Page 66 of Mom Ball

I step onto the porch to Nate’s big smile. He does seem happy, and he does live partly in the house down the road.

Could it be possible he wants this life too?

* * *

Nate

I stop and catch my breath, then toss the Wiffle-ball bat toward a row of trees.

“That’s enough for now.”

Some of the boys moan, and others have already lost interest and found the food. Mr. Sawyer sees the game disband and rings a bell on the back porch. A literal dinner bell.

The kids run toward the house, and I lag behind. My shoulder hasn’t given me much trouble since earlier today, but I don’t want to push it. And I’m getting tired.

Even though I’m in shape, I lack the gung-ho of an eight-year-old. Especially when a plate of burgers and chocolate is within reach.

By the time I make it to the table, Sawyer is finishing the prayer. All the kids yell “amen” and descend on the food like a pack of dogs on a dead squirrel.

I strategically get in line beside Brooke and pile my plate with two burgers and chips. I plan on coming back for dessert, until I watch how many chocolates the kids are grabbing. Brooke puts two on my plate and smiles.

She knows me so well.

When I first moved back, I was skeptical. I thought it was because I’d been gone so long, or because I moved into a much bigger house than where I grew up. I spent more time in Atlanta than here and had all but convinced myself Apple Cart was no longer home.

Then I saw Brooke hanging on the fence across from my house.

Everything changed that day. The house, the town, my mood. This is my home, and it’s all because she’s here.

I want to tell her that. No, I need to tell her that. I just haven’t figured out when or how.

The last thing I want is to confess my love and jet off to Atlanta for another season. That’s not fair to her or Timothy. I would never ask her to leave her job or take him out of school to follow me. That’s unfair.

People start finding seats on the porch and around the yard. Between the kids and adults, the rockers and swings fill up fast. I take my drink and plate to the front porch.

Not until I sit on the swing do I realize Mrs. Margaret might not want people venturing to the front of the house. Southern women can get a little territorial about their homes. They might not want you going in certain areas they haven’t cleaned and decorated specially for the occasion.

I’m standing to leave when Brooke comes around the corner with her plate and cup.

“Mind if I join you?”

I shake my head. “No, come on.”

She smiles and climbs the steps. I sit slowly, more to the side to give her room. The swing moves slightly when she sits. I smile at her short legs barely touching the ground.

I’ve always towered over her. After we broke up, I grew another two inches and put on about thirty pounds of muscle, making her look even tinier next to me.

“I’m glad the weather is pleasant for this.”

“Yep.” I settle back and take a bite of my burger. “Too bad pollen is starting.”

“Yeah. Sweet home Alabama. The few weeks we have between cold and blazing hot is covered in yellow dust.” She laughs a second, then asks, “Do you still have allergies?”

“Not as bad. The professional fields aren’t as rural and allergenic as high school.”

She nods and smiles.

“You know what they say?” I cock a smile.

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