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Later that afternoon Noah adjusted the paper bag full of Jonathan apples and three dozen cider donuts—who was he kidding when he said half a dozen—in one arm while digging out his phone. Scotty. Finally.

“I’ll do it. Make it happen,” Noah said as soon as he answered Scotty’s FaceTime call and saw his agent sitting in his office, the city skyline behind him past his office windows.

“Really? Great!” Scotty lifted his hands like a football referee right after a touchdown. “Love that. Yes. I’ll make it happen. Right now. Emailing the general manager of the Riverton Rowdies as we speak.”

“Who are the Riverton Rowdies?”

“Your new baseball club.”

“Why are they my new baseball club?”

Scotty paused in pounding away at his computer keyboard. “You just said to make it happen.”

“Make what happen?”

“Get you hired on as the new baseball manager for the Riverton Rowdies. They’re that new farm league team in Oklahoma. The one I emailed you about a few days ago.”

Noah hadn’t checked his email in weeks. “I don’t want you to make that happen.”

“Then what am I making happen?”

“The memoir.”

“The memoir?”

“The memoir.”

“The memoir?”

Noah adjusted the sack of apples and donuts in his arms. “Are we doing some sort of shtick right now? Because I’m having a real hard time following this conversation.”

“You’re not the only one.” Scotty leaned closer to the computer screen and frowned. “What is happening right now? Why are there a bunch of kids climbing onto a tractor trailer behind you? And why do they look so happy about it?”

Noah held up his phone to give Scotty a better view. “That’s Farmer Mac. He always gives the kids hayrides with his tractor during harvest season. Now back to the memoir.”

“Where are these kids’ parents? Shouldn’t they be supervising them or something?”

“The kids are all probably here on a field trip. They’re fine. Now did you hear what I said?”

“The kids aren’t even strapped in.”

“Scotty.”

“I heard you, I heard you. Now tell me again what you said.”

“The book. The memoir. I’m ready to do it.”

Scotty’s office chair squeaked as he straightened in his seat and adjusted his tie. “The memoir. You’re serious?”

“I’m serious.”

“Serious serious?”

“Scotty.”

“Okay. Got it. Serious serious. Wow. Just didn’t... okay. I’m surprised. Didn’t expect this. But this is... Oh, wow. This is great. Really great.”

The way Scotty pounded his computer keyboard, Noah would think he was playing ragtime music on a piano. “I already know a couple of publishing houses who will eat this right up. Trust me. You won’t regret this. Especially once I get Darren on board. He’s the author who helped write the book for that blind soccer goalie. He’s great at working with athletes. I’m sure he’ll—”

“No. No Darren. I’m only working with Gracie. That’s my one stipulation. Deal’s off if Gracie doesn’t write it.”

“Gracie? Who’s Gracie?”

“You know Gracie. My wife? Well, ex-wife.”

Scotty stopped playing the keyboard and sprang forward in his seat, inches away from the camera on his computer. “You want your ex-wife to write your memoir? Noah, the point of this exercise is to make you look good and springboard you into a management position in the majors.”

No, the point was to buy him some one-on-one time with his wife before she gave him the boot and started getting friendly with likable guys. “She’s the only one I want writing my story. Take it or leave it. Also, I need this contract put into place now. Immediately. Today.”

“Today?”

“Today.”

“Today?”

“Is this parroting technique something you actually find productive?”

Scotty sank back in his seat and massaged his temples. “I’m starting to wish you’d take a ride on the back end of a tractor without supervision.”

“You know you love me.”

Scotty snorted. Then after a quick shake of his head, he straightened and began tapping away at the keyboard. “Fine. I don’t know why I’m agreeing to this. But fine. Who’s your wife’s agent? You know what, never mind. I’ll figure it out myself. I’m done with you. You annoy me.”

“Love working with you too.” Noah ended the call.

The high-pitched voices of children talking and laughing carried through the fields as he headed back to his truck.

No, he didn’t relish the idea of opening a can of worms to his past, but what other option did he have? Noah had to do something that would keep him close to Gracie and make her start talking to him again.

He glanced at the sack of apples. Something other than baking a pie he had no idea how to bake.