When he spotted Malory, he stood, legs apart, flipping the ball lightly into the pocket of his glove.

He had the cautious and somewhat arrogant stance of a boy who’d had “don’t talk to strangers” drummed into his head, and thought he was old enough, smart enough, to handle himself with one anyway.

“You must be Simon. I’m Malory Price, a friend of your mother’s.” She kept a smile on her face as the boy sized her up—and she wished she knew more about baseball than that it involved a number of men throwing, hitting, and trying to catch a ball and running around a field.

“She’s in the house. I can get her.” His way of doing so was to trot toward the door and shout, “Mom! There’s a lady out here to see you!”

Moments later, Zoe opened the screen door, stood there wiping her hands on a dish towel. Somehow, despite the baggy shorts, old shirt, and bare feet, she still managed to look exotic.

“Oh. Malory.” She lifted a hand to fiddle with one of the buttons of her shirt. “I wasn’t expecting . . .”

“If this is a bad time—”

“No, no, of course not. Simon, this is Miss Price. One of the ladies I’m going to be working with for a while.”

“Okay. Hi. Can I go over to Scott’s now? I finished mowing the lawn.”

“Looks great. Do you want a snack first?”

“Nuh-uh.” At her arch look, he grinned, showing a missing tooth and sudden, dazzling charm. “I mean, no thanks.”

“Go ahead, then. Have a good time.”

“Yes!” He started to race off, then skidded to a halt when she spoke his name in a tone that Malory assumed mothers developed through hormonal changes during gestation.

He rolled his eyes, but made sure his back was to Zoe as he did. Then he gave Malory a quick and easy smile. “Nice to meet you, and all.”

“Nice to meet you, and all too, Simon.”

He dashed off, like an inmate escaping the prison walls.

“He’s gorgeous.”

At Malory’s statement, Zoe’s face lit up with pride and pleasure. “He really is, isn’t he? Sometimes I’ll sneak to the window while he’s out in the yard and just look at him. He’s my whole world.”

“I could see that. And now you’re worried that what we’ve done could hurt him somehow.”

“Worrying about Simon is part of my job description. Listen, I’m sorry, come in. I used to spend Saturdays at the salon, so I thought I’d take advantage of having this one off and dig in around here.”

“You’ve got a pretty house.” She stepped inside the door, looked around. “A very pretty house.”

“Thanks.” Zoe looked around as well, grateful that she’d finished buffing up the living room. The pillows were plumped on the bright and cheery blue slipcovers of the sofa, and the old coffee table she’d antiqued was free of dust and held a trio of bottles filled with late-summer daisies snipped from her own little flower bed. The rug her grandmother had hooked when Zoe herself was a child was freshly vacuumed.