I spent the rest of the day catching up on personal stuff and trying not to think too hard about anything—the fact that I’d been sleeping alone for years but had missed Tyler in my bed last night, that I still had no reply to my letter, that somehow I’d gotten saddled with giving a speech at my dad’s retirement party. What on earth was I going to say that wouldn’t bore everyone to tears?

I made a pot of spaghetti sauce, and while it was simmering, I sat down at the table to brainstorm some ideas. But the only thing I wrote down in my notebook was Tyler Shaw. I was still staring at his name when my phone buzzed.

Tyler Shaw calling.

I smiled and picked it up. “Hello?”

“Hey you. What’s up?”

“Not much. I’m at home freaking out about the speech I have to give at my dad’s retirement party.”

“Now you know how I felt about the dancing. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

I looked over at the stove. “I just made spaghetti sauce. Want to come over?”

“Mmm, I could go for some spaghetti sauce. Can I pour it over your naked body and lick it off?”

“That sounds . . . like a hot mess.”

“Hot messes in the kitchen are my specialty, remember?”

I laughed. “How could I forget?”

He arrived about twenty minutes later with a bottle of red wine and a smile that turned my bones to jelly. As soon as I shut the door behind him, he kissed me hello like he’d missed me.

“How was your day?” I asked as we moved into the kitchen.

“Great,” he said. “God, it smells good in here.”

“Thank you.”

“Reminds me of old times when I’d come home from practice and you’d have dinner made.”

“You definitely smell better tonight.”

He hooked an arm around my neck and pretended to choke me. “Admit it. You secretly loved the way I smelled.”

Laughing, I tried to get away but couldn’t. “I did not! It was like a gym bag that had been left out in the sun all day to bake!”

“I showered when I got home, didn’t I?”

“You did, thank God.” He finally let me go, and I set the bottle of wine on the counter.

“Want me to open that?”

“Sure. Corkscrew is in there.” I gestured toward the drawer and pulled down two glasses from the cupboard. “Did you go to practice this afternoon?”

“Yeah.” He took out the corkscrew and closed the drawer with his hip.

“How’d it go?”

“I think it went well.” After pulling the cork from the bottle, he poured us each a glass. “I worked with the lefty again. He’s struggling with his balance point, and his stride length is a little off too.”

“Can you help him?”

“I think so. He’s all concerned about speed and power, but that’s not gonna mean shit if he’s got no accuracy. It’s great to throw a ninety mile-per-hour pitch, but unless it goes where you want it to, it’s not much use. Trust me.”

I smiled sympathetically at him and turned on the gas beneath a large pot of water.

He picked up one of the glasses and took a sip. “Can I help you with something? I’m an expert in the kitchen now that I made pancakes.”

Laughing, I handed him a knife and a loaf of Italian bread. “Here. Slice this up, but not your hands, please. I’m partial to them.”

He gave me a kiss for that.

“Use the cutting board right there.”

He washed his hands and got to work while I put together a spinach salad. “Have you heard from Sadie?” I asked.

“Yes. I called her this morning to tell her I was staying in town a little longer, and of course she begged me to please bring in their mail while they’re away. And before you ask, yes, I did it today.”

I smiled and tossed the spinach into a big round bowl. “They’re in New Orleans, right? When are they back?”

“Yes. Thursday. I also have to take out their trash and recycling on Wednesday night.”

“What a nice brother you are,” I said, cutting up a tomato.

“I am a nice brother. I don’t even take out my own trash and recycling,” he complained.

“What? That is ridiculous. Who on earth takes out your trash and recycling?”

“My housekeeper. She’s the only person I can tolerate in my house for long periods of time. She’s awesome. Not only does she keep my house clean, but she shops and cooks for me too. And she’ll put each meal in a container and label it with what it is and instructions for reheating it. Sometimes she even puts a little smiley face on the note.”

“Oh my God,” I said, laughing as I tossed the tomatoes on top of the lettuce. “You’re like a fourth grader. Do you call her Mommy?”

“No, I call her Anna, and I pay her very, very well to put up with me. She has a good salary and benefits, and I also just bought her a car because hers wasn’t reliable and she does so much driving for me. She comes to the cabin once a week too.”

“Well, good.” I started slicing a cucumber. “Does she get a vacation while you’re here?”

“Yes, she does. I called her this morning and told her she could have the week off—paid, of course.”

“Good man.” I paused. “Did you book your return flight?”

“No. I kind of forgot about doing that.”

I was glad my back was turned so he couldn’t see my gigantic smile.

“Okay, the bread is sliced,” he said. “What else can I do?”

“Want to taste the sauce?”

“Yes, please.”

Over at the stove, I handed him the wooden spoon. “Here. Give it a stir, and then taste. Be careful, it’s hot.”

He took the lid off the pot, stirred, and tasted. Then he smiled. “So good. And it totally reminds me of you.”

I laughed. “Oh, come on, you’ve had pasta sauce a billion times since high school.”

“And every time, it reminded me of you.”

My heart beat a little faster. “Liar.”

“That’s the truth, I swear,” he said. “There were always certain things that reminded me of you.”

“Like what?”

“Red hair, dimples, the smell of birthday cake. Weren’t there things that reminded you of me?”

I thought about it while I took the spoon and tasted the sauce. “Baseball,” I told him, reaching for the salt. I added a little to the sauce and stirred again. “And for a while, sex.”

“Really?” He seemed pleased about it. “Sex?”

“Well, yes.” I glanced at him. “But it was sort of terrifying.”

He frowned. “That is not as hot as I wanted it to be.”

Laughing, I set the spoon back on the rest. “Well, after what happened my first time, I was scared of having sex again because I was worried about getting pregnant. So you were the only guy I ever had sex with for a pretty long time.”

“How long?”

“About four years. And even then, I was a nervous wreck.”

He looked contrite. “Jesus. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I got over it. It’s not like it was a mystery why I got pregnant, Tyler, or even bad luck—it was biology. We had unprotected sex. We were eighteen. It’s like the most fertile time in a girl’s life, which is just a cruel joke, but that’s another issue.”