“Thanks for the help,” I call out to them as they guide their own kids toward their trucks. They wave.

I’m turning toward home plate to gather the balls when I notice Ethan walking across the outfield. I follow his line of sight until I see Palmer waiting for him by the fence.

She kissed me.

A warmth blooms in my chest.

She tasted like cinnamon and sugar—like the top of a cake doughnut. Her lips were like pillows, soft and silky, and it took everything I had to pull away when I did. Because, if I didn’t, I would’ve touched her body, and it would’ve been game over.

I walk toward her, knowing I can use the team mom excuse to talk to her if she balks.

And I have half a notion that she might just do that.

Ethan reaches her before I do. He hands her his stuff before hopping the fence.

“Hey,” I call out, even though she sees me coming.

She smiles like we share a secret. Because we do.

“Hi,” she says. “I’m glad you came over here.”

I smile. “Really?”

“Yeah. I was going to ask you about the shed.” Her lips press together, hiding a smile. “Bud said he’d be by to lock it up, but he hasn’t come back. I don’t want to just leave it open so someone breaks in, but I can’t lock it up either.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“You sure?”

“Yup. I got it. No worries.” I look at Ethan. “You did great today.”

His eyes light up. “I did?”

“You sure did. Let me see your glove, though.”

Palmer hands me Ethan’s glove. I work it around, bending it in my hands.

“Do me a favor, okay?” I ask Ethan. “Get some glove oil. Bud’s has some. It’s pretty inexpensive. Then put it on your glove and work it in with a sponge.”

“Okay,” Ethan says as if I’m giving him the secret to curing cancer.

“Then I want you to take a ball and put it in the pocket of your glove where the webbing meets the palm. Wrap some rubber bands around it and leave it overnight. That’ll help you break it in and make catching a little easier, okay?”

He looks up at Palmer. “Can we do that?”

“Absolutely.”

“But I don’t think we have a ball at home,” he says. “I lost the one we had.”

I point at the field. “Go grab one from out there. There are a dozen behind home plate.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, bouncing on his toes.

“Yeah. I’ll replace it. No worries.”

“Thanks, Coach!”

Ethan springs over the fence and makes a mad dash toward home plate.

“Smooth way of getting me alone,” Palmer says, leaning against the fence.

I lean against it from the other side so we’re face-to-face.

“Happy coincidence,” I say.