“No.”
A pair of shiny black shoes appeared. Slowly, Robin twisted her head and glanced upward, squinting at the flash of sunlight that nearly blinded her. It was their waiter. Heaving a giant sigh of relief, Robin straightened. The first thing she noticed was that Cole had left.
The huge shrimp salads were all but forgotten as Angela, eyes narrowed and elbows braced on the table, confronted her. “You saw him, didn’t you?”
There was no point in pretending otherwise, so Robin nodded.
“He was with someone?”
“Not just someone! The most beautiful woman in the world was draped all over his arm.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Angela said. “Don’t you think you’re jumping to conclusions? Honestly, she could’ve been anyone.”
“Uh-huh.” Any fight left in Robin had long since evaporated. There was nothing like seeing Cole with another woman to bring her firmly back to earth—which was right where she belonged.
“She could’ve been a client.”
“She probably was,” Robin concurred, reaching for her fork. She didn’t know how she was going to manage one shrimp, let alone a whole plate of them. Heaving another huge sigh, she plowed her fork into the heap of plump pink darlings. It was then that she happened to glance across the street. Cole and Ms. Gorgeous were walking along the sidewalk, engrossed in their conversation. For some reason, known only to the fates, Cole looked across the street at that very moment. His gaze instantly narrowed on her. He stopped midstride as though shocked to have seen her.
Doing her best to pretend she hadn’t seen him, Robin took another bite of her salad and chewed vigorously. When she glanced up again, Cole was gone.
“Mom, I need someone to practice with,” Jeff pleaded. He stood forlornly in front of her, a baseball mitt in one hand, a ball in the other.
“I thought Jimmy was practicing with you.”
“He had to go home and then Kelly threw me a few pitches, but she had to go home, too. Besides, she’s a girl.”
“And what am I?” Robin muttered.
“You’re a mom,” Jeff answered, clearly not understanding her question. “Don’t you see? I’ve got a chance of making pitcher for our team if I can get someone to practice with me.”
“All right,” Robin agreed, grumbling a bit. She set aside her knitting and followed her son into the backyard. He handed her his old catcher’s mitt, which barely fit her hand, and positioned her with her back to Cole’s yard.
Robin hadn’t been able to completely avoid her neighbor in the past week, but she’d succeeded in keeping her distance. For that matter, he didn’t seem all that eager to run into her, either. Just as well, she supposed.
He stayed on his side of the hedge. She stayed on hers.
If he passed her on his way to work, he gave an absent wave. She returned the gesture.
If they happened to be outside at the same time, they exchanged smiles and a polite greeting, but nothing more. It seemed, although Robin couldn’t be sure, that Cole spent less time outside than usual. So did she.
“Okay,” Jeff called, running to the end of their yard. “Squat down.”
“I beg your pardon?” Robin shouted indignantly. “I agreed to play catch with you. You didn’t say anything about having to squat!”
“Mom,” Jeff said impatiently, “think about it. If I’m going to be the pitcher, you’ve got to be the catcher, and catchers have to be low to the ground.”
Complaining under her breath, Robin sank to her knees, worried the grass would stain her jeans.
Jeff tossed his arms into the air in frustration. “Not like that!” He said something else that Robin couldn’t quite make out—something about why couldn’t moms be guys.
Reluctantly, Robin assumed the posture he wanted, but she didn’t know how long her knees would hold out. Jeff wound up his arm and let loose with a fastball. Robin closed her eyes, stuck out the mitt and was so shocked when she caught the ball that she toppled backward into the wet grass.
“You all right?” Jeff yelled, racing toward her.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she shouted back, discounting his concern as she brushed the dampness from the seat of her jeans. She righted herself, assumed the position and waited for the second ball.
Jeff ran back to his mock pitcher’s mound, gripped both hands behind his back and stepped forward. Robin closed her eyes again. Nothing happened. She opened her eyes cautiously, puzzled about the delay. Then she recalled the hand movements she’d seen pitchers make and flexed her fingers a few times.
Jeff straightened, placed his hand on his hip and stared at her. “What was that for?”
“It’s a signal…I think. I’ve seen catchers do it on TV.”
“Mom, leave that kind of stuff to the real ballplayers. All I want you to do is catch my pitches and throw them back. It might help if you kept your eyes open, too.”
“I’ll try.”
“Thank you.”
Robin suspected she heard a tinge of sarcasm in her son’s voice. She didn’t know what he was getting so riled up about; she was doing her best. It was at times like these that she most longed for Lenny. When her parents had still lived in the area, her dad had stepped in whenever her son needed a father’s guiding hand, but they’d moved to Arizona a couple of years ago. Lenny’s family had been in Texas since before his death. Robin hadn’t seen them since the funeral, although Lenny’s mother faithfully sent Jeff birthday and Christmas gifts.
