From Fireflies and Magnolias

Rising from his chair, he caught sight of a glow outside the French doors to the garden. It looked like the sparks of a fire, except the lights were winking on and off like Christmas lights.

He couldn’t make them out, but he felt a prickle on his neck—a feeling that told him he had to find out what they were. He stepped into the cold and fought the urge to shiver. The path to the moonlit garden where he’d once held a crying Amelia Ann cushioned his steps.

When he drew close enough to make out the source of the lights, he froze.

Sitting on the cast-iron bench in the garden was Amelia Ann, and she was surrounded by what seemed to be hundreds of fireflies. His steps grew more certain as he strode toward her.

She looked up and held out her gloved hands. “I don’t understand how all these fireflies can be alive. It’s freezing outside.”

His throat grew thick, and he grasped her slim hands in his own as the fireflies gathered around him, bringing him into the circle of their light.

“I do,” he said in a rough voice, meeting her gaze.

His daddy had a hand in this, and he could deny the truth no longer.

“They were guiding me back to you.”

“Oh, Clayton.”