A circular desk is placed in the center of the main room, and a graying Bud Winters stands in the center.

“Good morning, Mrs. Beck,” he says, the corners of his mustache moving. “Did Lawrence send you in with his clubs?”

I hold them up in the air.

“I’ll take those from you,” he says.

Bud comes around the corner, and I hand him the strap.

“It’s good to see you again, Cole,” he says.

“Did you get your baseball program all figured out?” I ask, leaning against the counter.

He looks at the floor and shakes his head. “You know what? I didn’t. The guy that always coaches . . .” He looks up at Mom. “You know Ted from the butcher shop?”

Mom nods.

“Well, he had a dual hip replacement this winter. The doctors said he’d be back to good by spring, but he’s not. The man can barely walk. His son has been running the butcher shop since October because he can’t even stand for long periods of time.”

“That sucks,” I say.

“It does suck,” he says, as if he doesn’t say that word very often. It comes out of his mouth clunky. “Things aren’t looking good for the team. They’re looking awful, actually. My backup option took a welding job in Pennsylvania and can’t do it. And Lord knows that I can’t do it with all the other things I have on my plate. I’m still waiting to hear back from the Forest Falls gym teacher to see if she can step in and help. Hopefully she’ll know enough about baseball to make a difference.”

I can see the grief that this causes Bud. It’s written all over his face.

My heart tugs. It’s nice to see someone care so much about something that’s not themselves—especially kids’ sports. Most people blow athletics off like a place for adults to live their childhood dreams through their offspring, but they’re more than that. They can give kids a place to go after school and a reason to say no to bad behavior.

I’m opening my mouth to say something when a coyote howls behind us. I look over my shoulder, and my eyes immediately lock with Palmer’s.

Her cheeks flush as the door closes behind her. I give her a tentative grin and am relieved when she returns it—even if it is a bit wobbly.

“Hey, Cole!” Ethan smiles beside her.

“Hey, Ethan,” I say, smiling back at him. “Whatcha doing here?”

“Getting cleats.”

“Makes sense.” My gaze slides over to his mother. “Hi, Palmer.”

Her eyes are wide, clearly surprised to find me at Bud’s. She licks her lips. “Oh, hi, Cole.” She clears her throat. Her gaze lingers on me for a long moment before she flips it to the man behind the counter. “Hi, Mrs. Beck. Hi, Bud.”

“What can I help you with today, Palmer?” Bud asks.

“Cleats for the big guy here.” She wraps her arm around her son. “Jared signed him up for baseball. Are they over by the fitting rooms?”