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She brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. “I don’t need overnight as long as I know there might be a light at the end of the tunnel.”

“Understood.”

“We need to think differently, Daisy.”

“Oh, I’m totally hearing you. I am.” And I was. My mind was already spinning in a dozen different directions.

The doors opened to Davenport Property, and a very thin and sleek receptionist watched as we pushed the cart into the reception area.

I grinned. “The Union Street Bakery order has arrived.”

The receptionist’s plucked eyebrows rose. “In the conference room.”

We’d delivered here before and knew the drill.

As we made our way over the carpeted hallway past the slick development pictures on the walls, an odd sense of disconnect settled on my shoulders.

Six months ago, I’d have sold my soul to be readmitted to this sterile corporate world.

I liked the air-conditioned air, the windows that didn’t open and offered a distant view of the Potomac, and the disconnect from life.

But as we unloaded the vibrant, rich cookies onto the polished mahogany conference table, I wasn’t so sure this was for me anymore.

I liked the idea of my kid stumbling into the bakery with Aunt Margaret, covered in dirt and ice cream.

I liked calling the shots and knowing the risk I took with the business was on me and not some guy at corporate.

I liked having my family close. Odd Rachel would pull away from the business as I moved closer to it.

But maybe I could figure a solution workable for us both.

Simon appeared in the doorway, as he did before every corporate event that we’d catered, to inspect what had been delivered.

He wore a neatly tailored charcoal gray suit, a white shirt, and gold cuff links.

Rachel kept her gaze on the cookies, but I could see her hands now trembled a little and a faint blush colored her cheeks.

Smiling, I turned to Simon, ready to run interference. “Simon, thank you again for using Union Street Bakery.”

His gaze shifted from Rachel’s bent head to me, and he smiled. “Your work is always a big hit with our employees.”

“We aim to please.”

Rachel straightened, turned, and faced Simon. She held out her hand and moved to shake his. “Thank you for your business.”

He took her hand. Instead of speaking, he simply stared at her. I’d been around enough to know when a man craved a woman. Not merely liked but craved a woman. Blushing myself, I quickly rearranged already-perfect cookies.

“Simon,” Rachel said. “We got off on a bad foot the last time.”

I stiffened. Was Rachel taking the bull by the horns? She wasn’t scurrying for cover. Crap. I’d seen it all.

He didn’t smile, but his eyes softened. Instead of answering, he remained quiet. A good negotiator didn’t tip his hand, especially when the stakes were high.

“I’m so far out of practice when it comes to life outside of work or motherhood. I was out of my depth, and I wasn’t very entertaining.” She drew in a breath. “If you’re interested, I’d like to take you out to dinner.”

His head cocked a fraction. I’d done my share of negotiations, and I knew a win when I saw it. Rachel had Simon.

Slowly he nodded. “What do you propose?”

He was going to make her work for it, which told me he really liked my sister.

He was a guy who didn’t like sweets and yet had placed six orders with the bakery in the last six months.

His employees lost work time and complained about getting fat, and still he ordered baked goods from the Union Street Bakery—from Rachel.

Rachel moistened her lips. “We’ve our grand opening on Saturday, so I’m booked solid until then. But maybe Saturday after next. There’s an art show in town, and we close at three.”

Silent, he seemed to consider her offer, and then slowly he nodded. “Sounds intriguing.”

“I’ll pick you up?” she offered.

I pictured Rachel pulling up in front of Simon’s sleek building in the Union Street Bakery van, or worse, in her old Toyota. That was a scene I’d pay money to see.

“I’ll pick you up,” he countered as if the image skittered through his mind.

“I don’t mind driving. Really,” Rachel said.

A smile tugged at the edge of his lips as if he seemed to like this assertive version of Rachel. “I can manage the drive.”

She nodded as if she had finally remembered to breathe. “Good. Would five o’clock work?”

“It does.”

I felt like the fairy godmother in Cinderella . Forgetting she was plump and gray, I focused on her sparkly blue dress, which I’d always envied as a kid.

When awkward silence settled between the two, I said, “Rachel, we’ve a bakery to fill.”

