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“I thought I’d contact the one you got the adorable Yoda from. For that slinky cat.”

“Lucy Cabot. She’s great. Also works with a cat rescue. I’ll send you her info. She’d know.”

Sonya paused by what she knew Collin Poole had called the Quiet Place, where the old grandfather clock with its moon face stood silent. At three.

No matter where they put the hands, they always returned to three.

“I don’t remember hearing it chime three last night. But I must have. I don’t always, but I got up, made my way to the ballroom, so I must have. When I do hear it—when I’m aware I hear it—I don’t feel that pull.”

“If you ever do, you get me first.”

“Count on it. Have you thought any more about making an office? Separate from your studio?”

“Maybe. The studio makes me so damn happy, but it might be smart to have a separate space for business.”

“I like the idea of using more of the house. Really using it. That’s why—”

She broke off when they walked into the big kitchen.

The pie and bread sat on the cooling rack and the air smelled glorious.

And the platter sat on the island.

“Oh, isn’t that gorgeous. What a beautiful dish! It looks old and important.”

“It is,” Sonya murmured. “It’s Lisbeth’s. It’s the one I used before. A wedding gift.”

Lifting it, Sonya turned it over so Cleo could read the inscription on the back.

“She never got to use it, and that makes you sad. But, Sonya, I think using it—not just letting it sit somewhere in storage—it’s a way of remembering her.”

“I saw her, across the ballroom. Just for a minute. There were so many people. She was so young, Cleo, and she looked so happy. Honestly, she just glowed.”

She set the platter down.

“You’re right. It shouldn’t just sit in storage.”

They set the table, added candles, the good wineglasses. Since the April evening was cool enough, they lit the fires in the kitchen, in the dining room.

“How about some music to set the mood?” Cleo began.

Clover answered with “Tangled Up in You.”

“Maybe a little direct,” Cleo decided, “but I like it. Glass of wine, partner?”

“You pour. I need to take the pot roast out, make the gravy.”

“Grab an apron for that. I’m going to be watching how you do it.”

The minute Sonya took the pot out of the oven, lifted the lid, Yoda scrambled up to stand on his stubby back legs, wave his front paws.

“That’s a Jack trick, and yeah, you’ll get a taste test.”

“I want one myself.” Cleo poured the wine. “It just sits in there all damn day, then smells like that. I think the pie was harder.”

“You’re forgetting the mountain of peels that went into the composter.”

“Some of those were apple peels. Just look at that,” she added as Sonya set the roast in the center of the platter and began to surround it with vegetables. “I believe you’ve become a pot roast genius.”