Page 51

“Not exactly. He would be in his midsixties.” The first hints of amusement danced in his gaze.

I explained about Jenna’s recipe box and my visit with Joey. “So, I’m trying to locate this kid.”

“Who is now in his midsixties.”

“Exactly.”

He shrugged. “I’ve bikes to fix this morning, but I’m free after eleven.”

He was offering an olive branch. He wasn’t saying we’d be together forever, but he was trying to be my friend. I wanted his friendship and his love, but to expect both right now was greedy. “I can pick you up.”

Now amusement did spark. “In the bakery van?”

“It works. For the most part.”

“I’ll pick you up, Daisy.”

There’d been a time when I would have challenged his need to take the lead. I always had to be first. Always had to drive. But I liked this. For the first time in my life, I liked not feeling as if I had to control every detail.

“Sounds good. See you at eleven.”

He leaned forward, hesitated a split second as if he’d kiss me. Instead, he smiled and promised to return.

The rest of the morning was spent baking Jenna’s maple cookies.

I knew Rachel had leftovers, but I’d wanted these cookies to be fresh and to be made by me.

Rachel always believed we put our energy into the food we made, and though I’d often scoffed and teased her, I had to agree.

If Jenna’s son ate these cookies today, I wanted him to feel his mother’s love.

After I’d gathered up the cookies and tied a yellow ribbon around the box, I saw I had minutes before Gordon arrived. I dashed up to my room, ran a brush through my hair, and put on lipstick. I practiced smiling in front of the mirror because I wanted to have fun with Gordon today. No sour faces.

After hurrying to the main floor, I grabbed my cookie box and stood by the front window. I thought about playing it cool and making Gordon knock for me but then laughed at the thought. “Jeez, Daisy, aren’t you a little past making the poor man work?”

When Gordon and I dated the first time around in Washington, our relationship had its share of problems. He worked long, long hours and often left me waiting, annoyed, and feeling very alone.

I didn’t handle his lack of attention well, and instead of talking to him about it like an adult, I’d sulked and eventually left him because I’d so convinced myself he didn’t love me.

But he had loved me. He was a crappy communicator like me.

And so, when he pulled up in front of the bakery one minute before eleven, a surge of well-being and love filled me. Since our move to Alexandria, we were both trying. It hadn’t been all smooth waters, but for a time we’d been doing well.

If not for the teeny, weeny problem of me carrying another man’s baby, we’d have been perfect.

The devil was in the details, which is a misquote. The actual line has to do with God being in the details. It didn’t really matter because the little detail in question wasn’t so little.

Tossing him a wave, I hurried outside, opened the front door of his truck, and slid into the seat. Weeks ago, it would have been natural to lean over and kiss him. I wanted to kiss him but wasn’t sure if I should ...

Was I overthinking this? Should I go ahead and kiss him? “Good morning again,” I said.

He studied me a beat. “So what conversation are you having in your head?”

I laughed. “How do you know I was having a conversation in my head?”

“You’ve that panicked, far-off look. You get that look when you’re thinking.”

“What does that look like?”

He made a face that I was sure didn’t look like my expression.

I laughed. “I was thinking I would have kissed you if it were a couple of weeks ago. That I’d be totally comfortable and not tense.”

His hand rested casually on the steering wheel, but his eyes bored into me. “You could kiss me.”

The rough timbre of his voice had my toes tingling. “I could?”

“Sure.”

“But . . .”

A brow arched. “Has the baby somehow damaged your lips?”

God bless him, he was trying. I moistened my lips and pretended to inspect them. “No. I don’t think so.”

He sat still as a stone, not moving toward me.

If I wanted this, I would have to make the big move.

Moistening my lips again, I scooted across the seat and glanced into his steady gaze for any sign of doubt, and when I saw none, I leaned into him and kissed him softly on the lips.

The touch was gentle and tentative, like we were a couple of middle school kids.

But sweet quickly warmed to hot when Gordon slid his hand to my waist. My pulse throbbed under his fingertips as I leaned into the kiss, hoping to deepen it, and the baby kicked. Hard. So hard we both felt it.

He straightened but didn’t remove his hand. “She kicked the last time I touched you.”

I glanced at his tanned, lean fingers lying over my full belly. “She seems to be trying to figure you out.”

