He’d been the center of it, though she’d never admitted it then.Hemade everything feel sharper, brighter.Hechallenged her in ways no one else dared—teasing her about her batting stance, racing her down the dock, kissing her in the shadows whereRileywouldn’t see.
Her thumb brushed his image in the photo, her throat tightening.
She could almost feel the heat of his arm slung across her shoulders, smell the lake water drying on his skin.Sheremembered how her heart had pounded that day, not from the swim but from standing so close to him, wondering if he’d lean down and steal another kiss.
Instead, he’d just grinned for the camera, easy as breathing.
And then he’d left.
Rose pressed the heel of her hand to her eyes, trying to steady herself.
It had been twenty years.Twentyyears of silence, of anger, of rebuilding a life brick by brick without him.She’dtold herself she was over it, that the girl she’d been back then had grown into a woman who knew better than to pine after someone who’d walked away.
And for the most part, she believed it.
But the note cracked something in her she hadn’t expected.Inever forgot.Notfor a single day.
Why send it now?Whydig up what was buried?
She thought ofAcen’sface when she’d seen him again, the shadows under his eyes, the way he’d stood like a man carrying more weight than he knew how to set down.Shethought of the limp in his gait, the hint of pain he’d tried to hide.
She hated that part of her wanted to believe the note.Thathe hadn’t forgotten.Thatshe hadn’t been erased.
Her hand tightened on the paper.
Because if he remembered… then maybe she wasn’t crazy for remembering too.
The air in the kitchen felt too close.Roseshoved back from the table and moved to the back door, stepping onto the porch.Thesun was dropping low, bleeding gold and pink across the lake.Firefliessparked in the hedges, winking like tiny lanterns.
She drew in a breath, steadying herself.She’dfaced tougher things than an old photograph.She’dstood on the mound with a full count, bases loaded, knowing her team was counting on her.She’dendured gossip, heartbreak, her mama’s illness after her daddy’s death.Shewasn’t about to letAcenWheelerundo her with aPolaroid.
Still, she carried the box back outside, setting it on the porch rail.Thewood gleamed in the last light of day, simple and unassuming.
ButRoseknew better.
It wasn’t just a box.
It was a match struck over old kindling.
And she wasn’t sure whether to stomp it out… or let it burn.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Acen parked at the far edge of the gravel lot that wrapped around the old softball field, cutting the engine before he reached the light poles.Thesun was melting into a late-summer haze, streaking the sky with lavender and gold.Afaint breeze stirred the smell of cut grass and clay, heavy with the familiar tang of dirt and sweat.Thechorus of cicadas hummed like background music, rising and falling with the rhythm of the evening.
From where he sat in the shadow of his truck, he could see everything.Thewomen’s team was already spread across the diamond, warming up for practice.Dirtyneon yellow softballs flashed against the deepening dusk, flying from glove to glove.Cleatsscraped across the infield, sending up soft puffs of red dust.Laughtercarried on the breeze, mixed with shouted calls to “Tagup!”and “Nicecatch!”
And then there wasRose.
She stood near the dugout, clipboard in hand like it was an extension of her arm, barking directions with the kind of authority that only came from years of being listened to.Herauburn hair was pulled back into a messy knot at the base of her neck, loose strands catching the fading light like copper threads.Shewore an old teamT-shirt, faded from countless washes, tucked into shorts that showed the powerful lines of her legs shaped by hours of running bases and drilling line drives.
She looked… steady.
Like she belonged exactly where she was, with her team circling around her, with her feet planted in the dirt of this field, with that clipboard like a shield and a banner both.
She looked like home.
Acen gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to summon the courage to move.He’dtold himself all day that this was the right thing, that honesty was overdue.Butwatching her now, so rooted, so sure of herself and her place in the world, it was like his feet weighed twice what they should.
