Three months ago, Landon Hale was in Ashford on business.
He'd signed the contract, returned to the hotel, and called Natalie. After hanging up, the missing hit him like a wave he couldn't outrun.
So he drove alone to her favorite chocolate shop.
He was leaving with a box of handmade truffles when he spotted a little girl in the middle of the road, injured, struggling to stand, failing each time.
The afternoon sun hung low. Any westbound driver would be half-blinded by the glare. They'd never see a child on the pavement.
A sedan was already speeding toward her.
Landon didn't hesitate. He sprinted into the road and scooped the girl into his arms.
The car grazed past him by inches.
The driver, realizing what had almost happened, slowed and waved in shaken gratitude.
Landon returned
