Hat in hands, Jonas stood at the back door. His face was crimson, and his hair matted with perspiration.

She glanced at the wall clock and sprang to her feet. How had three hours passed while she did nothing? She opened the door and beckoned. “I’m so sorry!” Dashing to the counter, she rummaged through cabinets, not quite sure what she hoped to find.

He stepped inside. “I’m just here for water.”

A glass—she needed a glass. “I can’t believe I forgot your drink.” The afternoon was beastly, and she was drenched just from sitting. She yanked out a glass and a plate and plunked them onto the counter.

The door closed quietly behind him. “Don’t trouble yourself.”

She fumbled through the silverware drawer. Where were all the dessert forks? “But I saved the rest of the peach cobbler—it’s in the fridge—and I meant to make a pitcher of lemonade…” She flung wide the refrigerator door and grabbed the dish with the remains of the cobbler. As she closed the door with a hip and reached for a wooden spoon, the dish slipped from her sweat-slick fingers. End over end, it tumbled through the air and crashed to the floor in a spectacular explosion. Sticky pastry and chunks of broken glass careened outward, spattering the cabinets, the fridge, and her own feet. She dropped her arms at her sides.

Everything. Absolutely everything. Was ruined.

As tears streamed down her cheeks, she tucked her chin and closed her eyes. The refrigerator hummed the same endless note. The syrupy scent of cooked peaches flooded the room. Her chest heaved in silent sobs.

Footsteps came her way—worn leather soles on a hardwood floor. One step followed another. Gentle hands clasped her shoulders from behind. His breath tickled warm on the back of her neck.

“Mei wildi ros…”

The unfamiliar words needed no translation. They whispered straight to her battered heart like a lullaby. With a gentle tug, he spun her and wrapped his arms around her, enfolding her in the scents of cedar and sunshine. Her cheek sought cool cotton, and she surrendered, her breath gradually slowing to match the steady rise and fall of his chest. When she slid her arms around his waist, she fit into his body like a missing puzzle piece—snug, unforced, and so very right.

Had she really not seen him since they sat on her porch in the storm? So much had happened since then, but at that moment, none of it mattered. In his arms, she felt the world turn more slowly. She made peace with Time.

Her tears subsided. She sniffed and turned her head, pressing her forehead into the soft firmness of his chest. The last thing she wanted was to let him go, but she did, taking half a step backward, crunching glass and squishing peaches.

He pulled a spotless, white handkerchief from his pocket.