I smack her hand and roll my eyes at her.

“That was not the point of me sharing that with you,” I scold her. “The point is, Fisher thinks I’m made of glass. He thinks I’m still the same woman he married and that he has to handle me with kid gloves. He’s afraid of his temper and the passion that comes with it, and I don’t know how to tell him that he doesn’t have to be afraid. That I’M not afraid and I want it. I want everything from him.”

Ellie shrugs. “So how about you show him instead of tell him? Men are visual creatures. You could talk to him until you’re blue in the face and he still wouldn’t get it. He’d still think you were only placating him or saying what you thought he wanted to hear. Strap on a set of balls and show the guy that you want all that intensity and passion from him.”

I mull over Ellie’s advice while she helps me gather up the t-shirts to sell on Main Street. Even though Fisher and I really do need to talk about so many important things, Ellie is right. He’s never going to believe that part of what I have to say unless I prove it to him, show him that I’m not afraid of his anger or his jealousy and that if he’s serious about working through things, I want ALL of him this time, not just the parts he chooses to share with me.

Chapter 30

Fisher

Present Day

The entire town, including all the tourists, has packed the small baseball field next to Barney’s. The bleachers filled up quickly, so most people brought chairs and blankets and they are spread out all around the chain-link fence surrounding the field, cheering the teams on. Every year, the businesses put their names in a hat if they have employees who are going to play and the mayor draws the teams to make it fair. I really had no intention of playing this year, but a last minute ankle injury had me filling in starting in the third inning. I was team captain the last game I played in two summers ago, and let’s just say it didn’t go very well. My drinking had started to get out of hand right around that point and everything pissed me off, even what was supposed to be a fun, friendly competition between local businesses. I almost got kicked out of the game for shouting at my team every time they made a shitty play, but Lucy did her best to calm me down and convince everyone I was just having an off day.

To say I was a little surprised that everyone begged me to play today is an understatement. The only reason I agreed is because the team that needed me is Lucy’s team and the captain is my father. He’s made it a point not to let Lucy bat and threw her as far out in the outfield as she could get and still be on the damn field.

It’s the bottom of the ninth and our team is losing 3-1, bases loaded with two outs. It’s not looking very good for Fisher’s Fireballs. If we don’t get our guys home, the game is over. I thought being in the dugout with Lucy would be the perfect opportunity to talk to her, but every time I’ve tried, she’s done whatever she could to avoid me. I realize it’s not the most private place to have a deep conversation, but at this point, I just want her to smile at me and give me some sort of sign that things are going to be okay with us. We’ve played many Fourth of July softball games together over the years, but this is the first time I’ve had to hold myself back from scooping her up in my arms and cheering along with her when our team makes a good play. We were always getting yelled at in the outfield for sneaking kisses and smacking each other on the ass and not paying attention to the game. I miss having fun with her. I miss doing normal things and being the couple that everyone teased because we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. Now, I have to force myself not to rub her shoulders while she’s clutching onto the fence and cheering on the team. I have to find something else to do with my hands to avoid winding her long ponytail around my hand and pulling her head back for a kiss.

“Mark, you’re up!” My dad shouts to the owner of the Lobster Bucket, who was snoring at the end of the bench.

“Seriously?” I ask quietly through clenched teeth. “Mark has been up to bat four times already and each time you’ve had to wake him up from his afternoon nap. And he has yet to get a hit.”

My father takes his ball cap off and scratches his head. “Mark is next in the line-up, so Mark better get a hit this time.”

“Put Lucy in,” I argue. “She can at least get us a base hit and then I’m up after that.”

“Since you aren’t the team captain this year, a wise decision after your behavior last time, sit down and keep your opinions to yourself,” he argues back.

I’m about two seconds away from shoving my father into the dugout fence behind him when Lucy comes up next to me and puts a hand on my arm.

“It’s fine if your father doesn’t want to put me in,” she says sweetly. “If we do end up winning, we’ll just have to forfeit our victory and give the trophy to the other team. No big deal.”

I watch her shrug with a cheeky smile and I try not to laugh.

“What the hell are you talking about?” my father asks in irritation.

“Oh, didn’t you hear? They established rules this year on account of Erika throwing that ball at Stephen’s head last year because he kept making jokes about her holding his balls when she got up to bat,” Lucy informs him.

I chuckle to myself, a little sad that I didn’t get to witness THAT moment between the married owners of the town’s dry cleaners.

“Not only are spouses no longer allowed to play on the same team, every person ON the team must get at least one up-to-bat. Any violation of the rules results in a forfeit,” Lucy finishes with another sweet smile.