“You ready?” Jeff asked.
“Ready.” Squinting, Robin stuck out the mitt, prepared to do her best to catch the stupid ball, since it seemed so important to her son. Once more he swung his arms behind him and stepped forward. Then he stood there, poised to throw, for what seemed an eternity. Her knees were beginning to ache.
“Are you going to throw the ball, or are you going to stare at me all night?” she asked after a long moment had passed.
“That does it!” Jeff tossed his mitt to the ground. “You just broke my concentration.”
“Well, for crying out loud, what’s there to concentrate on?” Robin grimaced, rising awkwardly to her feet. Her legs had started to lose feeling.
“This isn’t working,” Jeff cried, stalking toward her. “Kelly’s only in third grade and she does a better job than you do.”
Robin decided to ignore that comment. She pressed her hand to the small of her back, hoping to ease the ache she’d begun to feel.
“Hello, Robin. Jeff.”
Cole’s voice came at her like a hangman’s noose. She straightened abruptly and winced at the sharp pain shooting through her back.
“Hi, Mr. Camden!” Jeff shouted as though Cole was a conquering hero returned from the war. He dashed across the yard, past Robin and straight to the hedge. “Where have you been all week?”
“I’ve been busy.” He might’ve been talking to Jeff, but his eyes were holding Robin’s. She tried to look away—but she couldn’t.
His eyes told her she was avoiding him.
Hers answered that he’d been avoiding her.
“I guess you have been busy,” Jeff was saying. “I haven’t seen you in days and days and days.” Blackie squeezed through the hedge and Jeff fell to his knees, his arms circling the dog’s neck.
“So how’s the baseball going?” Cole asked.
Jeff sent his mother a disgusted look, then shrugged. “All right, I guess.”
“What position are you playing?”
“Probably outfield. I had a chance to make pitcher, but I can’t seem to get anyone who knows how to catch a ball to practice with me. Kelly tries, but she’s a girl and I hate to say it, but my mother’s worthless.”
“I did my best,” Robin protested.
“She catches with her eyes closed,” Jeff said.
“How about if you toss a few balls at me?” Cole offered.
Jeff blinked as if he thought he’d misunderstood. “You want me to throw you a few pitches? You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
The look on her son’s face defied description as Cole jumped over the hedge. Jeff’s smile stretched from one side of his face to the other as he tore to the opposite end of the yard, unwilling to question Cole’s generosity a second time.
For an awkward moment, Robin stayed where she was, not knowing what to say. She looked up at Cole, her emotions soaring—and tangling like kites in a brisk wind. She was deeply grateful for his offer, but also confused. Thrilled by his presence, but also frightened.
“Mom?” Jeff muttered. “In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re in the way.”
“Are you going to make coffee and invite me in for a chat later?” Cole asked quietly.
Her heart sank. “I have some things that need to be done, and…and…”
“Mom?” Jeff shouted.
“I think it’s time you and I talked,” Cole said, staring straight into her eyes.
“Mom, are you moving or not?”
Robin looked frantically over her shoulder. “Oh…oh, sorry,” she whispered, blushing. She hurried away, then stood on the patio watching as the ball flew across the yard.
After catching a dozen of Jeff’s pitches, Cole got up and walked over to her son. They spoke for several minutes. Reluctantly, Robin decided it was time to go back in.
She busied herself wiping kitchen counters that were already perfectly clean and tried to stop thinking about the beautiful woman she’d seen with Cole on the Wharf.
Jeff stormed into the house. “Mom, would it be okay if Mr. Camden strings up an old tire from the apple tree?”
“I suppose. Why?”
“He said I can use it to practice pitching, and I wouldn’t have to bother you or Kelly.”
“I don’t think I have an old tire.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Camden has one.” He ran outside again before she could comment.
Jeff was back in the yard with Cole a few minutes later, far too soon to suit Robin. She forced a weak smile. That other woman was a perfect damsel to his knight in shining armor, she thought wryly. Robin, on the other hand, considered herself more of a court jester.
Her musings were abruptly halted when Cole walked into the kitchen, trailed by her son.
“Isn’t it time for your bath, Jeff?” Cole asked pointedly.
It looked for a minute as though the boy was going to argue. For the first time in recent memory, Robin would’ve welcomed some resistance from him.
“I guess,” he said. Bathing was about as popular as homework.
“I didn’t make any coffee,” Robin said in a small voice. She simply couldn’t look at Cole and not see the beautiful blonde on his arm.
“That’s fine. I’m more interested in talking, anyway,” he said. He walked purposefully to the table and pulled out a chair, then gestured for her to sit down.
Robin didn’t. Instead, she frowned at her watch. “My goodness, will you look at the time?”