Ben stepped into the dining room. His eyes found the small figure sitting on the entry bench, a glass of water in her hands.
“Charlotte?” he said, voice soft but certain.
She looked up and smiled. “Ben.”
In two strides, he was in front of her, kneeling on one knee. “You found me.”
“You told me to, if I ever needed help.”
Ben stood and offered his arm. “Come with me.”
The diners watched as the chef led her to the Hart Table—a small spot by the fireplace, normally reserved for his closest friends. Conversations hummed again, but now with a different tone.
