“Noah, it’s not polite to talk while your mouth is full.”

“My mouth’s not full, Momma. My hands are.” He held up a sticky hand covered in ice cream.

Charlie couldn’t help laughing and for a fraction of a second he noticed the curves of a smile lift the edges of Lane’s lips, but before he could linger on them too long she turned and grabbed for some napkins.

“Your husband, is he deployed?”

The second the words fell from his mouth, he regretted them. Darkness seemed to shroud her features for a moment until the emotion vanished almost as quickly as the ice cream was melting. Deployment was hard on families. He knew better.

“No. He died two years ago.” Lane finished wiping Noah’s hands.

He’d been a fool not to figure it out before. Noah wore his father’s dog tags and referred to him in the past tense, and she always changed the subject to avoid talking about him. An ache settled in Charlie’s chest. Another casualty. Another family left behind.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She frowned, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It wasn’t your fault.”

That was an odd response. “No, but we should all bear the burden of responsibility for the sacrifice made by your husband. For that I’m grateful, and I’m sorry for your and Noah’s loss.”

Lane’s eyes flashed under thick, dark lashes. “I think that’s enough ice cream for the night. Can you tell the deputy thank you for joining us?”

“What’s a deputy?” Noah tilted his head.

“It’s a police officer.” Lane took the soupy mess from Noah’s hands and pitched it into the nearest trash can.

The little boy wrinkled his nose and brought his finger up to his chin in deep concentration. His eyes grew wide. “But you’re not wearing your policeman uniform.”

“I’m not working right now.” Charlie smiled at the little boy, admiring him. “But I have this.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet and showed Noah his badge.

“Don’t touch that,” Lane said as Noah reached for it. “I don’t think the deputy wants sticky ice cream fingers all over his shiny badge.”

“Charlie.”

Confusion pinched the smooth skin between her eyebrows.

“He can call me Charlie.”

“If I wash my hands, then can I touch it?”

“Noah, it’s getting late.” Lane glanced at her son.

“Can I walk Bane back to our house?”

Lane seemed tense. Maybe she really didn’t want to be here with him? His stomach knotted. He finished the last of his ice cream and tossed his trash. “It’s alright with me. Bane actually seems calmer around Noah, but I’ll hold the leash too.”

“Please, Momma.”