I know who did, and believe me, they’re incredible.”
His grin grew, revealing a pair of dimples behind his smattering of neatly trimmed copper-colored whiskers. “Then I’ll take two.” He slid two lumps onto his plate, put down the server, and stuck his hand across the divide. “Hi. I’m Jase Edgar.”
Lori stifled a giggle and swiped her hand the length of her apron before taking his. “Lori Fowler. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too.” His palm was wide and warm, and he let go before she wanted him to. He moved to the platter with chicken-salad-and-sweet-pickle sandwiches on cocktail buns. “What about these? Worth the risk?”
She laughed. “Sister Kraft made those, and the cherry cobbler.”
“Then I know not to leave either behind.” He took a sandwich and scanned the containers on the counter. “Which is the cobbler?”
Lori wrinkled her nose. “You’re too late. The kids…” She waved her hand in the general direction of the teens, who sat on the floor under the volleyball net. “They emptied the whole thing.”
“Well, I guess it’s true what they say.” He shrugged. “You snooze, you lose.”
She drew back. Her dad used that phrase. Usually to be derogative. How strange to hear it spoken so nonchalantly from someone else. She managed a jerky nod. “I guess so. Next time, try to be first in line.”
“Ah, but what does the Good Book tell us? ‘The last will be first.’ ” His eyes—they were definitely green and blue, the most incredible combination against his red-gold hair—twinkled with mischief. “I’m sure everything else is good, too.” He took a second sandwich, then spooned a blob of pistachio-pudding salad onto his plate.
Lori inched along the kitchen side of the counter, staying in step with him. “I realize tonight is all about the youth, and it should be, but in case nobody’s mentioned it, we have a pretty active young-adult group here, too. A mix of married couples and singles. Just ’cause you’re with the youth during Sunday school and on Wednesday evenings doesn’t mean you won’t be welcome at our social gatherings.”
He sent her an interested look from across a pan of coconut cake. “Oh, yeah? When do y’all get together?”
The y’all sounded so quaint and friendly, she couldn’t hold back a little giggle. “The third Thursday of every month. Sometimes we meet at a member’s house, sometimes at a restaurant or coffee shop. The location’s always on the church calendar, though, so look for it there, and I’ll try to remind you, too.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
In tandem, they reached the end of the counter. He piled carrot sticks and cucumber slices on his plate, topped them with a huge dollop of chive dip, then aimed a dimpled smile at her. “Well, Lori, I look forward to getting to know you and the other church members, but right now I better go join the youth.”
She leaned against the counter and watched him cross to the circle of teenagers and sink down on the floor, his plate balanced on his palm the way waiters carried trays. He picked up a carrot stick and used it to gesture as he said something, and all the kids laughed. Even bashful Raul.
She sighed. He was perfect.
An arm curled around her waist, and she tipped her face slightly, meeting Sister Kraft’s knowing grin. Heat filled Lori’s cheeks. She used the skirt of her apron and wiped at a few crumbs on the counter.
“Dreamy, isn’t he?” Sister Kraft’s eyes twinkled with humor.
“Yeah.” Continuing to scrub at nonexistent messes, Lori raised her head and peeked at Jase through her fringe of bangs. “Oh, yeah.” And he’d been so nice to her. He hadn’t acted put off by her pudginess or her wild hair. Not to mention he had dimples, like she did. Only his were cuter with those whiskers shading them. Not that she’d want whiskers to shade hers. Yikes trikes, that would be awful.
“And still in mourning.”
Lori jerked her focus to Sister Kraft. “What do you mean?”
Sympathy pursed the older woman’s face. “His former church family ministered to him for the first year after a devastating loss.”
Lori sucked in a sharp breath.
“His fiancée was killed in a car accident.”
Lori’s heart constricted, and her breath wheezed out on a sorrowful sigh. She zipped her attention to Jase, who sat munching and chatting and behaving as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Was he pretending, or had time erased the greater burden of grief? She knew from experience how losing