Wyatt pushed open the door and stepped aside so she could enter first. A wave of delicious smells wafted to his nostrils, and his stomach growled. He hoped it hadn’t been a loud sound. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m hungrier than I thought.”

She laughed and said, “That makes two of us. I can’t wait to see the specials she’s offering this evening.”

The café was busy, with local people lined up on stools at the bar and most of the tables already taken. Wyatt hung his Stetson on the rack near the front door and led Erin to a corner table where they could enjoy the fire without sitting so close that they grew too warm. Surrounded by skillfully mortared river rock, the firebox held a crisscross of burning logs, the flames licking up over the wood, a brilliant blue at their base and then turning from orange to yellow. The stones, which rose to the ceiling, were divided midway up by a log mantel that displayed antique cooking utensils. Above them hung a gorgeous painting of Mystic Creek and the natural bridge near the town center.

“Sissy struck just the right note with her choices of décor,” Erin said as she laid her coat on an extra chair at their table. “I envy her that ability.”

Wyatt stepped around to the back of her chair, which prompted her to look over her shoulder at him and say, “You don’t have to help me. I’ve got this.”

“I insist. A gentleman always seats a lady before he sits down himself.”

She rolled her eyes and allowed him to assist her. As he leaned over her, he got a whiff of her hair, which she’d loosened from the band she’d worn earlier and brushed to lay over her shoulders in a silky cloud of dark chestnut. The scent of vanilla wafted to his nose. Given that the other aromas in the building had already spiked his appetite, he wished she didn’t smell like something good to eat.

The moment they had taken their seats, Sissy’s husband, Ben Sterling, advanced on their table with menus. The couple’s infant son was cradled against Ben’s chest in a baby sling. He was a cute little guy with his daddy’s tawny hair and whiskey-colored eyes flecked with green.

“Oh, how darling!” Erin exclaimed. “He’s grown since I last saw him.” She reached up to touch one of the baby’s chubby fists. “How old is he now?”

“Just turned six months,” Ben said, his face glowing with pride. “We wanted to name him Jeremiah Paul after my pop, but Jeb’s son was already named after him. Sissy’s a big fan of To Kill a Mockingbird, so we settled for naming him Jem, my dad’s nickname when he was a kid.” Just then his daughter, Katie, appeared. Well, her face appeared. She peeked through the inverted V of her father’s slightly spread legs and peered up at Wyatt as if he had a third eye in the middle of his forehead. He grinned and mouthed the word hello to her. Her chubby cheeks dimpled in a quick smile that revealed tiny baby teeth, and then she hid her face against her daddy’s denim pants leg. Ben leaned slightly sideways to see around his infant son to locate his daughter. “Katie, here, just turned two. Sissy says our next one better be a girl, because her mom’s nose is out of joint. She wants a granddaughter to be named after her, too.”