Amayah saw it at the same time. “That’s . . . a baseball.”
Before he could stop her, she pulled on her coat and stepped outside.
He followed, scanning the street as cold air sliced through the doorway. All her Christmas decorations—wooden reindeer, evergreen garlands, colorful lights winding around trees and porch railings—were in place.
A chorus of guilty voices rose from the neighboring yard.
Six kids stood frozen mid-game, bundled in mismatched coats and knit hats, a crooked bat in one boy’s hand. The smallest girl clutched a glove twice her size.
“Sorry,” a lanky boy, probably twelve, said. “The ball wasn’t supposed to go that far.”
Another kid added, “The snow makes it slippery. Like . . . extra aerodynamic.”
Luke huffed a surprised laugh before he could help it.
Amayah crossed her arms, trying—and failing—to look properly stern. “You guys can’t play baseball this close to the house. Someone could get hurt.”
“We’re sorry, Ms. Door Lady,” a young girl piped up. “We wasn’t trying to break nothin’.”
Luke glanced at Amayah. “Ms. Door Lady?”
She smiled despite herself. “That’s what they call me.”
“Hey, you Crump kids!” a voice across the street shouted. “Get away from the nice lady’s window!”
The kids groaned in unison.
“Sorry, Mr. Grumpy!” the oldest yelled.
“That’s not really his name,” Amayah whispered.
“I figured.” Luke drew in a breath before saying, “I’ll board up the window. You can’t leave that open overnight.”
“You’re right, I can’t. I’ve got some plywood in the shed. If you don’t mind . . . I could use the help.”
“Not at all.” And for reasons Luke hadn’t fully sorted through yet, the last thing he could imagine right now was leaving Amayah to deal with this mess on her own.
CHAPTER 4
Amayah and Lukestepped into her small backyard, boots crunching through uneven snow as dusk gathered like a hush over the terrain.
The little shed in the corner of the yard sagged slightly, its weathered boards warped and silvered from years of wind and ice. A rust-specked metal roof slanted unevenly, and thin icicles clung to its edge like fragile teeth, catching the last fading light.
Replacing the structure was on her list of things to eventually do here at the house. But she thought she’d wait until spring. She had other expenses to focus on before then.
Amayah pulled the door open, its hinges protesting with a dry groan, and the faint scent of dust and aged pine drifted out. Inside, shelves bowed under the weight of stacked odds and ends—half-empty paint cans, tangled cords, a dented lantern, garden tools, and a scattering of forgotten season-deep intentions.
She stepped inside and began rummaging through the supplies she kept here—mostly art supplies. But she knew she had some plywood she’d purchased for one of those projects.
“The Crumps live next door,” she said quietly. “Their mom seems to be struggling. A lot. Trouble just sort of circles that house.”
Luke’s gaze softened, and he helped her tug the plywood out from where it was wedged into a corner. “So you just try to keep the peace by not making a big deal out of broken windows?”
She took a step back. “I try to stay available. This may sound strange, but sometimes loving people looks like showing up, and other times it looks like stepping back and letting God be the one who carries the weight.”
“Interesting take on things.” He moved the plywood toward the door.
“I know what it’s like to struggle,” she admitted.
