A round of goodbyes sent the three men out the door, with Ducky giving Charlie one final withering look before Lane locked the door behind them.

“What was that?” Charlie exhaled. “The Rubies? Duke?”

“Don’t forget Grizzly Adams,” Lane added.

Was she smirking?

“Would you like some coffee?” Aunt B asked. “Or milk?”

“Milk, please.” Charlie slid onto the vacated stool in front of his aunt and picked up a spoon. “Can someone please explain what just happened.”

“I’ll get it,” Lane offered, reaching for a glass. Her blouse skimmed the waistline of her jeans just enough so that some skin peeked—

“The Duke”—Charlie’s aunt stepped in front of him, cutting off his view, while heat filled his face at the sight of her inquisitive expression—“is John Wayne. The Rubies are a group of seniors, women, at the church. And Grizzly Adams—”

“I know who Grizzly Adams is.” Charlie ate a bite of the cobbler—it was delicious. And so was the second and the third.

“Still want milk with your”—Lane leaned across the counter and peeked into Charlie’s bowl, bringing with her a sweet, soapy fragrance—“last bite?”

He smiled. “Please.”

Lane pulled back and offered him the glass of milk, which he finished in one gulp.

“You are eating, right?” Aunt B raised her eyebrows. “I told your mom you were, but the way you scarfed that cobbler—”

“I’m eating. I finished that meatloaf, which was delicious by the way.” Charlie leaned back. “But I limit my intake of butter and sugar.”

“There’s peaches in there too.” Aunt B swatted a hand at him. She let out a sigh and leaned against the counter. “It’s good to have you here, Charlie.”

“Um, I’m gonna go start the dough for tomorrow.” Lane hitched her thumb in the direction of the kitchen.

“Oh, no, dear.” Aunt B moved toward the kitchen. “I need to do it because I, um”—her gaze crossed to Charlie and then back to Lane—“I have this special thing I saw on TV that I want to try.”

Lane frowned and whispered something to his aunt, who then whispered something back. They did know he was sitting right there, right? A second later, Lane’s shoulders drooped and his aunt marched into the kitchen—triumphant.

“More milk?” Lane picked up his glass and the empty bowl.

“I’m okay, thank you.” Charlie studied her as she placed the dirty dishes in a plastic bin when his eyes caught a glimpse of the gold ring she wore on the third finger of her left hand. Married. How had he missed that detail earlier? The cobbler felt heavy in his stomach. “It’s late. I should probably go.”