He'd like to think had he known Blip and Evelyn invited Baker to dinner it wouldn't have mattered, but the honest part of Mike could admit that had he known in advance, he would have accepted the dinner invitation a lot sooner. That it wouldn't have taken three invitations followed by one threat by Evelyn. Had he known Baker was coming he would have said yes immediately because there was something about Baker; she intrigued him. Hell, she did that to everyone. There was no way to not be amazed by her. How did one become the first woman in Major League Baseball? If that didn't make you want to know more about her you weren't curious about anything. She was something special beyond her talent. Had to be to get where she was.

But for all he didn't know about her, because Baker had to be unwrapped in layers, he understood her. Understood the passion, felt the crushing weight of the pressure, the suffocation and isolation of special talent. He watched plenty of potential superstars, guys with pure talent, once in a lifetime talent, cycle in and out of the major leagues. That talent was squandered thanks to mental weakness, ego, laziness, or just plain stupidity. People underestimated how profound basic stupidity was in derailing lives. But navigating that minefield as a woman in a man's world — what did that do to a girl's head? All the times people talked about women in a man's world, they were talking about Silicon Valley or the military. That was a cakewalk compared to Baker's life. Thirty years ago Lisa Olson was harassed in an NFL locker room and her newspaper transferred her to Australia to get away from the abuse and death threats for daring to be a woman trying to do her job as a sports reporter. Baker had not only charged through the door, but pulled up a seat and staked her spot.

And hell, things were just more fascinating when Baker was around. Like now, they were laughing at the story of her latest awkward encounter because of her instant fame. And the stories were endless. The four of them sat outside in the backyard while the twins were up in their room, the nanny keeping watch. There were candles on the table, tiki torches lit around the lanai. A bottle of wine in the center of the table next to an empty one lying on its side. Serving dishes full of food. Evelyn's risotto was one of the best he ever tasted.

It looked like a double date and if anyone else planned it he'd think so, but he knew Evelyn. She wasn't matchmaking. She was Martha Stewart on speed and it was all about the ambiance. She didn't need an excuse to decorate. He would bet money she took pictures of the table before they arrived. He had been to the Sanders' home enough times to have candlelit dinners even when he was the third wheel to know this was just a regular dinner with friends.

"So Ginny," Blip said. "How was lunch with your mom?"

Evelyn sent Blip a look that he seemed to not notice, but of course he did, because no one knew Evelyn Sanders better than her husband and vice versa.

Ginny groaned, and she placed her knife and fork down on her plate. "How it always goes. Every question was nothing but judgment, dripping contempt. Like, Ginny, how are you? I mean, what is that?"

"Jeez, Baker," Mike groaned, grabbing his wine glass before leaning back and taking a sip.

Ginny was about to take a sip until he spoke and she froze, the glass midway to her face. Her glare was now on him. "You don't know her."

He looked around the table, amused by Blip's silent plea to end it before things got uncomfortable, even though Blip was the one who mentioned Baker's mother. Then there was Evelyn glaring at him and not her husband, the instigator. "You're right," he said as he made sure not to say anything else to upset Baker by filling his mouth with more wine while diverting his eyes to his empty plate.

He could empathize with Ginny. Family could be a bitch and he knew Ginny's wasn't perfect, but at least she had a mother who tried. Before his mother died, she was a financial transaction his accountant handled each month. They didn't talk much and just like during his youth, she attended none of his games.

"Ginny," Evelyn practically sang. Mike imagined this could only mean something gossipy. "When are you going out with Jason Dean?"

"I'm not." Baker's response was immediate. As if she knew this would be a topic of discussion and prepared her answer.

"What? Why not?" Evelyn was practically apoplectic.

"I'm not ready, Evelyn."

"There's no such thing," Evelyn said. "You just have to take a chance."

Mike knew for a fact that Evelyn was living vicariously through Ginny. Years of marriage and kids would do that, he imagined. No matter how much she loved Blip, there was something about being a single girl and the obvious object of countless men and women's — because everyone wanted Baker — affection that Evelyn would never feel again. She got more excited about the possibilities regarding Baker's romantic like than Baker herself.

