Crap. I don’t have time for this.

“Hey, buddy,” I say, motioning for him to join me. “Ethan, this is Cole Beck. I met him the other day at Fletcher’s. Cole, this is my son, Ethan.”

“Hi,” Ethan says, standing beside me.

Cole points to the baseball glove on my son’s hand. “You play?”

Ethan holds the leather mitt up in the air awkwardly. “Um . . . kind of.”

“Kind of? Do you have a ball?”

Ethan releases a ball that’s tucked into the webbing of the glove and holds it up in the air.

Cole’s eyes light up. “All right. Let’s see what you got.”

I open my mouth to protest—to tell Cole that I need to get to Skoolie’s—but the excitement in Ethan’s eyes stops me in my tracks. He seems surprised that a stranger is interested in spending time with him. Playing with him. Oh, Jared. I hate that you’ve done this to our son.

“Hey, Ethan,” I say instead. “Did you know that Cole is a professional baseball player? He played for the San Diego Swifts.”

Ethan turns to Cole with a mixture of awe and joy on his face.

Let him have this moment.

“I’m not very good,” Ethan says, tossing the ball underhanded to Cole like a baby. “My dad just signed me up for a spring league. I’ve never actually played before.”

If Cole picks up on the tension that fills my body or the sadness in Ethan’s voice, he keeps it to himself. Instead, he moves away from us with the ball.

Cole points toward a big pothole in the parking lot. “Stand over there.”

Once Ethan is situated, Cole tosses the ball to him.

I should be focused on my son and how he manages to catch the ball. The delight in his eyes should flood me with pride and hope. The way he tries to throw it back to Cole with a self-confidence that I don’t expect is heartwarming . . . if I’m paying attention.

I’m a terrible mother.

My mouth goes dry as Cole’s muscles flex in the sunlight. The breadth of his shoulders. The way the cotton fabric clings to his ass when he leans into an exaggerated throw to show something to Ethan.

Oh. My. Gosh.

I reach for the hood of my car to steady myself.

“You okay over there?” Cole grins, holding the ball at the bend of his hip. His fingers cover the leather laces as he swirls it around his palm.

“Yup,” I say through the cotton lining my throat. “All good.”

Ethan hurries over to me. “Can I, Mom?”

“Can you what?” I look down at him. “What are you talking about?”

Cole snickers as he joins us at the front of my car.

“Can Cole give me some lessons? I mean, he is a professional baseball player and he offered. He offered, Mom.”

“Oh.” Crap. “But, buddy, he doesn’t live here, and right now, we need to get to Skoolie’s. I’m very, very late.”