“David, hello,” Charles said, standing to shake hands with him. Her father slowly made his way to the table, declining Charles’s gesture of assistance.

“I thought you were still asleep,” Steffie said with a loving smile. She’d missed the worst of the crisis, but her sisters had repeatedly told her how close they’d come to losing their father. Now, every time she was with him, she felt a sense of renewed love and gratitude that his life had been spared.

“How do you expect a man to sleep with such delicious smells coming from the kitchen?” David grumbled good-naturedly. “I swear it’s driving me to distraction.”

“It’s my Italian spaghetti sauce.”

Her father squinted. “But we already ate dinner.”

“I know. The sauce needs to simmer for several hours and it’s even better if you let it sit overnight. I was hoping to surprise you tomorrow evening.”

Her father nodded approvingly. “Sounds great, Princess.” Then he grinned at Charles. “Good to see you, boy.”

“You, too, old man.”

She could tell that they’d often bantered like this. The atmosphere was relaxed, one of shared affection and camaraderie.

“You were in the neighborhood and decided to stop by?” David inquired. It wasn’t likely Charles would come this way except to visit the Bloomfields, and they all knew it.

“I stopped in to check up on you,” Charles said, but his gaze drifted involuntarily toward Steffie. Their eyes met briefly before she looked away.

“That’s the only reason?” her father pressed.

“I, uh, brought that for Stephanie,” he said and pointed in the direction of the potted azalea.

“You wouldn’t by any chance happen to be sweet on my little girl, would you?”

“Dad,” Steffie broke in urgently, “how about something to drink? Coffee, tea, a glass of water?”

“Nothing, thanks. I just came to see if I was dreaming about garlic and basil or if this was for real. I’ll leave the two of you to yourselves now.” He stood awkwardly, as though he wasn’t quite steady on his feet. Steffie’s instincts were to help him, but she knew it was important that he do as much as possible on his own. She stepped back, ready to assist him if necessary.

Charles must have been thinking the same thing because he stood beside her, a concerned look on his face.

“I’ll see you to your room,” she said. The effort of rising from his chair and walking a few paces seemed to deplete her father’s strength.

“Nonsense,” he objected. “You’ve got company. Charles isn’t here to visit me. I heard him say so himself. That was just an excuse so he could bring you that pretty flower.”

“Don’t argue with me, Daddy.”

Her father grumbled, but allowed her to wrap her arm around his waist to support him. She looked over her shoulder at Charles. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Take your time.”

No sooner were they out of the kitchen than David came to a halt, wearing the most delighted grin Steffie had ever seen. “What’s so amusing?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said. Then he started chuckling softly. “It’s just that your mother was right about this, too. Surprises me, but it shouldn’t.”

“What? Right about what?”

“You and Charles.”

“Daddy, there’s nothing between us! We’re hardly even friends.”

“Perhaps, but all that’s about to change. Soon, too. Very soon.”

Her father continued to mutter under his breath, as pleased as ever. Steffie closed her ears to his remarks, knowing that he had to be referring to his dream—the time he’d supposedly spent tiptoeing around the afterlife, gathering information. It hadn’t bothered her nearly as much when he was going on about Valerie and Colby, but now that it was her turn, she felt decidedly uneasy.

“Charles isn’t here to see me,” she insisted. “Bringing me the azalea didn’t mean anything. He got a new advertising account, that’s all. I’m sure he intended to give it to you, but you were sleeping.”

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

Arguing wouldn’t get her anywhere, and besides, she didn’t want to keep Charles waiting. She suspected he’d be leaving soon, anyway. Her father sat on the edge of his bed, his eyes curious as he smiled up at her. “I might have guessed. I wasn’t sure what to think when your mother mentioned you and Charles. She told me you’ve been in love with him for quite some time. She’s right, isn’t she?”

Steffie kissed his brow and ignored his question. “Do you want me to tuck you in?”

“Good heavens, no! You hurry back to your young man. He’s waiting for you. Has been for years.”

“Good night, Dad,” she said pointedly.

Her father’s grin broadened. “By golly, your mother was right,” she heard him mutter again. “I should’ve known. Forgive me, Grace, for doubting.”

Outside the bedroom door, Steffie started to tremble. Without directly saying so, her father was telling her what she’d most dreaded hearing, and at the same time what she desired above all.

