Dottie, Ms. Byrdie, and Lane shared a laugh as they served second helpings until everyone was satisfied. Lane had just begun to clean up when the door to the Way Station Café opened, letting in a blast of the day’s high temperatures and a familiar face that turned her insides warm and disoriented her thoughts.

“Well, there’s my good-looking nephew.” Ms. Byrdie went around the counter and embraced Charlie. “Perfect timing. We have enough to make you a plate. Have a seat at the counter.”

His eyes were locked on her as he strolled up to the counter and sat on a stool. “Hey, Lane.”

It felt like she had swallowed a mouthful of sawdust. She was unable to offer even a simple greeting in return. In his uniform, Charlie was drawing a mix of curious and anxious looks from the others in the café.

“Lane, do we have any more napkins in the back?”

Dottie’s question snapped Lane out of her trance. “Um, yes. I’ll just go get them.”

“I got it.” Dottie leaned close to Lane’s ear. “Go help that hunk of handsome before I forget I got a man of my own.”

Ducky’s grating laughter pulled Lane’s attention to where the scrappy senior citizen sat next to Charlie, slapping his shoulder like they were old friends.

“You need anything else, Ducky? A refill on dessert or iced tea?”

“Just telling this city boy who’s been eyeing you that you’re already spoken for.”

Lane rolled her eyes, to which Charlie smiled, dimples and all. “Don’t mind him. He’s ornery.”

“I don’t know.” Charlie rotated on the stool. “I think the man’s pretty astute to recognize a beautiful lady when he sees one.”

“Doncha’ try and use that city talk on me, son. I know astute when I see one, and you ain’t gonna pull one over on ol’ Ducky.” Ducky winked with his good eye and pointed a finger at Charlie. “I’m watching you, young fella.”

Charlie’s eyes were wide as Ducky found an empty chair at a table with Wilbur and Clarence. “Seems like I’ve got some competition.”

Lane blushed, unable to meet his eyes. There was no competition if the heat rising in her chest was any indication of what her heart felt. “Um, can I get you something to drink?”

“I know these aren’t regular business hours”—Charlie reached across the counter and let his fingers play across hers, making it hard for Lane to breathe—“but I needed to be sure you were okay. You know, from earlier.”

Lane started to respond when another puff of warm, muggy air breached the air-conditioned atmosphere of her café. Lane looked over Charlie’s shoulders at the man who had entered. She blinked twice to convince herself the disheveled man in a dirty shirt and torn jeans with dark hair pointing in every direction was Miguel.

“I’ll be right back.” Lane came around the counter, but Dottie stepped in front of her.

“I’ll take this one, honey. You go take care of Mr. Good-Looking.”