“Thank you,” she muttered.

She’d been flattered by the best of smooth-talking men, but none of their lines had ever made her heart skip a couple of beats. “I guess I could say, ‘Back atcha,’ but a lot of water has run under that bridge since we were kids. I’m not even sure there’s a bridge anymore.”

“Ever hear that old song called ‘One Wing in the Fire’?” He smiled again. “It comes to mind when I think of us. Maybe we are angels with no halos and one wing in the fire.”

“Honey, nobody ever called me an angel,” she laughed. “I think maybe ‘Strawberry Wine’ applies to us more. Heard it?”

“Oh, yeah.” He nodded. “And I agree with you. We did find love growing wild on the banks of the lake, didn’t we?”

Her heart twisted up like a pretzel the way it always did when she let herself go back to that place. She pulled her hand free. One bittersweet young love had brought such pain into her life—the kind that nothing, not alcohol, wanton sex, or even friendship could erase, and she’d tried all three.

“We did.” She finally nodded. “It was a sweet summer, Wyatt.”

“Would you go to dinner with me sometime?” he blurted out.

“You think it’s wise for us to go down that path?”

“Won’t know unless we give it a try.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders and brushed a sweet kiss across her cheek. “I’m still every bit as attracted to you as I was then. I’d like to see what happens if we give things a go as adults.”

She couldn’t go there. Not after giving away their child. Not after the guilt trips and certainly not at this time of year—around her daughter’s birthday.

“Friday night. Dinner and maybe a walk on the edge of the lake?” he pressed.

“I can’t, Wyatt. I just can’t.”

“Okay, then. How about just sitting on your porch and watching the lightning bugs? We don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to,” he asked.

“The lightning bugs are pretty.” She should run from him, not cave in, but she wanted to be near him and hear his voice. Her chest tightened like it had a decade ago when she’d thought she’d never see him again. Talk about life being complicated.

“Then it’s a date. I’ll be here with a bag of barbecue chips and a six-pack of root beer. Those are still your favorites, right?”

“Yes, they are,” she answered. He remembered—after all these years he remembered her favorite snacks.

“I should be going. Can I walk you back to your cabin?” he asked.

“I think I’ll just sit here a little longer,” she said.

“See you tomorrow at breakfast, then.” He hugged her to his side but didn’t kiss her again.

Tawny pulled a chair up to the table in the café where Harper and Zed were already seated on Sunday afternoon. “Either of y’all ever hear Granny Annie’s voice in your head?”

“All the time.” Zed nodded. “And I talk to her, too. Tell her everything that I can remember before I go to bed at night. Makes me feel good. Like she’s still here. Why are you askin’?”

“What’s happenin’ in here?” Brook asked as she popped inside the door. “Flora sent me for takeout cups of iced tea.”

“We were talkin’ about whether any of us hear Granny Annie’s voice in our heads,” Harper answered.

Dana came in through the kitchen. “Back door was open, so I didn’t walk all the way around to the front. I heard Granny’s voice all the time before she died. If I was going to mess up, she’d be there telling me what to do. I love it when it happens,” Dana answered.

“Harper, did you ever hear Dad’s voice after he died?” Tawny asked.

She shook her head. “I did at the funeral, though.”

“Really?” Tawny asked.

“I came in late, sat on the back pew of the church, and left. I didn’t walk past the casket,” Harper said softly. “I was also at your high school graduation.”

“Got any regrets about not letting anyone know about that?” Zed asked.

“Not a single one,” Harper answered. “I visit his grave when I’m in the area. Sometimes if I have the money, I bring flowers.”

Zed laid a hand on her arm. “That’s a good thing that you do, child.”

“You ever wish Granny Annie had a grave?” Tawny’s eyes filled with tears at the thought of Harper being that close and no one had even acknowledged her presence. She would have felt so alone—much like Tawny did when her mother turned her back on her.

“I’d like to visit her, but then again, if I go to the lake and sit on that big rock—well, that’s as good as a grave,” Zed said with a nod. “I take her ashes with me some nights just so she’ll be close to me.”

“What are they in, Uncle Zed?” Harper asked.

“A little wooden box that looks a lot like a cigar box. I keep them on my dresser and that way she’s not far from me,” he answered.

Brook carried two big cups of tea across the floor. “I hear her voice in my head, too. I was wishin’ I was old enough to date that sexy boy at school the other day, and Granny Annie popped into my head and said, ‘That boy ain’t nothin’ but trouble.’ And I wanted to argue with her, but the bell rang.” She backed out of the café, and the door slammed behind her.