Page 29 of The Woman Left Behind

He nearly barked out a laugh, but instead asked, “Why’s that?”

She pointed at her plate with her fork. “Because I was hungry.”

“Not a fan of being wrong?” he teased.

The frown that earned was not fake.

“Not a fan of why you knew I was hungry.”

He wasn’t sure if she was talking about his job, or his understanding of grief due to his dead wife.

She told him. “MP is small, nothing in Fret County much bigger, but you sure do see your fair share of crap, don’t you, sheriff?”

“I sure do, honey.”

She scrunched her nose.

It was bottom line adorable.

He leaned into the table toward her. “Wanna know a secret?”

She nodded.

“It’s going to make me sound insane.”

“Sock it to me,” she invited.

“There’s not another job on Earth I’d want to do.”

For a beat, her face froze.

Then it got soft, those startling green eyes of hers got warm, and she whispered, “On the floor of my tiny bathroom.”

“What?”

“Nothing, Harry. Just…I see that because you’re real good at it.”

Jesus, why did that feel so damned fantastic?

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

Pink hit Lillian’s cheeks and she returned to her pancakes.

Harry let her.

And he watched her devour them as he sipped his coffee.

EIGHT

Dumplings

Lillian

The next evening—that being the evening the day after I had breakfast with Handsome Harry Moran at the Double D, one I enjoyed in spite of all that was happening (which was a miracle)—I lay with my back resting against the arm of my couch, my laptop in front of me, while Ronetta futzed about in my kitchen.

Ronetta was my next-door neighbor and had been since we moved in.

She had two kids who were young teenagers when we arrived in Misted Pines, both of whom had since moved away. Her daughter was now a high-flying casting director in LA. Her son was a vintner in Sonoma County, and he was a big deal. His wine was always winning awards.

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