“Right.” She smiled at Simon. “See you in a week and a half.”

“I look forward to it.”

Neither one of us said a word as we left the offices and rode the elevators to the first floor. It wasn’t until we were in the van and I fired up the engine that I grinned and said, “Who’s the brazen hussy now.”

Her eyes widened with shock. “Was I?”

I laughed as we pulled onto Duke Street. “No. You were not. I’m teasing.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Shaking my head, I checked the rearview mirror for traffic. “I think old Simon is shier than you are.”

She pressed her palms to her rosy cheeks. “I don’t think so. He’s so in control.”

“It doesn’t take a lot to stay in control. It takes balls to put yourself in the game when there are a million reasons not to.”

She flopped back against the seat. “I can’t believe I asked him out. I mean, I’ve been thinking about it, but I never thought the words would come out of my mouth. And then I was asking him out.”

“You did it.”

She rolled her head to me. “What am I going to wear?”

“We’re not going to spend the next two weeks obsessing over this date, Rachel. We’re not.”

“Yeah, I know.” She was silent for a moment. “Should I wear the blue dress or the green one with the flippy skirt?”

Grinning, I shifted gears as we moved through a light and then turned the corner that took us to Union Street. “Are you also dating Jean Paul?”

Her eyes widened. “No. At least I don’t think so.”

Shaking my head, I laughed. “There’s no law that says you can’t date two men.”

“Then maybe I will.”

“You’re a wanton woman, Rachel.”

She smiled, satisfied.

When we arrived at the bakery, Margaret was waiting for us in the kitchen. Her duffel bag packed and at her feet, she nibbled on a sugar cookie. Jean Paul was mixing a batch of dough. He glanced up at us as if annoyed by the interruption and then went back to his dough.

“Is something wrong with the girls?” Rachel searched for the kids.

“What?”

“The girls. Where are they?” She articulated each word.

“Oh, with Mom. Zonked out. I ran them ragged.” She sounded very pleased with herself.

“What’s up?” I nodded to the bag.

Bracelets jangled as she swept her hand through her curly, wild hair. “Just got a call from the site. I’ve dead guys waiting for me. The rain has cleared, and the dig resumes tomorrow.”

As sorry as I was to see her go, I recognized the excitement humming in her body. “That’s great.”

She lifted her bag, her bracelets jangling as she hefted the strap onto her shoulder. “By the way, I found him.”

“Found who?” I asked.

“Joey Lawrence.”

At first the name didn’t register. “And he’s one of your dead guys?”

“No. He’s one of your guys. Joey was mentioned on the burial form as Walter’s next of kin. He was in Walter’s platoon. He served with him.”

Excitement buzzed. “Is he dead?”

“No, Joey is very much alive.”

I couldn’t believe this bit of news. “And he knew Walter?”

She nodded. “He did.”

Energy rushed through my body. “Where does he live?”

Satisfaction warmed her gaze. “Would you believe about twenty minutes from here?”

“When can we see him?”

She dug a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to me. “It’ll have to be you. I’m back to Saint Mary’s. Here’s the address. I called and told him he could expect you. Good luck.”

“You called?”

“Sure. This is a lead, and the sooner you see him the better. He’s in his nineties.”

I had the sense of invisible hands pushing me forward. “Okay.”

“You’re going?” Rachel said.

“It’s not very practical,” I said. “The work’s going to be insane this week.”

Rachel shrugged. “We’ll live.”

I searched her face. “I won’t be gone more than a couple of hours.”

“I know. Just go.” She glanced at Margaret. “And happy digging to you.”

Margaret all but shivered with excitement. “I’m hearing there are all kinds of goodies waiting for us.”

I glanced at the scrawled address and name. “Do I call this guy?”

“He’s expecting you. I spoke to the nursing home, and they said you could visit any afternoon between now and Friday.”

I barely had time to breathe, and now I had to slip away to chase the mist. “Thanks, Margaret. You’ve worked a miracle.”

“I know. And you’re welcome.” She hugged Rachel and then me. “Good luck.”

Joey Lawrence. Was this guy him ? “Do you think he’ll remember?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. But he’ll have more answers than you have now.”