The workday that had started so disastrously, with tears and hurtful words, had ended on a softer note but I couldn't wait to leave. Patty and I had talked intermittently throughout the day but only about store business. We had left our usual banter and friendly chat behind, which made the work day extra long and dull.

Patty had made a noticeable effort all day not to stare out the window. She seemed determined to show me that she no longer cared about Fynn. It pained me to think how badly she wanted to meet and fall in love with someone and how impossibly hard that was for her. Her anxiety was keeping her a virtual prisoner.

I walked out of the backroom with my backpack on my shoulder. Patty was at the counter ringing up Meg Upton, the third grade teacher at Butterfield School. Meg had never married and she hadn't lost anyone in the accident, but she had taught every student on the bus so she was definitely a third degree person.

Meg turned around when she heard my footsteps. "Hey, Ella, I was just telling Patty that the fountain looks so different. He's doing a great job out there. And as much as I shouldn't be saying this to two former students, he sure is something to look at. With that intimidating physique and all those tattoos, I don't think I've ever seen anyone quite like him."

Patty's face fell more with each word. I decided to shorten Meg's description.

"I hope he can get the fountain working," I said rather too abruptly. "I think it would be nice to see the water flowing again."

"I'll say. I don't think that fountain has run right for eight or nine years." Meg picked up her bag of groceries. "Well, both of you have a nice night. I'm going home to try a new chicken recipe. I saw it on Pinterest and have to give it a try."

"Goodbye, Ms. Upton," Patty and I both said in our third grade sing song voices. It was something we did every time our third grade teacher left the store, and it always made Meg roll her eyes and laugh.

"Oh, you two." Meg walked out the door.

I looked at Patty, and for the first time that day she smiled at me. "Old habits," I quipped.

The cowbell clanged with urgency as Meg raced back inside. "It's running. The fountain is running!"

Patty and I ran outside. A small group of people had already gathered around the fountain and more were coming out of the surrounding shops. There was no shortage of excited murmurs and wide grins. In truth, I wasn't completely sure how people would react. Sometimes it seemed we had all collectively and silently decided to let the town square wither away because it had been the sight of so many memories, and, so often, the memories, even the good ones, made the pain and agony of loss more acute. But people looked pleased. More than pleased—they looked happy.

I headed straight over to Fynn, who was casually collecting his tools as if he hadn't just created the incredible scene. Boone sat loyally by his side, looking slightly nervous about the sudden crowd filling the otherwise desolate park. Fynn hadn't noticed me walk up, but Boone's hello bark made him turn around. His smile was far more muted than I'd expected and that was when it struck me. The fountain was finished. Fynn had no more reason to stay in Butterfield.

I couldn't let my feelings get in the way of the triumphant moment. I walked straight over and hugged him. "You did it."

"Wasn't too sure if it would work." Fynn stared up at the lacy spray of water shooting from the top of the fountain. A cooling mist filled the air, and it drew people even closer. Once again, the three horses proudly spit long arcs of water from their mouths. Frothy bubbles cascaded from the bowls into the base.

"It's just like I remember," I said. "Beautiful frilly sprays of white water sliding over teal gray stone. It brings back so many memories."

Fynn discretely put his hand against my back as we watched the townsfolk, my neighbors and friends, my extended family, scoop up the cool water from the base and stand in the mist with faces lifted and eyes closed. For those few moments, some of the sadness was lifted and the town flickered with life.

Mayor Fran walked over, her smile stretched from one side of her hat brim to the other. "Well done, Fynn. It's truly splendid. Makes the rest of the park look extra dreary, but I think this was just what this place needed. You know, I never got your whole name. I would love to have your mailing address so I can send you a little something for your troubles."

"Uh, it's Chandler, Fynn Chandler," he said it almost as if he couldn't remember his last name. "And I don't need any compensation. Seeing these people enjoying their fountain is plenty."

Fran shook his hand. "Handsome, handy and noble." She winked at me. "Great combination." She returned to her constituents to frolic in the retell of old stories and memories.

Fynn stared proudly up at his accomplishment.

"You did a good thing here, Fynn." And then my earlier revelation about the fountain being his reason for staying in Butterfield crept back into my mind. I couldn't find the courage to bring up the topic.

He seemed to read my mind. His hand slipped under my shirt and his callused palm, still moist from the water in the fountain, smoothed over my skin. It sent a rush of heat through me that could only be cooled by that same callused touch.

"You know, Starshine, I was thinking that I might tackle that pavilion next."

I tried to keep my feet on the ground, but his sensual touch on my back and the prospect of him staying in town was making that difficult. "Really?" I asked casually as if my heart wasn't beating a million times a minute.

He looked at me and his gaze dropped to my lips. I badly needed that second kiss. His golden eyes lifted. "Unless you think I should go."

"Nope," I said quickly. "I think that pavilion needs your tender touch."

His hand slid down and his finger trailed seductively beneath the waistline of my shorts. "Then that pavilion is in luck because tender touch is my specialty." His gaze shot toward the small crowd gathered around the fountain. Excitement vibrated the air around them. With everyone's attention diverted, Fynn took hold of my hand and led me across the street. Boone followed obediently behind.

Fynn took me around the corner of the market out of everyone's view. Boone barked, sat up on his haunches and pawed at my leg. I scratched his head.

"Hey, you shameless flirt, get your own girl." Fynn took hold of both my arms and pulled me closer. "This one is mine." His mouth covered mine, and the fireworks went off right on cue.