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her. It caused her to giggle and made me smile even wider.
    The woman glanced down at the girl to see why she was laughing. She fol owed the child’s attention to where I stil stood, grinning wildly at her. I reluctantly looked up at the woman, loathe to pul myself away from the moment the child and I had just shared, but immediately felt self-conscious when met with the disturbed expression on the woman’s face.
    She was young, maybe in her early twenties, and barely over five feet tal . Her blond hair was cut short above her shoulders, and her body was curvy and clad in a hooded col ege sweatshirt, shorts, and flip-flops. The casual attire was something I was quickly coming to appreciate as very common in this new town.
    I studied the woman’s brown eyes, searching for recognition, any proof to confirm the connection my heart had already made. I found nothing. I was certain I had never seen this woman before.
    But the child.
    With longing, I turned my gaze back to her, sure she was no stranger.
    The woman set a protective hand on the girl’s shoulder and gave me a fierce stare, a warning that caused me to look back at her face.
    I wanted to say something to explain, but before I could form the words, the woman took the girl’s hand and hurried her away, her voice stern and gentle at the same time as she reminded the child to never talk to strangers.
    Grimacing, I attempted to turn back to my fruit selection, but my intrigue was too great. Trying to keep a distance, I trailed behind them, pretending to shop for items that were already in my cart as I fol owed them down the same aisles I’d already visited. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t stop myself.
    I was every bit as drawn to that little girl as she seemed to be to me.
    In vain, I attempted to appear nonchalant as I essential y stalked the pair, counting to one hundred in my head before I fol owed them into the next aisle. This time when they came into view, the child was no longer walking but sat in the seat in the front of the cart.
    God, I felt like a creep. I was making the woman nervous, and I could only imagine what she was thinking.
    Fear was palpable as it radiated from her. She began to move faster, literal y throwing things in her cart.
    But what could I do? Cal out to her that I wasn’t some sort of sick pervert? Assert that I thought I knew the child—
    that I believed she was mine? Even to me those words sounded crazy. They would only frighten the woman more.
    When they final y got to the checkout, I slipped into a line a couple of rows down from them, absentmindedly loading my groceries on the conveyor belt while I tried to watch them out of the corner of my eye.
    She was precious—perfect. I was completely mesmerized.
    From where she sat two rows down, I could real y see her, her plump arms with the smal gold bracelet that she wore on one of her wrists, the pink bow that held her hair in the messy ponytail, and the little cleft in her chin that matched my own.
    “Sir?”
    I jumped when I realized someone had been speaking to me. My attention was so wrapped up in the girl I’d forgotten where I was. I looked at the cashier, having no idea what she’d said.
    She rol ed her eyes at me before repeating, “One-hundred and seventy-two dol ars and ninety-three cents.” Digging out my wal et, I made my purchase while stil keeping an eye on the girl. Every time we made eye contact, she smiled again.
    When they headed for the exit, I felt as if I were in a race for time, as if this were the one chance I’d been given, and I felt desperate to catch one last glimpse of the girl before she was gone from my life forever.
    Pushing my cart through the sliding doors, I scanned the lot and easily spotted the blonde woman awkwardly throwing her plastic grocery bags in the trunk of her smal white sedan while she kept one hand across the bel y of the child who stil sat in the cart.
    I felt bad for causing the woman so much distress, but I was powerless to