It seemed he'd slowed down so much in the last week that he was now standing still, and the problem with standing still is that you become an easy mark for your own emotions. And right at that moment, he felt like a sitting duck for everything he'd not allowed himself to feel, from not only the past two months but his entire life.

No wonder he never used his vacation time.

Joe let his neck relax further, and there was so much sensation rushing into his head that he felt it would burst. And the tears felt so foreign, because he really didn't know he could cry. The last time he did, he was fourteen years old, at Nick's funeral, and they were tears of rage.

His big brother-his idol-had OD'd on cocaine at a college frat party. His parents never rebounded from the pointless loss. And Joe vowed to spend his life making up for it.

He let his head hang, thankful for the dark, the stillness. It made it easier for him to label what was bubbling to the surface.

He was almost thirty-eight and felt every single day of it. He loved his job but knew it had sucked him dry. He felt alone. Empty. And if he looked really close, he!d have to admit that for a while now he'd known that a one-bedroom apartment and a string of short-lived relationships was no longer cutting it For a While now, he'd wanted what Steve had-a place that anchored him, people who needed him, a woman who loved him.

Joe didn't miss the irony-he was coming clean to himself about what he really wanted in life just when he couldn't do a damn thing about it! He was supposed to be invisible, not going around looking for connections, for home-for a woman.

Joe moaned. He wanted Charlotte. He wanted her so damn bad he could taste her, and he always had.

Could it be that he'd fallen in love with her that day so long ago? It seemed ridiculous, but what else could explain the fact that every woman who'd entered his life since had always been subjected to comparison to her?

Was it simply the fact that she was the ultimate challenge? After all, she'd been the hottest woman he'd ever touched, a woman who refused to tell him her name and then burned rubber in her effort to leave him standing alone in a parking lot.

And then, thirteen years later, in her driveway.

Joe smiled, and the twitch of his mouth caused a lone tear to detour down the side of his neck. He swatted at it impatiently.

He'd always believed there was a reason for the way things happened in life, even though he may not know that reason for many years, if ever. He believed the big picture was sometimes just too big for mortals to see.

So there had to be a real good reason why he'd landed in some tiny town in Ohio only to find Charlotte. He couldn't help but wonder if somebody up there was giving him a second chance.

Joe stood up and stretched. He padded downstairs to the kitchen in bare feet and rooted through the drawers until he found, what he was looking for-six stubby white utility candles. He grabbed a plate from the cabinet and a box of kitchen matches and went out to the back patio.

He arranged the candles on the plate and lit them, watching their bright flames cut through the darkness. Then he said a silent prayer for his brother, his parents, and Steve, Reba, and Daniel-and threw in one for himself.

"I think he practices Santorini."

"What the heck is Santorini?" Bonnie reached into the concession stand cooler for a Gatorade. "That'll be one-fifty, sweetheart." She took the money from a T-ball player who could barely see over the order window. "Have a good game."

"I think I saw that movie-The Great Santorini!" Ned hollered from his post at the large stainless-steel grill. "I love Robert Duvall. Order up!"

He slid a paper plate across the counter to Bonnie, who picked up the cheeseburger and fries and carried it to the window. Then she laughed, turning suddenly toward both of them. "Now I get it! Charlotte, do you mean Santeria, the voodoo thing?"

Charlotte nodded with enthusiasm, counting out change for a five, "Yes! That's it!"

"And, honey," Bonnie added to Ned. "It's The Great Santini. Santorini is a Greek Island."

"I knew that." Ned flipped a burger.

Charlotte finished counting out change and tilted her head toward Bonnie and whispered, "All I know is I saw him light a bunch of candles out on his pool deck last night, then mumble some sort of spell or something."

"A spell?"

"Can I have some Big League Chew, Mrs. Tasker?" a small voice asked.

Charlotte peered out the window, saw another potential convert, and said cheerfully, "I made some delicious whole wheat fig bars and there's no charge. Would you like one of those instead?"

The little girl shook her head with certainty. "No way."

"Just a second then." With a sigh, Charlotte reached into the bubble-gum bin and handed the bag through the window, taking the child's money while resuming her conversation with Bonnie.

"Yes, a spell. He lowered his head over six little white candles and his lips were moving. It was scary. Between that and the gun, I'm thinking I should call the police;"

Ned's head popped up. "What gun?"

"Uh-"Charlotte really didn't want to make a big deal out of this, but she supposed it wasn't a bad idea to let Ned know. "The night Hoover got loose I followed him into the Connors' yard. He pulled a gun on me-told me he was a little paranoid about burglars "

Ned's eyebrow shot up and he stared at her; He didn't look pleased.

"He put it away when he realized it was me."

Ned nodded soberly and flipped the line of burgers on the grill.

Bonnie rolled her eyes heavenward. "I think Mr. Mills is going to get a visit from Sheriff Ned's Welcome Wagon."

"You bet your sweet patoot he is," Ned mumbled.

Bonnie smiled at Charlotte. "So tell us, Charlotte. How is it you know so much about what your neighbor is doing at night behind a nine-foot privacy fence? You're not spying on him or anything, are you?"

"You can go to women's prison for that," Ned offered helpfully.

Charlotte felt herself blush. The truth was she'd had trouble sleeping and was spying on Joe with Matt's binoculars again, not that she'd ever come right out and admit it. She was scrambling to come up with some excuse when a customer appeared at the window. Charlotte spun around, happy for die distraction-for about one second.

"Hello there, Miss Vegetarian," said Jimmy Bettmyer. He stuck his faded blond head through the window to greet Ned and Bonnie, who returned his hello.

"What can I get you, Jimmy?" Charlotte waited, order pad and pencil in hand, as Jimmy carefully considered the menu overhead-as if he didn't know it by heart. The Minton Little League concession stand featured the same five grease-soaked fast-food choices season after season.

"I think I'll try a number two with a Sprite," Jimmy said loudly, then added under his breath, "and a big bite out of you, babe."

She ignored him, ripping the order off the pad and sticking it in the little metal clip over Ned's grill. "Chili dog, large fry" Charlotte said, all business. She turned her back on Jimmy to fill his drink order.

With dismay, she noticed that Bonnie had become occupied with a group of players at the other window and wouldn't be able to act as a deterrent to Jimmy's antics. She was on her own.

"Order up!" Ned announced, and Charlotte retrieved the food and shoved everything toward Jimmy without making eye contact. He grabbed her hand before she could pull away.

"Meet me tonight." he whispered.

"Get your hand off me," she said.

"Ten. The Creekside. Just a friendly drink."

Charlotte extricated her hand from his grip and glared at him. "Not in this lifetime."