Dustin unlatched his watch. He only wore the thing to church, so it still looked brand new. Not that he avoided church—his game schedule made it difficult to get his butt in a pew on a regular basis. If he was out of town on a Sunday, he’d listen to a Christian rock station on IHeartRadio and bring a bit of Jesus into his week.

He made it to the early service and had the pleasure of sitting next to his mom and dad. They liked to have church over by ten so they could get home and prepare a big family dinner. The church wasn’t anything fancy, just an off-white stucco building with a dark wooden cross over the door. If he had to give a comparison, he’d say it looked like a Spanish mission on the outside.

The inside was worn wooden floors and nicked and scratched wooden pews. The same pews that supported wedding guests, believers in Christ, searchers for truth, mourning funeral guests, and the occasional lost sheep. Long, skinny windows punctuated the walls, allowing natural light to cut through the otherwise dim interior.

Dustin missed a lot of those family dinners, too, and Mom liked to poke him about it now and then. She let him off the hook this week because he’d hit a home run and family had called from all over the US to congratulate her. She was perched like a robin over a nest of eggs in the pew, with Dustin’s brother and his family sitting in front of them. Mom looked pretty in her dress with the big colorful flowers all over it, and he told her as much and kissed her cheek in hello.

“Ah, it’s so good to see my boy. Your Uncle Steven sends his love and asked if he could have the home run ball.”

Dustin chuckled. “Sorry, I hit it into the sagebrush. It’s gone.”

She tsked. “It’s just as well. He’d probably sell it on eBay.” She patted his leg. “Now, there are several young ladies here who wouldn’t mind an introduction to my famous, single son.”

Dustin leaned back, grateful for the sturdy seat. His mother knew how to set him off his game. “Mom. Not today. I came to hear a sermon, not get set up on a blind date. Give me a break—please.”

“If I can find you a beautiful woman and get you off the ball field, I can die at peace,” she’d said while patting his leg.

The familiar tension built behind Dustin’s left eye. “I’m not leaving baseball, Mom.”

“Not yet—every player retires eventually. I want you to do it while you’re still young enough to give me grandbabies.”

“What? Four isn’t enough?” He motioned to his nieces and nephews poking one another in front of them.

“I could never have enough.” She used the weekly announcement sheet to fan herself.

Dustin withdrew himself from the conversation. There was no point in fighting a battle he wasn’t going to win. His parents saw baseball the same way Clover saw baseball. The knowledge hit him like a revelation. No wonder Clover calling him Peter Pan bothered him so much. His parents had been telling him to grow up for a long time.

He wasn’t opposed to marriage and family. Some of the players on the team were married with kids, but most of the guys were single, not wanting to settle down because their lives could change in an instant.

Dustin opted for avoidance. “You’re nowhere near dying, Mom.” He shook his head. His mom had the same soft black hair she’d had since the day he was born, and her skin was plump and soft with nary a wrinkle. He prayed he aged as well as his mother, because next to her, his dad looked like a raisin.

The choir began the opening song, and Dustin settled in to listen and get a little peace in his week. He had a lot more downtime when the team traveled, but when they were at home, he hardly had time to breathe. This moment was a gift, and he intended to enjoy it.

When the sermon was over, he stood with his family and exchanged hugs.

The phone rang, taking Dustin away from the ribbing his dad was giving his brother. His agent’s face beamed up at him from the screen. With a quick check of the time and a wave goodbye to his family, he hurried to the back of the room and answered with, “Either you’ve got good news or I’m in big trouble.”

Reed laughed. “You’re a barrel of monkeys, man.”

“What’s up?”

“It just so happens that I do have good news. Your social media pages are exploding.”

Dustin headed toward the parking lot, loosening his tie as he walked. He had an hour to get to the stadium. Their last game against the Phillies started at five. “Home runs are big news.”

“No, man, it’s these pics of you at the homeless shelter.”

“It’s more of a soup kitchen.” Dustin paused at his car, not sure why he’d bothered to correct Reed.

“Whatever. You should look into donating to them. Monthy. The tax benefits are substantial, and it’s doing good things for your image. Get lots of pictures. The better you look now, the easier it will be to get a contract with a new team next summer.”

Dustin threw his tie into the back seat and shrugged out of his jacket. He knew there were politics involved in getting on a team with a bigger payroll, but the idea of using The Pantry to further his career didn’t sit right. What would Clover think about that?

He rubbed his face. Clover wasn’t part of this, and yet he had a hard time separating her from The Pantry. “Let me think on it.”

“Don’t think too long. The fiscal year is almost up.”

“Okay.” He said goodbye and tossed his phone on the passenger seat. He had a game to play today and he wasn’t feeling it. Try as he might, he couldn’t put himself on the field mentally. His head wasn’t in the right place. He needed Clover and the fire in her eyes to bring out the fight inside of him.

He checked the clock. There was no time to stop by The Pantry and verbally spar with the beautiful brunette. He’d have to take this game on his own. He could do this. He’d played well enough to get into the Majors without Clover, and he could continue without her, too.

He hurried to change his shirt, breaking off a button in the process. He shouldn’t be changing in the car, but he didn’t want his suit to sit in the locker room all day. He picked up the button and stared at it. The little round disk sat heavy in his palm. Like an omen. The buckle fell right off his belt, broken beyond repair. Another omen. He bit back a curse. No swearing on Sunday.

Forget about changing.

Slamming the keys in the ignition, he dialed Reed’s number and put the phone to his ear. “Let’s do The Pantry donations. Just make sure I get to show up a couple times a week.”

Reed agreed to his terms and conditions, sure that The Pantry would take whatever Dustin wanted to give, be it time or money. He promised to have something set up by the time the team got back from Cincinnati. They flew out Monday morning and played that night. Thursday was a travel day. He could pop into The Pantry and tell Clover the good news.

His mood brightened. Yep. He’d see the firecracker in a few short days. The thought was enough to get him out on the field with a bounce in his step.