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life.”
    “Oh, they care all right. If it’s something they can give me a hard time about, they care. And personally, I could do without their dating advice. I get enough shit from you already.”
    Abby watched them chatting, catching up on gossip about friends on the softball team. It figured that Gwynne played softball. She was probably great at it. Even if she wasn’t great at it, she looked like she’d at least fit in. She was the cute, petite, less intimidating version of Hank, with a too-short haircut and a direct gaze that was not quite feminine. She’d swing the bat with a confident, graceful arc and she’d look perfect sliding in the dirt, her body tangling with another jock’s and rolling from the impact.
    And where did that thought come from?
    She snapped out of it as Hank crumpled her trash and rose to return to work.
    “When are you going to start playing with us again?” Hank asked Gwynne.
    “I don’t know.” Gwynne’s shoulders slumped. “I have a lot going on.”
    Hank swayed uncomfortably like she didn’t know what to say. “I heard. Sorry about your mom and your sister.”
    Kira’s partner had warned Abby about that—that Gwynne wasn’t normally grumpy, but she’d recently suffered two deaths in the family.
    “Thanks.” Gwynne stared at her desk.
    Hank stood silently for several long, awkward moments before edging toward the exit. “Come back anytime. We could use you.”
    “I guess,” Gwynne mumbled unconvincingly.
    “You too,” Hank threw over her shoulder at Abby. It sounded like an afterthought.
    Abby fingered the ends of her longer-than-shoulder-length hair. Maybe she would try softball again. Just because she didn’t look the part didn’t mean she couldn’t learn to smack a ball. Her strong shoulders had to count for something.
    Hank stopped in the archway and turned around. “And that chick you were dating,” she told Gwynne. “The good pitcher?”
    Gwynne frowned. “The red pushup bra?”
    “Yeah, her. How come we never see her anymore?”
    “Because we broke up.” Gwynne sounded like it should be obvious.
    “That doesn’t mean she had to quit showing up.”
    “Her choice, Hank. Maybe if you guys had bothered to learn her name…”
    “Maybe if you didn’t call her the red pushup bra , we would’ve.”
    Gwynne folded her arms across her chest. “I’ll let her know you want her back on the team.”
    “Great.” Hank pulled on her jacket. “And do me a favor. Don’t date anyone on the team. We can’t afford to lose more players because of you.”
    “I gave you that player,” Gwynne protested.
    “Yeah, fine.”
    Abby didn’t watch her go—she watched Gwynne. A red pushup bra? What was it that Gwynne had found so fascinating about her ex-girlfriend’s choice of undergarments? Abby twined her fingers in her hair. Maybe she didn’t want to know.
    “When did you break up?” Abby asked instead.
    “What? Oh, it’s been a while,” Gwynne said distractedly. “You should join the softball team, if you’re interested. They need more players.”
    “You’re assuming I can play,” Abby pointed out. “You’re the one she really wants.”
    “Don’t worry about Hank. She’s allergic to women who wear dresses.”
    “And you’re not?”
    Gwynne ran her fingers through her hair and made it spikier. She met her gaze for a long moment. “No.”
    Abby tried to breathe, pretending that gaze hadn’t done anything for her.
    “She’s met me before,” Abby said. “And I wasn’t wearing a dress.” The problem with Hank, if there was one, was not about her clothing choices and appearance. But if Gwynne wanted to act like it was, she’d go along with it. “I was wearing fleece leggings.”
    “Leggings?”
    “It was too cold to wear shorts.” She wasn’t the only one on the softball field who’d thought so, either. “I didn’t move here from North Dakota.”
    Gwynne shook her head and smiled. What, did Gwynne think she was missing some obvious