Ginny poked at her food. "The time isn't right."

"It never is. You can't let that stop you from meeting that special person," Evelyn said. "Or at least have some fun." A wicked smile spread across her face. She winked at Baker.

"You need to get some," said Blip, more colorfully to the point.

"Really, Blip?" Ginny put her head down but her eyes darted around the table.

"Relieve some stress." Blip shrugged.

"I mean, two years is a long time," Evelyn said sympathetically.

"Two years?" Blip's eyes were wide as saucers. "I didn't know it was that bad. Man," he said with a shake of his head.

You'd think someone died, but it explained a lot. Like how she ran like a madwoman on that treadmill, Mike mused. He refused to look at Ginny. Not feeling comfortable with what would run through his mind at the thought of her not having sex or worse, imagining her when she finally did. Good luck to the lucky bastard who got the honors. And for her sake, after all that time, Mike hoped the guy wouldn't be a disappointment, but he probably would be because she'd probably choose someone her age.

"Amelia said he's some kind of super music producer," Ginny said with a shrug.

"Who?" Mike asked.

"Jason Dean," Evelyn said. "Mike, he's all over the place. How do you not know him? Everyone knows him."

"No," Mike said. "Everyone knows Rihanna and Beyonce and Katy Perry. His name is so generic it might as well be John Smith."

"I'm sure it's a coincidence you only mentioned women." Evelyn rolled her eyes at him.

He smiled.

"So, Ginny," Evelyn said as she made hand gestures to give her information.

"He's not my type."

"Please." Evelyn laughed. "He's everyone's type. I mean everyone's."

Ginny's resounding silence signaled the end of the conversation.

Evelyn looked past Mike and then at her watch. "We're going to put the boys to bed. Be back."

Mike turned to see the nanny standing at the door with a smile on her face. When Evelyn and Blip left the table and headed for the door, she waited for them, then followed behind them. He and Baker sat in silence for what couldn't have been more than thirty seconds, but it felt so much longer. The silence felt heavy because Baker's mind didn't do light and carefree. There was always something deep, sometimes painful, bubbling just under the surface waiting to erupt and he was always waiting to lift her back up even if she didn't know it.

That's what her life was — a series of calms before storms. Even her love life. He thought of it as love, but if she was a guy, the word love wouldn't have entered his mind. Ballplayers were expected to have wild times and even wilder sex. There was even a disgusting term for all the women they slept with while on a road trip — road beef. He couldn't imagine being okay with seeing Baker run through groupies the way the rest of them did. The way he once did. Seeing her with her ex who didn't understand how to delete pictures and then that tech geek was more than he could take. Neither was good for her.

Ginny stood up, kicking off one shoe and then the other as she made her way over to the pool. She hugged herself and ran her hands up and down her arms despite the thin sweater she wore over her dress. He watched as she pulled her dress up her thighs then put her legs in the pool. He remained at the table, giving her the space he assumed she wanted since she walked away from the table and him. But when she looked back over her shoulder at him, holding eye contact for longer than normal, he figured she wanted his attention.

He filled both their wine glasses and joined her at the pool. His knees wanted nothing to do with sitting at the pool's edge. Instead, he pulled a lounge chair over and sat close to her.

She extended her legs, and he watched the water swirl around her legs and feet as she moved them back and forth.

"So, what's your type?"

She looked over at him and he could see the realization of what he was asking wash over her face. "I don't really have one." She took her glass and drank half before placing it down next to her. She leaned back on her elbows.

"Everyone says that and it's always a lie," he said.

"What?" Her facial expression was a combination of offended and confused.

"People don't mean to be deceptive, just protective of themselves I guess. So, what's your type?"

"Why? You gonna hook me up with someone?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Definitely not." He didn't believe in playing matchmaker. Most relationships failed and most of those didn't end well. He wanted no part of someone else's nasty breakup.

"I have expectations guys my age seem to think are a non-starter."

"Such as? It's like pulling teeth here, Baker." Mike said.

Funny how similar they were. He was the same way, but now, in Baker, he saw how exhausting he could be.

