“Nonsense,” the woman said. “You’re just not used to it yet, that’s all. Now try that bit again, and this time do it without all the damn profanity, if you please.”

Harrison’s rare smile lit his face. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am. I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

He said something more, but Sophie was unable to distinguish it from where she sat on the other side of the church basement. The room where they’d gathered was large and damp and lit with an ancient fluorescent light that buzzed in and out like it had a dozen angry bees trapped inside. The lack of ambiance and stale scent of coffee didn’t stop the half dozen women from meeting here every week to ply their needles making hats, scarves, and socks to be shipped off to those in need.

“Oh, wow,” Dawn said in a low voice that bubbled over with laughter. “You were right about his smile, Soph. That’s a hell of a thing for one man to wield.”

Yes, Sophie was well aware of that fact. On Harrison, a smile wasn’t just an expression of joy—it was a transformation. It was a momentary glimpse at a man who existed somewhere just beyond her reach.

“You’ll notice that he didn’t actually direct it at me,” Sophie pointed out.

“Well, the smolder isn’t bad either, so that’s no real loss,” Dawn said. “I finished this one. Hand me another, will you?”

Sophie paused knitting long enough to hand Dawn a tangled skein of yarn to unfurl and roll into a ball. Although Sophie had been knitting for years—a hobby developed during one of her many long stays in bed—her sister didn’t have the patience to sit still for extended periods of time.

“How’s the little darling doing, by the way?” Dawn asked.

For a moment, Sophie thought the little darling in question was Harrison, and she wasn’t sure how to answer. As a client, Harrison was almost too good to be true. Oh, he grumbled, of course, but that was more from habit than a desire to prevent her from doing her job. Ever since that day in the yarn store, he’d done everything she’d asked with efficiency and a resolution that could only be described as dogged.

It was almost as though he was afraid of what would happen if he fought back again—of what he might do if he let Sophie push him into tearing down the wall one more time. He was subdued and compliant, determined not to let anything push him too far. Not even a shirt that opened at the back to reveal a strappy, crisscross patterned bra had been able to move him.