“Take your time, Byrdie. I’ll just enjoy the view.”

Charlie’s eyes grew as wide as his smile, which sent Mrs. Kingsley into a fit of adolescent giggles that seemed to eviscerate the tension that had only seconds ago filled the café. Charlie skirted behind Lane, his cheeks as red as Mrs. Kingsley’s lipstick.

“Deputy Lynch was just leaving.” Lane pressed a hand to his chest to nudge him in the direction of the back door—big mistake. Gladys let out a whoop and whistled. “You’re distracting our customers.”

“So, we’re back to deputy now?” Charlie put his hand atop hers, their fingers interlacing just long enough for her to feel the beat of his heart. “Don’t be jealous.”

Lane pulled her hand out from under his—thankful this intimate moment happened in the privacy of her kitchen. “I appreciate you coming over to check on me.”

“Anytime.” Charlie tilted his chin. He swallowed and for a second Lane thought he was going to kiss her—maybe hoped he would—but instead two dimples framed his perfect lips as he smiled before pushing through the back door and taking the steps down her porch two at a time. At the bottom he turned and started walking backward toward the fence that separated their yards. “Wanna bet my dog has probably eaten my pillows for breakfast?”

Lane shook her head as her lower lip slipped between her front teeth. She smiled at the thought of Charlie walking into a house full of feathers, his wiry dog perched innocently in the middle of it all. She started to laugh. A giggle at first, but then the feathery scene that began to unfold in her mind sent her into a fit of hysterics that left her holding her side and tears sliding down her cheeks.

Ms. Byrdie and Mrs. Kingsley stepped into the hallway, concern creased on their faces, but Lane couldn’t stop. Could barely breathe. And she didn’t want to stop. Or explain. Didn’t want to think about alarms blaring or the reason why. She only wanted to relish this moment of emotional freedom.

To laugh. To feel. To live.

Her laugh. Charlie hadn’t imagined it as he left the Way Station Café and made his way home after the alarm fiasco. Lane laughed. He couldn’t explain why that simple act or the way the sound of her happiness—even at his expense—kick-started his spirit, but it had. Charlie was willing to do many things for Lane Kent, and making her laugh was near the top.

“Brought you some muffins from the Way Station.” Charlie set the bag of pastries his aunt had brought over just before he left for work in front of Frost. “They’re fresh and warm.”