Lane sank onto a nearby marble bench and inhaled a deep, cleansing breath, letting her eyes close. The bells from the church rang out a melody. A hymn? It sounded familiar, a whisper of her past when she was naïve enough to believe there was something bigger watching out for her . . . caring about her.

The day’s heat was beginning to melt with the setting sun and Lane let the lingering warmth and the chiming tolls of the bells resonate within her soul. God, are you there? When was the last time she prayed? A chill skirted her arms. The night Mathias died, when she asked God to spare him and take her . . .

Lane’s eyes flashed open at the sound of footsteps behind her.

“Sorry.” Charlie stopped. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought it was you from behind . . . I mean, uh, because of your hair. I recognized your hair.”

Lane fought to control her racing heart at Charlie’s unexpected appearance. For whatever reason, she had expected to see the creepy man from a few weeks ago popping out behind her. His slick smile had appeared in her dreams the last couple of nights and Lane swore she’d seen him in town, but when she looked a second time no one was there—and that only made her feel foolish. “Um, hi. No, it’s okay. You just surprised me.”

“That seems to be our thing.”

Our thing. Those two words sent her heart on another lap and squashed the fear permeating her soul. She studied him waiting at the perimeter of the garden. Out of his uniform, Charlie wore casual well.

“What are you doing here?” Lane struggled to keep her voice steady.

“I just got off work. Needed to think. This is a quiet place to do that.”

“Who are you talking to, Momma?” Noah skipped over. “Hey, I know you.” He pointed at Charlie.

“Hi, Noah.” Charlie smiled. His dimples made their appearance beneath a shadow of stubble shading his jawline and Lane’s heart beat faster.

“We’re visiting my dad.” Noah climbed onto the bench next to Lane and swung his legs. “It’s your turn, Momma.”

“I’m sorry.” A muscle in Charlie’s jaw pulsed and he took a step back. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No. Please stay.” Lane bit her lip, surprised at her desire to keep him there. “I mean, you’re already here.”

“Are you sure?”

No. Yes. It was the second time he’d asked her if she was sure and, truthfully, she didn’t know. All this felt new and foreign and . . . sort of right—like he was supposed to be there.

“You can sit here next to me.” Noah patted the empty space next to him on the bench.