sleep better in the future.â
With his free hand, Wyatt cupped her jaw in his palm. There was a vulnerability in his expression that Annie had never seen in him before. Her mind swam. This was not smart. It had taken her a good two years to get over this man. Even so, she could feel her stoic resolve melting beneath his touch. Gently, he stroked her cheek with his thumb and she leaned into his hand. Memories overrode common sense and she felt herself nod in acquiescence.
âAll right,â she whispered, against her better judgment. Against all of the rational reasons sheâd used to purge him from her heart years ago. âDinner tomorrow night.â Before she could second-guess herself, she changed the subject. âSo. You have a foster sister here in Keyhole?â
He nodded. âEmâuh, Emma. She works at the Mi-Ti-Fine CafÃ©.â
â That Emma? Emma Logan? Oh, my gosh. Iâve known her all these months and had no idea that you two were related. I mean that is such a strange coincidence.â
Wyatt nodded. âA sign, Iâd call it.â
Annieâs mouth went dry as his blue-black gaze penetrated her own. âA sign, huh? Of what?â
He didnât answer.
In this light, his eyes were the color of midnight, reflecting the lone porch bulb and the moonâs soft glow. Hadnât it been only yesterday that sheâd fallen under this very spell? And, as if not a moment had passed, Wyatt drew her to him and brought their noses together.
âIâve missed you.â Softly, he spoke these words, and she could feel his lips brush against hers.
She couldnât respond. Admitting that sheâd missed him, too, would pull the plug on the emotional dam and the ensuing flood would mean another two years in therapy. Very slowly, he lowered his mouth and pressed his lips to hers in a kiss so gossamer she was tempted to wonder if sheâd imagined it.
He pulled back and shifted his gaze over her shoulder. âYour mother is watching us.â
Annie could see his grin bloom in the shadows. Her own lips curved. âShe doesnât trust you.â
Annie sighed. âI donât know. I donât know if I trust my own judgment.â
âI want you to trust me.â
âWhat difference does it make? We live in different worlds.â
âIt matters because we share a history. Like it or not.â
âMama thinks I need to watch out for you.â
âSpeaking of the devilââ
âSheâs coming down the walk.â
There was a tap at the passenger side window. âAnnie?â MaryPatâs throbbing falsetto rent the romantic mood.
Wyattâs whisper was hot in her ear as he reached across her and unlocked the door. âIâll meet you at the store. Tomorrow. Right after you close.â
MaryPat pulled Annieâs door open and leaned inside. âKids, itâs getting late, and, Wyatt, I was hoping that you could give me a ride home.â
âIt would be my honor,â Wyatt told her and squeezed Annieâs hand one last time before she slipped out of the car and switched places with her mother.
Though MaryPat lived only a little over a block down the street, the drive seemed interminable to Wyatt. The silence was strained and he could only guess what was going through her salt-and-pepper-colored head. He pulled up into the driveway of her familiar residence and cut the engine. As he unfastened his safety belt and prepared to get out and assist MaryPat to her door, she placed a hand on his arm.
âWyatt, dear, donât bother seeing me to the door.â
âI donât mind.â
âI know, but the porch light is on and Iâm not that old. Norââ she turned and eyed him in the dim glow of the panel lights ââam I too feeble to kick your butt if you do anything to