With his strawberry blond hair and the sprinkling of freckles across his nose, Noah didn’t resemble Jonathan at all at that age—yet there was a quality about him reminiscent of her son. A shyness, an insecurity, a quiet studiousness. Some subtle nuance she couldn’t quite pinpoint. The similarity was uncanny.

Was that what had drawn Steve to the boy too?

All at once, Noah’s smile dimmed.

Way to go, Beth. Make him more self-conscious.

Somehow she managed to coax up the corners of her mouth and resume her trek toward the table. As a foster kid, he could already be dealing with a ton of baggage. She couldn’t add to that. “Hi, Noah.” She swallowed past the slight tremor in her voice. “Steve invited me to sit with you while I have my lunch. Is that okay?”

“Sure. I guess.” He pushed his own meal aside, along with what appeared to be a sketchbook, and slid down the bench.

“This is Noah’s first visit to Charley’s.” Steve took her crutches, rested them against the end of the table, and sat across from her.

“Your first visit? Don’t you live around here?” She opened her bag and pulled out a taco.

“No. I live in Coos Bay.”

“That’s a long drive. Was it worth the trip for Charley’s tacos?”

“Uh-huh. But that’s not why I came. I’m taking a class at the high school.”

“What kind of class?”

“Art. Sergeant Adams signed me up.”

Beth transferred her attention to her husband, who wadded up the wrapping paper from his tacos and stuffed it into the bag. “Charley told me about it. I thought Noah would enjoy it.”

“And you’re taking him back and forth?”

“Yeah.” Noah chimed back in. “We went out for ice cream once too.” A dribble of Charley’s secret sauce began to track down his chin.

Without stopping to think, Beth picked up a napkin and reached over to wipe it away.

Alarm flared in Noah’s eyes, and he jerked back.

She did the math—and her lungs froze. There was abuse somewhere in this boy’s background. The faint furrows creasing Steve’s forehead suggested he’d come to the same conclusion.

But drawing attention to his behavior would make the boy more uncomfortable.

To lighten the atmosphere, Beth winked at the boy and waved the napkin. “Sorry, Noah. My mom always used to wipe stuff off my face, and I never liked it either.” She tapped her chin. “Some of Charley’s secret sauce is dripping down here.”

Noah’s taut posture relaxed, and he picked up his own napkin. Swiped off the sauce. But he kept his distance.

It was clear the boy had trust issues.