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Noah kicked the door shut behind him as he scanned the interior of the house he still thought of as home—even if he hadn’t stepped foot inside of it for nearly five years. “Place hasn’t changed much.”

“Except for the dirty boot print on the door,” Gracie muttered in between panted breaths. Her thin frame sagged further against him with each step from the entryway into the family room, furnished with a new beige sectional and leather recliner. Other than that, same white shiplap walls. Same dark wooden floors. Same hodgepodge of black-and-white photos and musty-smelling books lining the built-in arched bookshelves.

She’d always been a sucker for old things. Noah joked once how it was a good thing he liked old things too since she was nearly two years older than him. Yeah, that was a joke he never made again.

He crept another step forward, his right arm wrapped around her waist. At the pace they were going, they might just reach the living room by New Year’s Eve. “Cabin looks good. Matt told me a while back how he was helping you fix the place up.”

“Just get me to the couch, will you? And it’s a cottage.”

“You eating enough?” Looked like she’d lost weight since the last time he saw her. Though that had been from a distance. Had he seen her since Matt’s high school graduation? He didn’t think so. Not unless social media stalking counted. “You feel thin.”

“The couch, Noah. I don’t need any commentary on the state of my figure.”

“You need to take care of yourself is what you need.”

“You know what—” Gracie pushed him away with the force of a soft breeze. “I can take it from here.” One step later, she latched onto his elbow. “And by here , I mean there . On the couch.”

He escorted her past the antique-looking steamer trunk that served as a coffee table. He remembered how excited she’d been to find it at an estate sale the first summer after they married. He also remembered how close he’d come to getting a hernia lugging it up the porch steps.

He lowered her to the couch and slowly swiveled her feet onto the cushions. She didn’t make a sound, but judging by the lobster shade of red on her face, lots of sounds were begging to be released behind her pinched lips. He shoved a pillow beneath her head and gave it a few whacks.

“What are you doing?” Her words erupted with a blast of pent-up air.

“Fluffing your pillow. It’s what nurses do. You need some chicken noodle soup or something?”

“I need you to leave.”

“Sure.” Noah plopped into the recliner next to the couch. “You can barely walk, but yeah, why don’t I just head back to the cabin now.”

“Cottage.”

“And when you need to go to the bathroom, you’ll... army crawl to the toilet?”

“That’s the plan.”

He yanked the lever to raise his feet and propped both hands behind his head. “I’m not going anywhere, babe, so you may as well use your energy for healing instead of fighting.”

“Don’t call me babe . And seriously, what are you doing here? Your team made it to the playoffs. And aren’t you only five strikeouts away from the team’s all-time strikeout record?”

“You still follow my career? I’m touched.”

“Like I can go anywhere in a fifty-mile radius without hearing about your stupid team.”

Noah grunted, massaging his left shoulder. “Well, you must’ve missed the part where I didn’t make my stupid team’s roster for the postseason.”

For once, Gracie looked speechless. Probably the same way Noah had looked when he got the news from his manager.

Noah knew he was in trouble the second Dusty asked to speak to him in his office right after clinching the division title. His shoulder had been bothering him and he’d been pitching some truly terrible games lately. As much as it killed him to not get a shot at that record, Noah wasn’t surprised Dusty wanted to make room on the roster for the younger arms who’d been on absolute fire the past several weeks of the regular season.

What Noah hadn’t seen coming was the phone call the next day from Matt telling him that Gracie was trying to find a renter for the old cabin on their property. Sorry— cottage .

The idea of getting away from reporters and taking some time to figure out his next steps was tempting on its own. But once Matt let it slip that Gracie had been injured in an accident and could use the help, Noah couldn’t pack up his Jeep fast enough.

For five years he’d been praying for a way to walk back into Gracie’s life. Now he just had to figure out a way to stay in it. Which meant he needed to figure out what to do with his life now.

Sure, hitting forty put him well past his prime as a pitcher, but by most standards he was still young. Young enough to start another career if he wanted. Young enough to even start a family.

