Though it’d been a long time since she’d been in the Rawlins’s home, it still possessed the same welcoming air she’d remembered from her teenage years when Michael’s parents had owned the house. The floral prints and lemony walls Mrs. Rawlins had loved had been replaced with subtle earth tones and plaid fabrics. Even the carpeting had been pulled up to expose beautiful hardwood floors. The Western art, tailored furniture and Persian rugs hinted at a man she no longer knew.

Making her way to the kitchen, she deposited the picnic basket on the trestle table and started unloading it.

“I can do that,” Michael insisted. He reached for the casserole dish, and for a second his hands covered hers.

Josie flinched, his touch the same combination of gentleness and strength she’d remembered. Before too many old memories slipped to the surface, she turned abruptly and broke the unsettling contact.

“I wouldn’t be Sarah Marshall’s daughter if I didn’t finish the job properly,” she announced, as if his being so close had no effect on her.

Michael jokingly raised his hands shoulder high with palms facing outward. “Hey, like I said before, I’m not messing with your mother.”

Josie flashed her too bright smile. “Good. Then sit down and let me do my work.” As she placed the casserole dish in the oven to warm, she described the meal. “For starters, there’s your favorite, cheese-stuffed meat loaf and roasted potatoes.”

When she hesitated, Michael didn’t notice. A long time ago meat loaf had been his favorite. Maybe it wasn’t anymore.

Oh, God, she turned a silent prayer upward. Please, help me get out of here before I say something I’ll regret.

“I’ll put the coleslaw in the fridge with the applesauce. And there’s a loaf of wheat bread and—ta-da—cherry pie for dessert.”

Michael shook his head. “When your mother does something, she does it right.”

“Yeah,” Josie said. Despite all her grumblings, she had a pretty special mom. Sarah Marshall would do just about anything for her only daughter.

Michael glanced nervously at the food then back to Josie. “I can’t eat all this myself. You will stay for dinner, won’t you?”

The request was simple enough, but the unreadable emotion in Michael’s eyes bothered her. Despite the years and distance between them, she knew him too well not to know when he was trying too hard. If he was as uncomfortable with her presence as she was in his, then why did he ask her to stay?

“That’s so nice of you to offer, but I’m exhausted and you must be, too. Maybe we could get together later in the week?” Josie said, aware that once she walked out the door tonight their paths would not cross for the rest of her six-week hiatus. She would make certain of that.

“Really, I insist,” Michael said. “You know how busy you are when you’re home. Your mother will be dragging you to family reunions and church dinners until you’ll need a vacation to recuperate from your hiatus.”

“Not this time,” Josie promised. “It’s going to be a quiet six weeks spent with my parents.” She’d already warned her mother she wanted peace and quiet. Though she hadn’t told her why it was so important.

“Please stay,” Michael said. “At least for a few more minutes.” The same unreadable look she’d noticed before flashed across his eyes. Could he really want her to stay? Against her better judgment, she gave in to her curiosity.

“For a little while.” She’d never been able to refuse Michael in the past, and even after all this time apart, she still couldn’t say no.

Josie suggested they go ahead and eat. While she filled two plates, Michael poured iced tea and set place mats on the dining room table.

“The kitchen’s fine,” Josie called out. She didn’t want him to go to too much trouble. She didn’t want to be treated like a date. She was an old friend, the girl next door, and she wanted to keep it like that.

“You’re right. The kitchen is more comfortable. I’m not sure why I even kept this old dining room set. I never use it.” Still, Michael continued to set the oak trestle table that had belonged to his grandparents. Stepping back, he inspected his handiwork, and with a look that suggested something was missing, he opened the hutch door.

“Nonsense, it’s beautiful,” Josie said. “Besides, someday, when you’re an old married man, you’ll sit around that big table with your children and grandchildren and think life couldn’t get any better.”

The second Josie met Michael’s gaze, she wished she could have taken back the words. Was she crazy bringing up the subject of marriage? The sooner this meal was over, the better.

“Always the optimist,” Michael said. “I’m glad that hasn’t changed.” Michael held out a chair for her, but before seating himself, he clumsily searched through the bottom hutch drawer.

Josie waited quietly, thinking there’d been a time when she would have responded to his comment with honesty. But today she was content to let him think her optimism had remained intact.

Just as she started to ask what he was looking for, he produced two tapered candles and wrought iron holders she recognized as having once belonged to his mother.

In patient silence, Josie watched Michael strike the match and light the ocean-blue candles. Even though the sun hadn’t set, the flames flickered in the early evening light. Instantly, she recalled how their love had burned out, but unlike a candle it wasn’t something that could ever be rekindled with the strike of a match.

Josie sighed with relief. She shouldn’t have avoided Michael for so many years. Because it wasn’t until she’d faced him tonight that she could really be certain of her heart. She no longer loved him. In this moment, all she felt for him was the lingering fondness anyone would feel for their first love.

“Shall we pray?” Michael asked.

Reaching across the table, Josie held his hand and closed her eyes.

“Dear Father,” Michael prayed. “Thank you for this food and that we could be together to enjoy it. Please, protect Sharla, who I already consider as my daughter, and let her feel how much her grandmother and I love her. And grant Josie the restful hiatus she seeks.” Then a little more loudly, he added, as if it were an afterthought, “May Your will be done during these next few weeks.”

“Amen,” Josie said. “I always like a man who knows how to say a short prayer.”

Michael grinned; and for a moment it was just like old times. Except for the silence that followed. Josie struggled to think of something to say, otherwise it would be a long meal.

“Mom told me about your accident the day before yesterday. She said Sharla wasn’t hurt.” And Sarah Marshall had told her a lot of other things through the years, as well. Thanks to her mother’s newsy e-mails and telephone calls, Josie knew the high points in Michael’s life. She knew who he had dated, when he’d bought the house from his retired parents and when Sharla had come to live with him.

“Thank God, Sharla’s fine,” Michael said with much relief. “She’s been staying at her grandmother’s this summer, and we were lounging in the front yard when she chased a neighborhood cat into the street.”

“That must have been a horrible moment.” Josie had chills just thinking about the child and the speeding car.

“I can’t tell you how terrified I was. I didn’t think I could reach her in time.” But he didn’t have to explain his horror, because the fear still clung to his face. “Sharla never saw the car.”

“You were lucky your injuries weren’t more serious.” Josie closed her eyes for an instant, knowing how close Michael had come to tragedy.

“The driver had slammed on his brakes, so by the time he hit me, he wasn’t going very fast.”

“But fast enough.”

Michael shook his head as if his cuts and bruises were nothing. He was obviously uncomfortable being the focus of attention.

“Thank God, it’s summer and school’s out. How long before you’ll be back on your feet?” Even though he wouldn’t have to teach until the end of the summer, he most likely had a busy agenda planned for his vacation months. Michael considered teaching a year-round job, whether he was teaching his third-grade class or Sunday school.