A handwritten sign dangled from a crate: “Whoopie pies, seventy-five cents.” Had they cost a quarter back in the day? Still, seventy-five cents seemed a darned good price for a taste of paradise. But which to choose? She nibbled her bottom lip. Forget these new-fangled flavors—she was going old school with classic chocolate and vanilla. Surveying with scientific precision, she set down her fries and selected the biggest pie from the tray. As she pulled off her backpack and fished out her wallet, she caught the girl staring with an unabashed openness she’d never seen from the Plain people. She smiled and looped her hair behind one ear.

The child scampered to an Amish man sitting on an upturned milk crate against the wall. She cupped her fingers over her lips and whispered in the man’s ear.

He inclined his head toward the girl and glancing up, met Tessa’s gaze.

In that instant, every fiber of every muscle in her legs turned to barely congealed gelatin. To say his eyes were blue wasn’t sufficient. They were cobalt and cerulean, blue sky on glacial water, infinite, bottomless blue. His expression was as open as the child’s. Not a trace of cynicism darkened the creases at the corners of his eyes. By sheer force of will, she didn’t collapse onto the table of baked goods.

Blood rushed to her cheeks so quickly they burned. She hadn’t believed she could feel any hotter that steamy summer day. She was wrong.

He lifted one corner of his mouth in a half smile. “You may tell her yourself, Rebecca.”

Though the words weren’t intended for her, his voice washed over her like a warm wave, leaving her bobbing in the undertow.

The girl shook her head, waggling a blonde bun coiled like a cinnamon roll beneath a gauzy head covering.

“Go on, if you like,” he said.

With small, skipping steps, the girl approached and peeked from beneath pale lashes.

Tessa gazed into bright eyes nearly as blue as the man’s. “Hello.”

The girl entwined her fingers in her skirt and tugged the fabric tight. “Your hair is the same color as my cat, and she’s the best cat in the world.” In a heartbeat, she fled and buried her face in the man’s lap.

“My goodness. What a compliment. Thank you.” She fumbled with the clasp of her wallet, discovering only then she smooshed her thumb deep into the whoopie pie.

The elfin child giggled and bounced on bare toes.

Standing, the man swept her into his arms and smiled down at Tessa. “Rebecca has not seen many women with ginger hair.”

Ginger hair. For years, she was tormented by boneheaded boys shouting, “Carrot Top” and “Flame.” No one ever called her mane ginger. Beneath his candid gaze, her curls heated like embers, warming her from top to toe. Who was this man?

The girl wriggled, knocking askew his straw hat.