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And he’s going to be a good man because his father was a good man. He showed him the way to love his family, and I will be eternally grateful that we had him if even just for that.

Owen drops to sit on the step. All the seats are taken, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he stretches out in the sun. Duke sits close, waiting for pets. Owen doesn’t hold out on him, giving him an absent scratch behind the ear. “What are we doing today?”

“We’ll be heading into the shop around noon,” Dad tells him. “You got plans, Owen?”

Owen shakes his head. “No.”

“I want to get flowers.” Mabel sits up to swing her legs over the side of the swing. Dragging the blanket and her caterpillar across the porch, she climbs into my lap and snuggles close. “Can we go flower shopping today?”

“Maybe, Miss. Mabel.” I squeeze her tighter, because I know that all too soon, she won’t come looking for snuggles like these.

Dad stands. “My cup is empty. Anyone want another?”

Mom holds her cup in the air as I nod, but I’m distracted when I see Holt’s black truck park beside my SUV in my drive.

He appears holding a tray with coffee from Cherry’s and a box of treats. He starts up the steps, giving Owen a nod. “Morning.”

“Morning.” Owen takes the box Holt hands him.

Holt’s eyes sweep to Mom and Dad. “I would have brought more coffee if I’d known you were here.”

“All good,” Dad says. “Faye makes good coffee here.”

Holt tips his head with a gruff, “Morning.”

Mom beams. “Good morning, Holt.”

I almost roll my eyes because Mom is seriously rooting for my getting with Holt, which is kind of surprising considering—well, everything.

His dark eyes swing to me, and I’m taken back to last night and our kiss. My blood heats under my skin and my heart flutters in my chest.

Holt hands me a cup. I already know it’s a maple latte.

I take a sip and sigh in pleasure. Holt’s eyes turn molten.

My blood heats another notch. Mabel climbs down from my lap to hunt for the box of treats. Holt leans into the railing close to my chair. I can smell the scent of his spicy cologne and somehow—I have no idea how—but I think I can taste him on my tongue.

Pushing the memory of his kiss from my mind, I clear my throat and ask, “What are you doing here?”

“Last night, you mentioned you had no plans.”

“Last night?” Owen asks around his croissant.

Dad reemerges from the house to reclaim his spot on the swing, just as interested in last night as Owen.

I cough a little around the swallow of my latte. “Holt stopped by with steak. We had dinner.”

“I left before you got home.” Holt gives Owen his attention. “You have a good time at the movies?”

Owen nods. “Thanks again for the money.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Clearly Faye doesn’t have plans today, but it’s looking like you might, Holt.” Mom is on the edge of her seat. “What are you doing today?”

Holt chuckles. It’s a delicious sound that affects me now just as it affected me over a decade ago. Back then, it didn’t have the same rough edge it has now.

I shouldn’t like it. But I do.