` The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the dusty t-ball field. A cluster of five-year-olds in mismatched uniforms chased a ball that none of them seemed interested in catching.

`

` Ledger Hayes stood at the pitcher's mound, whistle hanging around his neck, backwards cap sitting perfectly on his head. He was supposed to be watching the kid at bat.

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` He wasn't.

`

` Twenty feet away, a young woman sat on a folding chair at the edge of the bleachers. Sunlight caught the curve of her cheek as she laughed at something, juice box in one hand, a pack of fruit snacks in the other. Her son—the one with the wild curls and the tongue permanently sticking out—was currently examining a dandelion like it held the secrets of the universe.

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` A baseball rolled to a stop near Hudson's shoe.

`

`

`

`

` Ledger was laughing too, but his eyes drifted back to the folding chair.

`

` She was looking right at him, a smile playing on her lips.