It’s so random and out of left field. Pun intended.

“I guess what it is,” I say, walking around another mud hole, “is that I can’t decide what to make of it. It feels like this whole baseball thing just got dropped in my lap, and it’s so heavy.”

“What do you mean by ‘heavy,’ Palmer?”

“I mean that it just landed in my life with a thud.”

He chuckles. “All right.”

I know that was a pitiful response, but it feels accurate.

“I just . . .” I look at the cold, gray sky. “I was sure that I was going to have to tell Jared to get his fee back because Ethan wouldn’t play. And then we ran into Cole Beck in a parking lot, of all places.”

Kirk looks at me, his brows pulled together. “Lawrence Beck’s son? The baseball player?”

“Yes, he just retired, apparently.”

“I didn’t know he was in town. I bet Lawrence is thrilled.”

How the heck would I know? “I bet he is.”

“Huh.” Kirk shakes his head. “Anyway, you ran into Cole . . .”

“Yeah. We did. And Ethan was surprisingly receptive to the whole thing. He tossed the ball around with Cole, and . . . Ethan wasn’t my kid. He seemed excited about an outdoor sport with a ball.”

Kirk laughs.

“Then I take him into Bud’s to get some cleats, because apparently you can’t go to one practice to make sure you like it without the proper footwear.” I roll my eyes. “And Bud said that there was some kind of rebate on them and they were free.”

“Really?”

Kirk believes that line of crap about as much as I do, but I don’t know how else to explain it. Bud isn’t one to give things away, so I’m not sure what to think. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, and we walked out of there with a pair of baseball shoes for free.

“Really.” I shrug. “It’s like this whole thing should’ve been called off at every turn, and yet, with every turn we lean more into it.”

Our pace slows as we start down the steepest part of the hill. Kirk chews on his bottom lip like he does when he’s thinking.

I think, too, but on a slightly different trajectory.

My thoughts slide easily—too easily—from baseball to Cole.

A puff of a breath whispers into the air as I give up the fight. Because that’s what it’s like—a constant struggle not to think about him.

My mind is made up when it comes to Cole. Nothing is going to change that. But I’m not having an easy time switching my brain patterns back to last Friday, before I met him.

It’s bizarre.

I’ve thought a lot of men were handsome over the years, but I was able to forget their names. Charming guys are few and far between, but they do exist. And I’m able to move along from our exchanges.

So what is it about Cole? I’m not sure.