He still had time on his side, no doubt about it. Question was whether he’d ever have Gracie back by his side.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Gracie said once she’d apparently recovered from her speechlessness.

Dust motes floated in a slant of sunlight from the bay window. A water ring marked the trunk’s wooden surface. “Did you know heat gets rid of water marks? Saw a video of someone using a clothes iron on a dining room table, I think.”

“So that’s why you came back? To offer home remedy tricks you picked up online? Well, thank you, Noah. There’s a stubborn stain on one of the bedroom carpets. Maybe you can tackle that next.”

“Sure. Got any baking soda?”

She shot him the same look batters would give him when his pitch ran a little too close inside the plate. He gave her the same look he’d give back to the batters. All innocence. “Look Gracie, you need help. I’m here to help. Simple as that.”

“Ha. Nothing’s as simple as that. Not when it comes to us,” she muttered as she tried propping herself on her elbows to readjust the pillow behind her. “Don’t,” she said when he started lowering the footrest to help.

He lifted his hands in surrender and leaned back. After barely seeing her in person for five years, he didn’t mind taking the opportunity to just drink her in while she was distracted doing... well, whatever it was she was trying to do with that pillow.

A few years ago he’d started watching reruns of that show The Closer because a teammate once commented how Gracie resembled the main actress with her long blonde hair and sass. No offense to Kyra Sedgwick, but Noah would choose Gracie any day of the week—even now, with all the sweating and crazed muttering.

“Sure you don’t want help with that pillow?”

She blew a sweaty strand of hair out of her face and flopped back against the couch, having apparently given up on adjusting the pillow more than half an inch. “What I want is for you to tell me the real reason you’re here. What do you want from me? You lose all your million bajillion baseball dollars in a bad investment or something? Because I’ve got news for you. You’re not going to find any extra cash lying around here. Not with the medical bills Dad and I have been racking up lately.”

She clutched her ribs and squeezed her eyes shut. “Pretty sure I’ll be adding funeral expenses here in a minute.”

Noah lowered the footrest and grabbed her hand before she had time to toss out another Don’t! “Hey, listen to me. If you need money—”

She yanked free. “I don’t. Not from you. Unless we’re talking about the rent. I do need that. But no. Not even that. What I need is for you to...” For the first time, her hazel eyes met his. And held. And he was reminded of the first time they met. When he’d slammed the locker shut his first day of starting a new high school, and a girl with a giant ponytail and an armload of books appeared next to him.

“You’re new” is what she’d said back then.

“Go away” is what she said now. But she was looking at him with the same pair of eyes. Eyes that always contained a mixture of green, gold, and brown. But more importantly—interest.

Of course, mixed in with those swirls of interest, her eyes had always contained plenty of stubborn too.

The clock above the mantel ticked off several seconds as they stared each other down, waiting for the other to blink first. Well, guess what. It wasn’t going to be him.

“Hate to break it to you, babe, but you’re not getting rid of me. Not this time. I’m back and I’m staying. For as long as it takes. I’m not leaving until we figure things out.”

Then before she could stop him, he leaned forward and adjusted the pillow further behind her shoulders because good grief, nobody’s neck should be at an angle like that.

He no sooner had the pillow positioned than she flung it to the floor.

“We’re divorced. We’re long past the point of figuring things out. Besides, we both know your ‘as long as it takes’ only means until next season rolls around. Now grab me a tissue—and don’t call me babe .”

Until next season rolls around? Did she really not get it? Noah grabbed the pillow from the floor and propped her feet on it, then grabbed a tissue from a Kleenex box on the trunk and handed it to her. “Gracie, I’m done. For good. My arm finally hit its expiration date. I was lucky to last as long as I did.”

Gracie dabbed her forehead. “Please. How many times have I heard you tell me you were done pitching? You never meant it before. You sure don’t mean it now.”

“Have you forgotten how old I am? I’m ancient.”

