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.

Their coffee had just been served, and Charles hadn’t taken more than a sip before he tossed some money on the table and left.

Steffie had remained there, too hurt to breathe, too numb to feel anything more than a painful disappointment. She couldn’t remember how long she’d sat in the booth. Long after her coffee had cooled, she knew.

Obviously she’d sat there much too long because she’d decided that Charles Tomaselli was clearly lying.

“Steff.”

The gentle voice was followed by a warm hand on her shoulder.

“What are you doing sleeping down here?”

Steffie raised her head and blinked. Valerie, dressed in a housecoat, stood beside her.

“What time is it?”

“Morning,” Valerie said with a smile. “How long have you been here?”

Moving her legs, Steffie winced at the unexpected discomfort. Her legs were stiff and sore and the book still lay open on her lap.

“I was going to fix myself coffee and toast before heading to the hospital. Do you want some?”

“Please.” She worked one shoulder and then the other and rotated her neck, hoping to ease the crick. Her thoughts had been so full of what had happened between her and Charles in those early days that she couldn’t remember falling asleep. It surprised her that she had. She wondered if her musings had followed her into her dreams, then felt it would be better if they hadn’t.

“I can’t tell you how good Dad looks compared to a week ago,” Valerie said when Steffie joined her in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” She paused, shaking her head. “It was so crazy being stuck in Italy like that.”

“You know—” Valerie paused, clutching a large earthenware mug “—in a way I’m grateful you couldn’t get home for a while. It might be the one thing that kept Dad alive. He was determined to see you before he died.”

Steffie wasn’t sure she understood. “Do you mean to say Dad had a means of controlling the timing of his…demise?”

“Sort of. Death was what he wanted. If I’ve learned anything through all this, it’s that the human will is incredibly powerful.”

Steffie began making toast, taking the butter and Norah’s homemade strawberry jam out of the refrigerator. “I’m not totally clear on what you mean about the human will.”

“I don’t know if I can explain it,” Valerie said after a moment, her look distant and thoughtful. “All I know is that Dad was on the brink of death for days. When I first arrived, Colby told us Dad would require open-heart surgery. He wanted to perform the operation immediately but couldn’t because of various complications Dad was experiencing. If you want the medical terms for all this you can ask Norah or Colby, but basically it boiled down to one thing. Dad had lost the will to fight for his life. He’s been miserable without Mom. We both know that, but I don’t think anyone fully appreciated exactly how lonely he’s been.”

“I shouldn’t have left him.” Despite Valerie’s reassurances, Steffie partially blamed herself for her father’s failing health. She’d known when he came to visit her in Italy last year that something was wrong. He’d taken the trip to Europe not out of any desire to travel but because Valerie and Norah had thought it would help revive his spirits. The fact that Steffie was living in Italy had been a convenient excuse.

Steffie had enjoyed the time with her father, and had been excited about showing him the country she’d come to love and introducing him to her new friends. She’d carefully avoided any conversation having to do with Orchard Valley or her mother. Her father had urged her to come home, but she’d already registered for new courses and paid her rent in advance and planned another trip. All excuses. Because it really came down to one thing: she’d been afraid to go home.

Steffie Bloomfield afraid! The family daredevil. Dauntless, reckless Steffie Bloomfield was afraid of a mere man. More precisely, she was terrified of having to speak to Charles again, of looking him in the eye and pretending it didn’t hurt anymore. Pretending she didn’t love him. Pretending she didn’t feel humiliated.

She was incapable of shrugging off the past, especially when it was much simpler just to stay in Europe. She loved her art history courses, she enjoyed traveling throughout Italy, she was fond of her landlady’s family, she had lots of friends and acquaintances. She’d discovered, too, that she had a real aptitude for languages; besides being proficient in Italian, she’d picked up some French and German and hoped to continue learning them. No, she’d decided, there were too many good reasons to remain in Europe. And so she’d stayed.

“Do you want to ride to the hospital with me?” Valerie asked, apparently deep in her own thoughts.

“Sure.”

“I might need to do a few errands later, but you might be able to get a ride home with Norah if I’m not back.”

“I’m not worried. I haven’t been able to spend much time with Dad yet.” Steffie felt guilty about rushing out of the hospital the day before without returning to see him.

