Page 6 of First Love, Second Draft

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 byhere, I meanthere. 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 mebabe. 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 withhislife 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 heatgets rid of water marks? Saw a video of someone using a clothes iron on a dining room table, I think.”

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