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in the park in a last ditch effort to find her sister, but Janey was nowhere to be found. The last of Emma’s strength ran out and the grief finally struck her. She’d never felt so alone, so lost. She stood there, slowly getting soaked, seeing very little and feeling nothing, trying to make sense of her life.
    That day, responsibility weighed heavily on her shoulders. Her mother’s death made her an instant parent, and Janey hated it. Emma wondered how she’d ever be strong enough for her willful little sister when she didn’t feel strong enough for herself.
    Out of the rain, Dillon’s familiar voice called her name. An odd mix of relief and shock seized her when she turned. His dark eyes were full of concern. Dillon wrapped his coat around her shoulders and drew her against him.
    The last thing Emma expected was for him, of all people, to comfort her, to care how she held up. Dillon came to tell her he found Janey sound asleep in their mother’s bed. Afterwards, he took her home, made her change and sat with her on the sofa in the living room. He held her, murmuring soft reassurances. She cried until no more tears would come. She remembered losing herself in the gentleness of his eyes. That night he gave her strength when, for the first time in her life, she had none.
    “You, of all people, ought to know you could never stop Janey from doing what she wanted.” Dillon’s voice rumbled through his chest, his calm tone contradicting the fierce pounding of his heartbeat beneath her ear.
    Looking at him, the acknowledgment flitted through his eyes, subdued, but there all the same. Dillon remembered that day.
    “I’m sorry, Em.” He stared so deep into her eyes she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in his.
    Her heart pounded in response to the memories, to the man. It hammered out the longing to press against him again, to return the comfort he offered, but she couldn’t.
    “I’m sorry too.” She braced her hands against his chest and shoved away from him, swiping the tears from her cheeks. “I didn’t come here for this.”
    “It’s okay.”
    “I came here to tell you.” She squared her shoulders, drew what was left of her strength around her and held tight to it. “And to ask if you ever get any time off from this place.”
    A sick sensation twisted through her stomach. She didn’t want to ask the question she knew she had to. She didn’t want to hear his answer, to have all those images taunt her mind.
    He went silent, but his penetrating eyes bored through her.
    “Yeah.” Confusion laced his voice. “We’re closed on Sundays. It’s a slow night and it keeps the churchgoers happy.”
    “I was thinking maybe we could have dinner.” Emma clasped her hands together to still their sudden quaking.
    His brows drew together, and he cocked his head to the side. “Dinner?”
    She nodded. “So we can talk. I figured we could do it over dinner. We both have to eat, right?”
    His eyes narrowed. “You have more to tell me.”
    She took a deep breath and nodded, forcing herself to hold his gaze Emma reached into the right pocket of her jacket. She fingered the folded piece of paper, soft and worn from numerous readings, before pulling it out. It was now or never.
    “I found this when I went through her things.” The paper trembled in her fingers. “Frankly, we need to talk about what’s in this, and I don’t want to do it here.”
    Curiosity lit his eyes. Dillon took the letter. Her heartbeat tripled when he glanced at it. He ran the pad of his thumb over the soft, worn paper, but instead of opening and reading it, he pocketed it and looked at her again. “All right. Sunday night then. Seven o’clock, my place. I’ll cook.”
     
     
    Sunday night, Emma sat in the car in the driveway of the bed and breakfast, staring in the rearview mirror. Her bundled passenger squirmed, turning her head from side to side and kicking at the blanket that covered her legs. The stillness of the vehicle and