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Unlike Valerie, who’d gone out on only a handful of dates through high school and college, Steffie had had an active social calendar. She’d always been well liked by both sexes—popular enough to be voted Prom Queen her senior year of high school. But although she had lots of friends who happened to be boys, Steffie had never been in love. She’d thought, more than once, that she was, but she’d been wise enough to realize she was only infatuated, or in love with the idea of being in love.

Although she was twenty-one, going on twenty-two, she’d never been involved in a serious relationship. She hadn’t considered herself ready for one—until she met the newly hired editor of the Orchard Valley Clarion.

When she met Charles, she knew immediately that she was going to love this man. How she could be so certain was unclear, even to her, but to the very depths of her young heart, she was absolutely convinced of it.

After that initial meeting, Steffie had driven home in a daze. She didn’t tell anyone, including her sisters, what she felt. She didn’t know how she could possibly explain her feelings without sounding silly. Love at first sight was something reserved for movies and romance novels.

She’d been filled with questions, wondering if Charles had felt it, too; she soon persuaded herself that he had.

He was older—twenty-seven, she discovered—amazingly mature and sophisticated, while she was an inexperienced third-year college student.

Steffie lived for the next edition of the Clarion, ripping open the newspaper until she found his column, and devoured each word Charles had written. Occasionally he wrote a feature article, and she read those just as avidly. She soon discovered that other people were equally taken with his work. He’d been in town for less than two months and had already become a source of pride and pleasure to the entire community.

Steffie straightened and reached over to turn on her bedside lamp. Obviously she wouldn’t be able to sleep, and sitting in her room, dredging up memories of Charles, wasn’t helping.

The house was dark and silent, which meant Valerie and Norah were both asleep. Not wanting to wake either of her sisters, Steffie slipped quietly down the dimly lit stairs.

She thought about making herself a cup of tea, then decided against it. Instead, she tiptoed into her father’s den. She turned on a soft light and reached for Sonnets from the Portuguese—an especially lovely edition her father had given her mother years ago, before they were married. Steffie cuddled up in his reading chair, already comforted.

The leather felt cool against her skin. An afghan her mother had knitted when the girls were still young lay neatly folded on the ottoman. Valerie must have brought it in with her, since it hadn’t been there the night before.

Steffie reached for the rose-colored afghan and tucked it around her, then turned to one of her favorite poems.

She made it through two pages before her mind drifted back to Charles. Back to that first year…

He hadn’t noticed her. Hadn’t shared the instant attraction. In fact, he hadn’t even remembered her name. Steffie was stunned. She’d dreamed of him every night since the day they met. Wonderful dreams of laughing and loving, of strolling hand in hand through the apple orchard, sharing secrets and planning the rest of their lives. Her heart was so full of love that it was all she could do not to tell him outright.

Getting a man to notice her was a new challenge for Steffie. Until then, it had always been the other way around. The men—no, boys—had been the ones to seek her out. For the first time in her life, Steffie found herself at a disadvantage in a relationship. Clearly the only option open to her was to let Charles know as subtly as possible that she was interested. It shouldn’t be such a difficult task for a former Prom Queen.

Except that it was…

The first thing Steffie did was to write him a letter commending his writing ability and his opinions. She’d agonized over every word, then waited nearly two weeks for a reply.

There hadn’t been one.

Charles hadn’t printed her letter and didn’t respond, either. Steffie had been crushed. Never one to quit, though, she’d visited the newspaper office with suggestions for a wide variety of stories. As she recalled, she’d managed to come up with 150 such ideas. Admittedly some were better than others.

Charles had been polite, but had made it plain that although he appreciated her suggestions, he already had an enthusiastic staff whose job it was to come up with regional stories.

Her plan had been for Charles to be so awed by her concern about local issues and her invaluable ideas that he’d invite her to dinner to discuss her interest. Although, in retrospect, it sounded terribly naive, she’d actually believed this would happen.

Apparently, she spent more time than she realized hanging around the newspaper office over the next few months because Charles unexpectedly asked her out for coffee one morning.

Steffie had been so excited that she could barely sit still. She was further encouraged when Charles chose a booth in the farthest, most private corner of the local coffee shop.

Even now, more than three years afterward, Steffie could recall how thrilled she’d been. She’d slid into the red vinyl seat across from him, sure he could read all the love and adoration in her eyes.

The encounter, however, proved to be a bitter disappointment for Steffie. Charles had been kind, but firm. He couldn’t help noticing, he’d said, how much time she spent at the newspaper office, and was sure her studies must have been suffering. He’d also gotten her letter and the other notes she’d sent him, and although he was flattered by her attention, he was much too busy with the paper to become involved in a relationship.

When Steffie had pressed him for more of an explanation, he’d told her without a second’s pause that he considered her too young for him. Furthermore, he felt she was…too innocent.

Steffie was aghast at his lack of foresight. She was a mature woman, and six years’ difference in their ages was unimportant. If she didn’t object, then he shouldn’t, either.

As an active member of her high school debating team, Steffie had learned how to argue, and now she’d used every skill at her disposal.

It didn’t work.

He’d finally told her she was a nice kid but he simply wasn’t interested. That he was a busy man and didn’t have the time or patience to be a babysitter. A babysitter! He wasn’t exactly impolite, but it was clear he had no intention of asking her out. Ever.