“Have you forgotten I’m older than you? Watch your mouth.”

“You know I’m talking baseball years. I’m the Crypt Keeper.”

“So? That still doesn’t mean you’re done with baseball. You can be a coach, a manager, a hot dog vendor, something . Mark my words, you’re not done. You’ll never be done. So stop pretending this time is different, and leave. We both know it’s coming.”

Gracie fisted her sweaty tissue in a white-knuckled grip. “Besides, I imagine you’d rather go hang out with that little Joanna Gaines–wannabe girlfriend of yours instead of playing nursemaid to me. Pippy? Peppy? She’s cute, whatever her name is. Of course, everyone’s cute when they’re twenty. Or is she over the legal drinking age by now?”

“If you’re going to keep tabs on my social life, you might want to try a little harder at getting it right. Her name is Piper Green. And I have no idea how old she is because she’s obviously not my girlfriend. You should know better than anyone that I would never even consider dating a woman who is—”

“Half your age?”

“I was going to say a Mets fan, but yeah, that too.” Noah smirked at Gracie’s attempt to bean him with her wadded-up tissue. He retrieved it from the floor and tossed it on the trunk. “You know there’s never been anyone but you. Ever. And if you don’t know that, then you at least ought to know you can’t believe everything you see online.”

“I know you two looked awful cozy in that picture I saw from whatever hospital fundraiser you attended last winter. I believe that.”

“And what exactly were we doing in this picture? Standing next to each other and talking? Because if that’s your idea of cozy, then you must’ve been really jealous all those times my catcher ran out to talk to me on the mound. Did you think Rooster and I were whispering sweet nothings to each other behind our gloves?”

“Wouldn’t put it past you.” Gracie tugged at the blue-and-gray quilt hanging over the back of the couch. “Look, this has been a real slice of heaven catching up with you and all, but it’s time for you to go. For real. Forget whatever Matt told you, because I don’t need you here. After a quick catnap, I’m going to work on my manuscript the rest of the day. I’m on a super-tight deadline and the last thing I need is any distractions, so...” She motioned him to shoo.

“Uh-huh. Back to the issue of the bathroom. Not sure we figured that one out yet. Whenever you need to go, you’ll... pee on the couch?”

“It’s a very absorbent fabric. Look, seriously, Mona will be back any minute to check on me. You’re dismissed. Get back to the cottage. Better yet, get back to your precious baseball. Get back to your precious charity events. Get back to your precious whatever . Just. Go.”

She spent the next two minutes trying to spread the afghan over her body without actually moving because any sort of movement clearly sent her into a breathless, sweaty tangle of pain. He had half a mind to let her struggle the rest of the afternoon. Would serve her right.

But then again, struggling the past five years since their divorce sure hadn’t done him any good, had it?

He reached for his shoulder. Massaged the tightness. Times like this he wished he were a writer. Maybe then he could find the right words to get through to her. He sure hadn’t found them five years ago. What made him think he could find them today?

“What’s wrong with you?” Gracie’s breathless voice cut into his thoughts. “What are you doing?”

Noah glanced down, then back to Gracie. “Standing here, massaging my shoulder? What’s it looking like I’m doing?”

“You looked like you were about to cry.”

“You know I don’t cry.”

“Oh trust me, I know your heart of stone better than anyone. Which is why I can’t believe you were about to cry.”

He knew what she was doing. And it wasn’t going to work. Noah whipped his baseball cap onto the trunk, then marched to the door, calling over his shoulder. “Try picking a fight all you want, babe, but I’m not going anywhere.”

Noah slammed the door shut behind him. Then swung it open again. “Except to the cabin to grab my phone.”

“For the last time, don’t call me babe , and hey—hey!”

“What?” He opened the door again.

“It’s a cottage. And fix that porch railing while you’re out there.”

“Oh, I’ll fix it all right.” Easier than fixing their marriage—especially when he yelled, “Babe!” right before he slammed the door shut again.