She gave in, knowing the only person who equaled her in stubbornness was him. "I want honesty, someone who will commit when the time comes. Someone who will have my back. I just want accountable, not perfect."

"Sounds easy enough. Basic respect." He had to admit he wasn't always good at those basic things. His inability to do those things he now found so simple when they tumbled out of Baker's mouth cost him his marriage to the only woman he ever loved. Why couldn't he be that for Rachel? He said the wrong things. He did the wrong things.

"Yeah, until those abstract words have to be put in practice and then it's not so easy," she said. "Guys always talk about how they are such a good guy until it's time to be a good guy. Then you're asking for too much or you're nagging."

He nodded. "Gotcha." And he did, because he always seemed to come up short when Rachel needed him the most. Every time she wanted him to stay home with her instead of going out with the guys for the sake of team bonding. Every time she needed him to understand why the criticisms she — a high profile woman — received from fans and colleagues weren't just the typical shit that came with the territory. She had so little faith in him that after a while she stopped telling him things. It was while watching a PSA where men read hate mail female sports journalists received did he find out about the rape and death threats. He thought he was a good guy, but he slept next to her at night and did not understand how horribly she suffered.

"What about you?" She stared down at the water. "Are you getting out there? Dating?"

"Oh no," he said with a faint laugh. "But it's not because I don't know my type. I'm just not interested in a relationship."

"So what's your type?"

He could hear the playfulness in her voice and he also knew she was shifting the focus away from herself. He often did the same. Artful, subtle deflection was a skill.

"Let me guess," she said. "Beautiful and willing?"

That was fair. Over the past year, that was all he was looking for. But there was a twinge of what… anger? Embarrassment? That it came from her? Had one of the boys said that he'd laugh. Felt a sense of pride. But it didn't seem something to be proud of when she said it.

"Sorry."

He looked at her, and he could tell she meant it. "Hey," he said. "It's the truth."

"Doesn't mean it needs to be said," she said. "I feel like the formula for a great relationship isn't complicated, people make it." She looked over at him. "But what do I know? Maybe that thinking is proof I have no idea what I'm talking about. It's more complicated than that, right?"

"Yeah. It is."

"So? Your type?" She wasn't giving up.

"Independent." He needed a woman to have her own life, own ambitions. Someone whose day didn't always start and end with him. Someone who could handle eighty-one road games. Who didn't need him to make every important decision. He had that in Rachel, but it was a fine balance because sometimes he felt Rachel was a little too damn independent. Didn't need him. He once told her that, told her she acted like she didn't need him and she said she didn't. It still stung even when she explained that instead of needing him, she wanted to him.

"I want smart," she said.

"Flexible."

She looked over at him and laughed. "Sorry." Then she snorted, which made her laugh even harder.

"Okay, smartass. Adaptable, go with the flow," he said.

She covered her mouth with her hand as if trying to force the smile off her lips. "Someone who makes me laugh. I like to laugh."

He gave her a hard time about it, but he loved to hear her laugh. She had one of those big laughs that filled a room. "Kind. Not nice," he said as he stared up at the stars. "I've learned there's a difference."

They continued to go back and forth with him telling her what he wanted his relationship to look like and Baker doing the same. It was crazy how similar they were and not just with the normal foundations upon which relationships are built but things like morning routines, but maybe that's because they had the same career.

Despite his extensive dating history, Mike was like Al in that they didn't see women as equals. They saw women as more, as precious beings to be protected and adored. Unfair to women? Probably. He dare not say it to Baker for fear of one of her feminista rants. She'd gotten more comfortable giving the locker room a piece of her mind.

She stood up, still holding her dress with one hand and her glass of wine in the other. He stood with her. They made their way to each other.

"Well, Baker, not sure it really matters what I think, but for what it's worth — seems like you're ready."

"You think so?"

"You know what you want," he said.

"So do you," she whispered, her head tilted to the side.

Did he? Sometimes he thought he did. Sometimes he wasn't sure. Sometimes what he wanted came to him in his sleep and jolted him awake. Wanting good things when he wasn't sure he deserved them or could have them scared him.

She gave him a brief smile and downed the rest of her wine. They stood there, together, until Blip and Evelyn returned.