“Right. Come on, kiddos.” Meagan guided the children in the direction of the house. “Maybe my sister will let me talk to you later?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Sorry about that,” Lane said to Charlie, ignoring Meagan’s amused expression as she walked the kids to the house. “The work you had to finish?”

“We tried running the numbers you got from the license plate, but the search is too broad. Deputy Frost is working to narrow it down by the color and make of the car.”

“Like a needle in a haystack then, huh?”

“Frost is a genius when it comes to finding needles.”

Lane wasn’t surprised. She’d spent the rest of the afternoon trying to convince herself the drivers of the cars were only stupid teenagers, but after Sheriff Huggins planted the idea in her mind that one of the drivers could be the man who had visited her café, she found it hard not to be jumpy.

Charlie leaned in. “You look amazing.”

His whispered words tickled the hair on her neck. His hand brushed against hers until his fingers laced with hers, chasing away all the unwanted thoughts invading her mind. Lane’s chest thundered at the intimacy of the moment, yet they were right there in the middle of the lawn where anyone could see them . . . like her father.

Lane’s eyes scanned the crowd until she found her parents. Thankfully their attention was focused on the latest wife of a commissioner and not on her. “Um, you’re just in time. They’re getting ready to serve the food. Would you like a plate?”

“I’m not really that hungry.” Charlie’s words didn’t match the hunger she could see in his eyes. His gaze fell to her lips for a long second before he looked away. “What’s over there?”

Lane hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. Did she want him to kiss her? She pulled her hand free and adjusted the camera sling on her neck. They needed a distraction. “The auction items. Do you want to see them?”

“Sure.” They started toward the large white tent lit up with twinkling lights. “This is a little bigger than I expected.”

“You mean you don’t have catering, live music, and an auction at your barbecues?”

Charlie bumped her shoulder with his and flashed his megawatt smile. “No. We’ve got a grill, a cooler, and a radio.”

Goodness, that smile did something to her. Lane ignored the heat blossoming in her cheeks and turned her focus on the long tables lined with gift certificates, pieces of jewelry, and art.

“Do you like football? There’s a football signed by the Atlanta Falcons—all of them.” Lane lifted her camera and snapped a few pictures of nearby guests reading the descriptions of the auction items. “Comes with season tickets, including the president’s box on opening day.”