“Nope. Just making connections.” Spotting his sister and Trenton on the other side of the dance floor, he waved. Then he motioned toward a middle-aged woman in a flowered dress. “Is she the owner of the new printing shop? Maybe I should wander over, say hello.”
“Griffin, sell design services on your own time. You don’t see me hitting people up about their insurance policies. Stop working. We’re on a date.”
“Right.”
His glance skipped over her hip-hugging silk dress. She’d spent hours at the store, pushing off suggestions as Yuna—practically waddling and complaining about needing to pee—made her try on dozens of styles. Apparently, the effort was in vain.
Griffin said, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
He threaded his fingers through her long, untamable hair. “For not getting your hair done. I was afraid Yuna would talk you into going overboard. Styling your hair and putting it up on your head. I like it the way it is.”
“I need a trim. My hair’s getting too long.”
“I love your long hair.”
For proof, Griffin dipped his face near. He pressed a lingering kiss beneath her ear. Rae trembled. Drawing back, he smiled triumphantly.
They were at risk of their gazes tangling. Whenever it happened, Rae experienced the intensity of a July heat wave. Griffin, she knew, did too.
He cleared his throat.
Donning a reserved expression, he gestured at the festivities. “You did a great job.” His gaze was still fiery. He managed to drag his eyes from her face. “You’ve added lots of younger people to the mix. Young and old—a good blend. Night on the Square is becoming the city’s hottest event.”
“Don’t give me credit. Two of the men on the planning committee came to a truce. They’d been battling over a DJ versus the five-piece ensemble we’ve used in the past. They settled on a wedding band that plays modern and the classics.”
Griffin’s expression shifted. “I wish Lark were here to join us.” Sadness darted across his features.
The sky was turning from reddish gold to midnight blue. The evening’s first stars winked bright.
“I’m sure she is.”
“I loved her, Rae. In the brief months I knew Lark, I tattooed her on my heart.”
The admission touched her deeply. “Even though she wasn’t your child?”
“She was our child, Rae—in all the ways that count. Lark is stubborn, like her mother. Bright. And funny, when you least expect it.”
Now Rae’s eyes were misting.
“You’re talking as if she’s still here,” she managed.
“Because she is, in our hearts. Perhaps she’s watching over us too. Hanging out with Hester, somewhere past those stars over there.”
“Are you growing a mystical side?”
“I suppose.” A contemplative silence, then he said, “Like I was saying, Lark is stubborn like you. She intended to come into the world that night, and she did. The circumstances don’t matter. Lark arrived when she’d planned. I’ll always be grateful I got to know her.”
He reached for her hand. Rae clung tight.
“I’m glad too,” she murmured.
“I’m looking forward to getting to know her better, someday.” Griffin studied the darkening sky and the stars winking on in silvery threads. “Rae, during our last year of high school . . . we picked out four names. Remember? We wanted two girls, two boys. The perfect combination.”
“Lark, Sophie, Adam, and Penn.”
“Do you think our other kids are with Lark, waiting to make a grand entrance?”
The sweet question nearly closed Rae’s throat. Letting go of his hand, she trailed her fingers up Griffin’s sturdy arm, past his wide shoulder. She rested her palm against his cheek.
Then amusement—unbidden—melted the emotion tightening her throat.
“Reality check,” she said. “In our relationship, who’s the hare and who’s the tortoise?”
Griffin smiled. “I don’t recall.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
On January 25, 1978, residents in northeastern Ohio went to bed unaware that two low-pressure systems converging over the state would build into a blizzard for the record books.
The Ohio Turnpike shut down for the first time in its history, and ten-foot snowdrifts pummeled houses and buried cars. A major general of the Ohio National Guard described the White Hurricane’s effect on transportation as comparable to a nuclear attack. Windchills plummeted to forty degrees below zero Fahrenheit; fifty-one Ohioans died during the blizzard, many as they huddled trapped in their cars, or as they tried to walk to safety in whiteout conditions.