Noah twisted his lips to the side and squinted his eyes. A look he got when judging whether he was being told the truth. The same look as his daddy. Lane swallowed in an attempt to clear the lump from her throat.

“What about tickles from aunties?” Meagan reached around Noah’s waist and tickled him until he collapsed in a fit of giggles between her arms. “Hey, Pops.” Meagan leaned in to hug the man but paused. “You need soap.”

“They both do,” Lane said. “Wash up and I’ll get you boys some lemonade.”

“And cookies.” Meagan winked. “These soldiers need nourishment.”

Pops straightened, his shoulders pulled back. Noah imitated him. Irresistible. “Fine.”

A few minutes later, Pops and Noah emerged from the bathroom with clean faces. Lane plated the fresh batch of cookies and poured them all a glass of lemonade.

“Now, those are faces I can kiss.” Meagan planted a kiss on Pops’s cheek and then Noah’s, which made him draw a face. “You need to come swim with Paige and Owen soon.”

“Can I, Momma?”

Lane rubbed her neck. “Noah doesn’t really know how to swim.”

“That’s okay.” Meagan waved her hand. “I’ll be there and the country club has lifeguards.”

“Please, Momma.” Noah pouted.

“Yeah, please, Momma.” Meagan stuck her lip out and batted her eyelashes.

“Fine.”

“Yeah!” Noah and Meagan slapped hands.

Pops pulled out a chair and sat. “Where are the kids?”

“School.” Meagan turned her wrist to check the time. “But not for long. I’m glad you’re here though—saves me a trip. Can I stop at your house later to look at Gram’s rosebushes?”

“Sure, honey.”

“What for?” Lane asked.

“For the barbecue.” Meagan smoothed a piece of hair back as she opened the rectangular box and slid out a painting. “Mom didn’t like any of the choices the florist offered her.”

“You’re going to cut Gram’s flowers?”

Gram had been dead only three years, and Lane knew Pops missed her. The vibrant rose garden in his front yard was a testimony of his love. He planted a rosebush every year for their anniversary and now there were sixty-two of them.

“Not all the flowers. Just a few for the centerpieces. Mom wants this year’s event to reflect a homey feel. Southern hospitality.”

Lane’s insides slithered around like jelly. Every year for as long as she could remember, her parents hosted a barbecue and charity event at their home. It quickly became an annual tradition, which, according to her mother, was “a sweet way to bring local Southerners together in the name of a good cause.”