Whether it was the result of fantasy, intuition or, as he believed, spiritual intervention, he’d become convinced that she’d be marrying Charles. The same way he was so certain about what would happen between Valerie and Colby Winston. And Steffie wasn’t any more confident about her older sister’s relationship than she was about her own with Charles.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Charles told her when she rejoined him in the kitchen.

She raised her eyes to his, dismayed that he’d noticed. She needed to sit down. He was right, it had been a scare, listening to her father talk like that about the two of them, making marriage sound imminent.

“What is it? Is your father okay?”

She nodded. “Oh, he’s fine, growing stronger every day…”

“It’s good to see him smile again.”

Steffie nodded and glanced at the simmering pot of sauce. Anything to keep her eyes away from Charles.

“What’s really wrong?” he asked her. His concern was gentle and undemanding, and it touched her heart. This was the man she’d always known him to be. The man she’d fallen in love with—the man she’d never been able to forget.

Had it been anyone else, she would have laughed off her father’s words. She would have joked with her “destined” husband-to-be about how her father was bent on playing matchmaker.

She couldn’t do that with Charles, not when she’d so blatantly played the role herself. He’d assume, and not without justification, that she was up to her old tricks.

“It’s nothing,” she said, forcing herself to smile brightly. “I can’t help thinking how lucky we are to have him with us again.”

Charles studied her intently. “You’re sure there’s nothing wrong?”

“Of course.” She looked at him in what she hoped was a reassuring manner.

“If there’s anything I can do…”

“There isn’t.” She smiled, to take the sting from her words. “You’ve already done so much. We’re all indebted to you…you’ve been wonderful.”

“You make me sound like some saint. Trust me, Stephanie, no one’s going to canonize me—especially with the things I’m thinking right now.” He was behind her before she even realized he’d moved. His hands were on her shoulders and he drew her back and slipped his arms around her waist. He nuzzled her neck and breathed in deeply, as though to inhale her scent.

Deluged with warm sensation, Steffie closed her eyes and savored the moment. She’d never believed this could happen. She dared not believe it even now.

It would be so easy to turn into his arms, to bury herself in the comfort he offered. She’d dreamed of this for so long. But now that it was here, she was afraid.

Her hands folded over his, which were joined at her middle. “I—the flowers are…”

“A gesture of good faith.”

His words confused her. He must have sensed her uncertainty because he spoke again in a low voice. “Let’s start all over again, shall we? From the beginning.”

“I— I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

He softly kissed the side of her neck, then released her and turned her around so they were face to face. “Hello there, my name’s Charles Tomaselli. I understand you’re Stephanie Bloomfield. It’s a real pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand to her, which she took. If his eyes hadn’t been so serious, she would have burst into peals of laughter.

“Charles, you say? Anyone call you Charlie?”

“Hardly ever. Anyone call you Steffie?”

“Only when I was much younger,” she teased. “A mere kid.”

“I understand you’re recently back in town. I don’t suppose you’ve had time to notice, but there’ve been a few changes in Orchard Valley. How about if I drive you around, show you the place?”

She hesitated. “When?”

“No time like the present.”

“But we’ve just met.”

“I’m hoping that won’t stand in your way. It shouldn’t. I’m completely trustworthy.”

“Then I’ll accept your kind invitation.”

“Do you want to bring a sweater?” he asked.

She shook her head.

He reached for her hand, his fingers entwined with hers as he led her toward the front door. It felt like the most natural thing in the world for them to be together.

They bounded down the steps, carefree and laughing. Charles opened the car door for her, helped her inside and without warning leaned forward to kiss her. Their lips met briefly, then lingered. When he broke away, Charles seemed surprised himself. Steffie glanced up at him, thinking she might read some sign of regret in his eyes, but there was none. Only a free-flowing happiness that reflected her own feelings exactly.

“Where were you last night?” Norah asked late the next morning. “I came home from Julie’s wedding shower and you were nowhere to be found.”

Steffie spread a thin layer of her sister’s strawberry jam across her English muffin. “I went out for a while.” She didn’t add any details because her father was sitting at the table, lingering over his cup of coffee and the paper. He’d make all the wrong assumptions if he knew she’d been with Charles.

They’d spent nearly two hours driving around the area. Charles had taken her past several new businesses, including fast-food restaurants and some specialty boutiques. He’d shown her the recently constructed six-plex movie theater, a new housing complex and a brand-new mall on the outskirts of town. The drive had been highlighted by an ongoing commentary that included the latest gossip.

Steffie hadn’t enjoyed herself so much in ages. Charles had been entertaining and fun, and he seemed to take pains never to refer to their past differences.