count.

People clapped, buzzed, stomped.

A kid of about three sat on his father’s shoulders on the grass beside the bleachers and waved a little plastic bat. A trio of girls with yards of hair and legs strolled by a group of boys who pretended not to notice.

A couple of levels below where Darby sat, a woman plied yarn with a crochet hook and shouted, “Knock it outta here, Willy!”

“It’s coming inside,” Zane mumbled.

“You think?”

“You watch. Gonna try to crowd him, make him swing.”

Darby watched. It came inside, missing the corner of the plate. Instead of knocking it outta there, Willy did the smart thing. He took the pitch, and his base on balls.

“Somebody else has a good eye,” Darby commented. “Willy’s got fast feet. He can stretch a solid single into a double.”

Once again, Zane gave her a long look. “How do you know?”

“I try to catch a couple innings when I can. Maybe a practice after work. All right, Gabe!”

Gabe walked to the plate, shuffled, tested the bat, took his stance.

The kid had really good form, Zane thought. Excellent focus and instincts. He remembered standing in that same spot on a sunny afternoon with the smell of grilling meat, green grass, brown dirt, white chalk. How he’d blocked out the noise of the crowd, or used it.

How, in that moment, those smells, those sounds, the feel of the bat in his hands, the sight of the white ball winging toward him comprised the entire world.

Gabe didn’t waste time, and banged the first pitch past the diving first baseman.

As Darby had predicted, the solid single put runners on the corners. She hooted, whistled, exchanged high fives with Zane.

“Bring ’em in, Luke!”

“Do you know all the kids?” Zane wondered.

“If you’re going to live and build a business in a community, be the community. Plus, baseball.”

The count built to 2–2 before Luke popped a one-hopper to left center. It brought in the run, advanced Gabe to second.

While the coach called time and walked to the mound with the catcher to settle down the pitcher, Darby turned back to Zane. “Depending on your schedule, we can stretch my appointment Wednesday if you want to go over options. Or you can come by my place tomorrow, or I can come by yours. Either way around ten in the morning, or after three.”

She waited a beat. “Unless I’ve scared you off the whole thing.”

“You don’t scare me.”

“Good. Just let me know when works for you.”

Emily leaned forward. “You’re talking about Zane’s place. He showed me your drawings. It’s like a movie!”

“But livable,” Darby returned with a smile.

The conference at the mound worked. The pitcher worked the batter to a 1–2 count before crowding him into an easily fielded pop-up.

The next looped one to second, couldn’t outrun the throw to first, and ended the inning.

“Two up.” Darby slapped her hands together. “It’s hot dog time.”

“Zane, give her a hand.”

Darby waved Emily off. “I’m good. A deal’s a deal.”

Darby worked her way down, then over to the cook shed to get in line. The woman in front of her turned.

“Hey, Darby.”

“Laurie.” Who worked at Best Blooms, and knew her stuff. “How’s it going?”

“Going good. My husband’s sister’s boy’s playing, and we’re winning. I saw you in the bleachers.” She gave a quick eyebrow wiggle. “I didn’t know you were with Zane Walker.”

“Sure, we’re—Oh, no, not with-with. I wanted to see Gabe play for a bit. I’m just sitting with the family.”

“Well, that’s a genuine shame, because you sure look good together.” Laurie shook back flyaway curls as she glanced back at the stands. “It’s good to see him out here, at a game.”

They shuffled up in line, paused as the crowd cheered a long fly ball snagged by the center fielder for an out.

“I was a few years ahead of him in school,” Laurie continued, “but my sister was in his class. He was the star of the team, won State Player of the Year, two years running.”

“That’s big stuff,” Darby commented.

“Oh, yes, indeed. He’d have won it again if it hadn’t been for…”