She lightly pressed her hand to her belly. “Not to worry,” she told her lima bean. “No dating for me. You’re all I need in my life. And I say that with love, rather than to pressure you.”

Toby carefully used the hook to bring the yarn up and around on the circular loom he’d bought at a local craft store. The charity project was starting in a little over a week, and he wanted to be proficient enough to help teach the kids what to do. One of the advantages to being the CEO of his own company, he thought humorously, was that he could work on crafts in the middle of the afternoon if he wanted to.

Satisfied with the three rows he’d completed, he stored the loom in a desk drawer. He would take it home with him tonight to work on over the weekend. Harrison had said he wanted to practice as well, and even get a start on making a hat or two. His son wanted this to be the best charity project the third-grade class had ever done.

His son had a big heart, Toby thought, moving his mouse to wake his computer. He was a sweet, caring boy with an easygoing nature. Given the family genetics, Toby knew he’d gotten lucky in that respect. Things could have been a lot different.

He looked at the spreadsheet in front of him, but instead of reviewing the numbers, he found himself thinking about the past. Probably because of what Dena had said about Reggie coming back. He hadn’t thought about her much in years, but in the past couple of days she’d been on his mind, along with a lot of things he’d done his best to forget.

Toby’s father had been a mean drunk and not much more pleasant when he was sober. Toby had been a troubled teenager, only relaxed and comfortable on the football field. Academics had never interested him, and he’d rarely found a rule he was willing to follow. If he’d grown up in a town big enough to have a tough crowd, he would have run with them. But in Wishing Tree, there hadn’t been any really bad kids. Still, he’d had a reputation.

One that Reggie Somerville had ignored, he thought, remembering how she’d shocked the hell out of him the spring day she’d walked up to him as he stood by his locker. She’d had on her cheerleader uniform, with its short skirt and tight sweater. Back then, she’d worn her brown hair in a high ponytail that had bounced with every step. A sophomore to his junior, she’d looked him right in the eye before saying, “You should ask me out sometime.”