As it turned out, Steffie couldn’t have chosen a better morning to be with her father. It was the day he was being transferred out of the Surgical Intensive Care Unit and onto the surgical ward. His time in the SICU was only four days, his recovery nothing short of remarkable. Even Dr. Winston seemed to think so.

“I can’t get over how beautiful you’ve become,” her father said when he woke from a brief nap. Steffie was sitting at his bedside, doing the New York Times crossword puzzle and feeling downright pleased with herself that she’d managed to fill in a good half of the answers.

“I’ll tell you what I’ve become,” Steffie said with a laugh, “and that’s Italian. The first day after I left Rome I slipped from English to Italian and then back again without noticing. I think I spent twice as long clearing customs as anyone else, simply because the agent didn’t know what to make of me.”

“So can you cook me some real Italian spaghetti?” her father asked.

“I certainly can, and I promise it’ll be so good you’ll dream about it the rest of your life.”

“With plenty of garlic?”

Steffie raised the tips of her fingers to her lips and made a loud smacking sound. “With enough garlic to ward off vampires for the next hundred years. Besides, I hear garlic’s good for your heart.”

“But lousy for your love life.”

“I don’t think either of us needs to worry about that,” she teased.

“Ah.” David Bloomfield shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Princess. You, my darling Stephanie, are about to discover what it means to be in love.”

Steffie didn’t want to say she already knew all she cared to on that subject. Thanks, Dad—but no thanks, she told him silently. Falling in love wasn’t an experience she wanted to repeat.

“You aren’t going to argue with me like Valerie did, are you?”

“Would there be any point?”

“No,” he said, smiling broadly.

“I didn’t think so.”

“You don’t believe I really talked to your mother, do you?”

“Uh…” It wasn’t that she disbelieved him exactly. He was convinced that something had happened, so her opinion was irrelevant. He claimed to have enjoyed a lengthy conversation with her mother while strolling around some celestial lake. Valerie had mentioned it soon after Steffie’s arrival. Norah had talked about it, too. Steffie found their accounts fascinating. Did she believe it had happened? She didn’t know. She was inclined to think he’d experienced some kind of revelation—but whether it was spiritual, as he thought, or a dream, or a fantasy of his own making, she had no idea. And it didn’t matter.

“You won’t be the only one who doesn’t believe my talk with your mother was real.”

“It isn’t that, Dad.”

“Don’t you worry about it. Time will prove me right.”

“Prove you right about what?” a distinctive male voice asked from behind her. Steffie froze and the dread washed over her.

Charles Tomaselli.

He was the last person she’d expected to meet here. The last person she wanted to see again.

“How’re you feeling, David?” he asked.

“I’ve been better.”

“I’ll bet you have,” Charles said wryly.

Steffie was on her feet immediately. “I’ll leave you two to chat,” she said with a cheery lilt, anxious to leave the room.

“There’s no reason for you to go,” her father countered, holding out his hand to her. “Your smile is the brightest sunshine I’ve seen in days. Isn’t that so, Charles?”

Steffie cringed inwardly, and not giving Charles time to comment, quickly squeezed her father’s hand. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to have too much company all at once.”

“That’s probably true,” Charles agreed. “Besides, I’ve got some business to discuss with you. I thought you’d be interested in hearing what happened as a result of that article we did on the migrant-worker situation.”

Steffie’s breath caught in her throat until she realized Charles wasn’t referring to the stunt she’d pulled in his office the day before. She went weak with relief when she heard him mention something about Commissioner O’Dell initiating an inspection program.

Steffie still hadn’t looked at Charles, still hadn’t turned to face him. She delayed it as long as possible, leaning forward to kiss her father’s cheek. “I’ll get a ride back to the house with Valerie or Norah, but I’ll be in again this evening and we can finish our…discussion.”

“I’ll see you then, Princess.”

Steffie nodded and mentally braced herself as she turned away from her father’s bed. She looked shyly at Charles. To her astonishment, their eyes met instantly. They seemed drawn to gaze at each other, as though neither could resist the pull of mutual attraction. Her own heart gave a small burst of joy and she wondered if, deep within, his did, too.

“Hello, Steffie.”

“Charles.” Her voice was low and wispy. “I’ll see you later, Dad.”