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behind Daylin. “Here, sit with us, dear.”
    Daylin turned to the booth on her right and nestled slightly behind to see a woman with a shock of shoulder-length silver hair who looked to be nearing sixty. Could it be…?
    “Mrs. Litton…Frannie?”
    “That’s right, Daylin.” Without hesitation, Frannie encircled Daylin in a bear-hug. The scent of Shalimar drifted, evoking memories that had lain dormant for more than a decade. “It’s been a while, and I have a few more gray shingles covering the roof. But it’s so good to see you again. How are you?”
    “I’m well…busy as ever.” Daylin gave Frannie a squeeze. Her eyes had the same shape as Patrick’s, a similar intensity, but held more blue that gray. Her smile was broad and heightened the sincerity of her words.
    “Oh, I remember how kind you were to drive me home from practice when I was so often without a ride. Thank you again for that.”
    “It was nothing. Walking the roadside alone was dangerous. Besides, Patrick always asked me to offer.”
    “He did?”
    “Of course he did. He worried over you, dear.” She clucked her tongue. “And I’m not the only one who noticed how much he enjoyed your company. Didn’t you know that?”
    “No, I suppose I didn’t.” Yet now, the very thought warmed her. How could she have missed Patrick’s concern…his interest? And, did he still feel an inkling of that interest? “I guess I’ve made quite an entrance. I’m sorry about the coffee—and Patrick’s shirt.”
    “No harm done. He’s trained through so many rain showers he’s guaranteed not to melt. And a little stain never hurt anything.” She made a motion with her hand as if to sweep the matter away. “Let’s get you a refill of coffee. There’s still quite a chill outside. The weather’s supposed to moderate over the next few days, though, according to Channel Ten’s meteorologist. Let’s hope he’s on the mark.”
    Frannie motioned for Vera as a little girl in the seat beside Frannie scooted onto her knees and splayed her palms across the tabletop while she craned for a better look at Daylin.
    “Who’re you?” The child’s halo of blonde curls bobbed as sapphire-blue eyes framed an impish smile that caused the dimples at each cheek to deepen.
    “I’m Daylin. And what’s your name, sweetie?”
    “Aubree.”
    “Hello.” Daylin offered the child her hand. “You sure are a cutie.”
    “Daddy says so, too.” Curls spilled over slight shoulders as she bounced in the cushioned seat across from Daylin. She gazed over the tabletop with such a pure, sweet innocence that Daylin’s heart melted right there on the spot. “Do you know my daddy?”
    “Who is your daddy?”
    “Him.” She jabbed a finger toward the front of the room, indicating Patrick. “Daddy.”
    Patrick had a child? How? When? Questions swam through Daylin’s mind as she addressed the child’s query. “I used to know your daddy a long time ago, before you were born. We were friends.”
    “Really?”
    “Yes, really.”
    “This is my Gran.” The child’s finger pointed to Frannie. “Do you know her, too?”
    “I do.”
    “I’m gonna be six in Feb’rary.” As if to prove it, Aubree splayed a full hand of stubby fingers and added one thumb. “How ’bout you? How old are you gonna be?”
    “Aubree, hush.” Frannie shushed her with a gentle tap on the shoulder. “It’s not polite to ask a grown woman her age, sweetheart.”
    “Why not?” Aubree propped her chin on an upturned palm and toed the edge of the booth with a foot clad in sparkly pink tennis shoes. “Don’t she have birfdays, too?”
    “ Doesn’t she, and yes, I’m sure Daylin has birthdays.” Frannie handed Aubree a tissue and pointed to her nose. “Give it a swipe to clean the pipes.”
    “Oh, Gran…that’s funny.” Aubree giggled while dutifully, she blew into the tissue and then dabbed at her face.
    “It’s OK.” Daylin laughed at the innocent question. “Of course I