Alison sat on the first row of the bleachers lining the softball field in Wildstone’s state park. The park was near the beach and a huge draw to locals because one could day camp, barbecue, lounge on the grass, walk to the beach, or play softball. She squirmed a bit, waiting for the game to start. She hated the first row. It left her open and exposed to everyone who walked by and wanted to talk.

And everyone in Wildstone always wanted to talk.

If she had her way, she’d be on the top row in a far corner. Or maybe in her car. Or better yet, at home in her town house that was the size of a postage stamp, but was at least all hers. Well, okay, it was the bank’s, but in twenty-seven years it’d be all hers.

Except . . . the truth was that she’d never miss Simon’s weekly rec league softball game. For one thing, it was a huge stress reliever watching a bunch of hot guys being fiercely competitive about a little ball. But if Alison was being honest, she was really here for Ryan. He played on Simon’s team, and no way would she miss the chance to see him. She hadn’t seen him in the nearly two weeks since they’d broken up and she needed a glimpse. She needed more than a glimpse, but she’d take what she could get.

She’d come straight from work, which meant she was in full armor: makeup, her favorite suit that made her butt look good, and, thankfully, it was a good hair day. No one would be able to see that she’d had a rough couple of weeks. The roughest in a long time, and that was saying something.

When Ryan’s truck pulled into the lot, she felt it all the way to her toes, which meant he was still making her feel things without even trying. She sure as hell hoped he was feeling things too—like devastation. Because why did it matter that she wasn’t good at opening up with his friends and family, she wasn’t dating any of them, she was dating Ryan.

Well, past tense dating.

“It mattered to Ryan.” This from Simon’s dad, her uncle Dale, who was sitting next to her. “That you didn’t like anyone in his life,” he clarified.

“Hey, it wasn’t that I didn’t like them. It’s that there are so many of them.”

Dale nodded. “You gotta point there. Maybe you could figure out a way to ease in. You know, soothe your introverted soul by starting small. I bet if you gave it any effort at all, Ryan would help you.”

Alison wanted to believe that could be true, but after nearly a year of struggling together, he’d given up on her.

“Listen,” Dale said gently. “I’m fine here by myself. I don’t need a babysitter. Go sit up at the top of the bleachers and hide behind your big, fancy sunglasses while you think it over.”

Dale was her mom’s older brother. Estranged older brother. This had been mostly due to Alison’s mom running away when she’d been fifteen, then coming back five years later with a kid.

Alison didn’t remember much about those early years, except that she and her mom had struggled. A lot. She also remembered the both of them trying to hide that fact. Her mom had refused to accept help from anyone, especially her brother; she wouldn’t even tell him she needed help as she hopped from job to job, making just enough for her and Alison to get by. The day Alison graduated from high school, her mom had taken off with some guy to backpack around Europe. She popped in and out of Alison’s life every other year or so, mostly when she needed money.

Alison had never told anyone about their struggles, but she suspected Dale had known. Little things gave him away. Like how he’d managed to sneakily give her a leg up whenever she’d needed it the most. Money for food when she’d been in high school. A job while she’d been getting her AA, one that had led to a career for her at Armstrong Properties. She loved him ridiculously. Maybe because when he’d been at his sharpest, he’d also been at his grumpiest, and she understood that on a core level.

Her uncle had played a lot of roles in her life, the most important being a pseudo dad, which she could never thank him enough for. But he’d also been a friend, an employer, and, during her wild teen years, also her enforcer. She was grateful for every single moment of it.

And now it was her turn to help him. “I’m good sitting here with you.”

“Liar.”

She smiled. “What if some hot chick texts you and you need help responding?”

“Then she should have called me instead of texted.”

Alison shuddered in horror at the idea of having to talk on the phone instead of answering a text. “Barbaric.”

He shook his head. “Terrible horrible death coming . . .” He pointed at her. “You too.”

Dale was getting better after the strokes, but he was sometimes hard to understand, and his right side didn’t always work the way he wanted it to. Every time he had an issue—which could be trying to button his own shirt or work his phone—he’d grumble with frustration and say “terrible horrible death coming.” Then he’d point at Simon and Alison and tell them they should also prepare, because these things were hereditary and they too would someday face a terrible horrible death.

“Simon asked you not to say that anymore,” she reminded him.

“Hey, I don’t make up the rules of life.”

Alison shook her head. He was the most stubborn man she knew. Simon was the second.

“Ryan’s here.”

Yeah, she was aware, because even if she hadn’t seen his truck, she’d have known by her racing pulse. “And?”

“And . . . stop being crabby just because you’re torn between your pride and what you really want.”

“Gee, thanks, Dr. Phil.”

Dale cackled. He was wearing trousers and a pressed button-down. He wouldn’t wear pants in his house, but if he went anywhere, he had to look “spiffy.” He’d been into work exactly once since the strokes. Simon had thought it might cheer him up, but Dale had gotten away on his own for a few minutes, and to the shock of everyone, had shut down and locked the company’s entire system. He said he was just making sure everyone was on their toes.

It’d taken a week to fix.

In spite of pulling off that feat, he often couldn’t remember his own address.

“You’re afraid,” he said. “Afraid to let love in.”

And then every once in a while, like right now, he’d do or say something that told her his mind was sharp as a steel trap. “Just when I think you’re not paying attention,” she managed to say lightly.