The door was opened. Dying for shade, she stepped over the threshold and into a large room that was clear of everything but some drop cloths, a few buckets of paint on a lone table, two ladders, and one sexy-as-hell Pace Martin.

He stood at the top of one of the ladders, roller in hand. He wore loose cargo shorts, low on his hips, the hem past his knees, and a T-shirt, both smeared with baby blue paint. Just looking at him lightened her heart.

He had his baseball hat on backward, his hair curling out from beneath the edges, and an easy smile that pretty much galvanized her.

She’d go to the ends of the earth for that smile.

He backed off the ladder with easy grace, hopping down to the floor from the last few rungs. “Hey.”

“You bought this place,” she said. “You bought it for the kids.”

“Yeah, but for me, too.” He turned to shut and lock the door, then came close, his gaze touching her features. “I missed you, Holly.”

Her heart caught painfully. The poor organ seemed to be getting quite the workout lately. He stood there with that melting smile, the promise there in his eyes, colliding with who he’d become—a man for whom baseball was just a part of his life.

Not the whole, but a part.

“I missed you, too,” she said softly.

He smiled. “Good.” He grabbed a second roller. “Want to help?”

“More than anything.”

He cocked his head, holding the roller back from her now, his shirt stretching taut across his broad chest. “More than anything? That covers a lot of ground.”

She caught the heat in his gaze and her tummy quivered, but she had to tell him what she’d just learned. “Pace . . . I talked to Tommy this morning.”

“About today’s game? Yeah, it’s a big one. Do or die.”

“No.” She drew a big breath. “About what’s happening in the press. He says it’s an inside job.” She told him everything she knew, including how she’d gone to visit Sam. “I don’t believe it’s her.”

“I don’t either.” He looked pensive and quiet for a moment, then met her gaze. “But that’s going to have to wait for a few minutes.”

“Why?”

“Because baseball, and all that goes with it, is going to take a backseat, for once.”

“But don’t you think—”

“What I think,” he said, taking her purse off her shoulder and setting it aside, “is that we’ve got a lot to do before the kids show up to see this place in an hour.” He gave her a once-over. “How married are you to that shirt staying white?”