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It shouldn’t thrill me so much to know he’ll be sitting right beside me, but I also won’t deny the kick my pulse gives. “Isaac is Abraham’s son, and Jacob is Isaac’s youngest son.” I continue with verse ten. “‘Abraham was confidently looking forward to a city with eternal foundations, a city designed and built by God.’” My throat constricts just a bit as I prepare to read the next part, which carries far more meaning than I can even put into words. “‘It was by faith that even Sarah was able to have a child, though she was barren and was too old. She believed that God would keep His promise. And so a whole nation came from this one man who was as good as dead—a nation with so many people that, like the stars in the sky and the sand on the seashore, there is no way to count them.’”

Maverick takes a seat beside me.

“See, Abraham walked in faith, leaving everything he knew behind. After he’d lived as a foreigner for quite a while, his wife gave birth to a son, despite being well past what was considered child-bearing age.” I take a deep breath, unsure if I should continue. Share. “When I was a teenager, I was diagnosed with Primary Ovarian Insufficiency.” The weight of that settles over me like rocks in my gut.

“What is that?” Maverick asks.

“My ovaries don’t function the way they’re supposed to. It means that I likely won’t be able to have kids. Which is actually why I became a nanny.”

“And why that story about Sarah being past child-bearing age means so much to you. I could tell. Your voice changed when you were reading,” he adds.

My chest warms, my heart kicking against my chest that he would notice. “Yeah. I know that God can do anything. I believe that in my soul. And if I am ever able to get married, I pray that He will bless me with children. But if not—if I’m not able to become a mother, then I also know that He has a plan.”

“I don’t know much about God,” Maverick says. “But if He can see our motives, then I can’t imagine He wouldn’t give you children. Any child would be so lucky to have you as a mother.”

Emotion tightens in my throat, and my eyes fill. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

I take a deep breath and turn toward the food. “Can I say grace?”

“Go for it.”

He sets his fork back down and bows his head.

“Lord, we thank You for this meal, and I thank You for the man who prepared it. Please bless this food and let it nourish our bodies. In Jesus’ name, I pray. Amen.” I raise my head and lift my fork. “Thanks for this.”

“No problem.”

“Spaghetti has always been my comfort food,” I say with a smile as I twirl some onto my fork. “My mom used to make it for me after any big event. A test, a lacrosse game. And when I found out I couldn’t play anymore, she made it every night for a week.”

“That’s a lot of spaghetti.”

I laugh. “Yeah, I couldn’t eat it for a while after that, but now I make it at least once a week. Or, I used to, anyway.”

“Do you think you’ll go back to being a nanny? Once this is all over.”

“Maybe. I never really thought about doing anything else. How about you? Did you always want to be a bartender?”

He chuckles, and the sound catches me off guard. Is that the first time I’ve heard it?

Not that we’ve had a whole lot of opportunities to laugh between him finding me in the alley and me collapsing in his bar in a full-blown panic attack.

Just the thought of it has a bit of fear trying to creep into my mind.

Is the monster close by?

Will he find me?

I shove all of that aside because, right here, right now—I am safe. And here is where I’ll stay.

“Actually, no. I don’t even drink,” Maverick starts, ripping me from the momentary panic and plunging me back into the present.

“Really? A bartender who doesn’t drink?”

“Pretty brilliant, when you think about it,” he says. “Because I don’t ever have to worry about consuming my inventory.”

I laugh. “I suppose that’s right. Not a drinker myself. I never had a taste for it, even in college when my roommate kept trying to get me to partake in all the parties.”