He nodded, staring at my belly. “Looks like she and I are in the same boat. We both love Mommy but aren’t sure if we can love each other.”

He was being honest, and I appreciated that. But it stung to think the two people I now loved most in the world might not ever get along. “I’m hoping when you two meet you’ll find a way to like each other.”

He nodded. “Me too.”

I patted him on the hand and then slid to my seat and clicked the seat belt in place. “Ready?”

Frowning, he studied me. “I hurt your feelings.”

“Yeah, a little.” I’d vowed my days of pretending problems didn’t exist had ended. The phrase “Put your money where your mouth is” resonated. “But I appreciate the effort you’re making today. You could have dumped me and run for the hills.”

His arm rested on the back of the seat, his fingertips brushing my shoulder. “I want to figure this out, Daisy. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I want to try.”

“For today let’s not worry about the baby or what’s next. Let’s go to Winchester and see if we can solve a mystery.”

He nodded, a smile teasing the edge of his lips. “You sound like Nancy Drew.”

A laugh bubbled. “If Nancy was as curious about her cases as I am about Jenna, then maybe I finally get old Nancy. As a kid, I read a couple of her books, but she annoyed the hell out of me.”

Laughing, he pulled into traffic. “Why is that?”

“Perfect hair, perfect grades, always had the right answer while I was schlepping around with twenty extra pounds, always angry and without a clue of who I was.”

“You’ve come a long way.”

“Let’s hope.”

The drive around the beltway and then out I-66 west was uneventful, though not particularly scenic. But I was grateful there was no traffic, and the day was pretty. It took under two hours before Gordon pulled into the city limits of Winchester.

I dug my phone out of my purse. “I entered her address on my phone before I left the bakery, so here’s hoping GPS can find her.”

Gordon’s wrist rested casually over the steering wheel. Dark shades covered his eyes. Blond hair brushed his collar. And he looked as if he had no care in the world. “This is your show, Daisy. I’m the driver.”

He looked so sexy and cool. It would be easy to forget about Jenna, Walter, and Joey and focus on us. But as much as I wanted to toss every bit of my life aside but him, I couldn’t.

And so I gave him not-so-perfect directions, leading us around the outskirts of the town of Winchester, past the rows of strip malls and box stores and farm-chemical suppliers.

Finally, we looped around and headed out toward a rural route, cutting through rolling green hills dotted with apple trees.

Gordon seemed content to drive and enjoy the views and the nice weather. I, as always, grew restless without the buzz of conversation and needed to fill the silence.

Searching for a neutral topic, I rejected talk of the weather, choosing an equally banal subject. “Did you know Winchester is noted for its apples?”

He kept his gaze ahead, but his lips quirked as if he’d expected I couldn’t take the silence for long. “I didn’t know.”

“Lots of apples. Rachel buys apples from a guy out this way. She makes apple pies at Thanksgiving. Margaret says after last Thanksgiving she never wants to see another apple again. Said her left hand could have passed for Captain Hook’s claw by the time she was done peeling them.”

His head cocked like it did when he was thinking big picture. “So, you going to make the pies this year?”

“I suppose so. It’s all hands on deck when the holiday season starts. And now that we have our fancy new freezer in place, we can make the pies ahead and freeze them.”

“That doesn’t mess with the taste?” He had a knack for sounding interested no matter what I babbled about.

“I don’t think so, but I know we’ll be taste testing in the fall. Rachel and I’ll figure it out. And did I mention we also had a couple of email orders today for the frozen cookie dough?”

“I didn’t realize you sold frozen dough.”

“We don’t, or didn’t. Kind of fell into that one last week, but it seems to be catching on.” I shook my head. “People like the idea of bringing the bakery home and baking without the work.”

“‘Bring our bakery home.’ Sounds like a slogan.”

“Maybe.” His offhand comment had me thinking. “What if we not only baked and froze the pies ahead, but cookies and maybe some bread dough? Maybe cakes. What if we packaged holiday desserts in a box and sold them before Christmas? I’ve been worried about what we’re going to do beyond mid-December.”

Tension rippled through him, but he kept his tone light. “It’s good to be thinking ahead.”

Sorry I’d taken a wrong turn in the conversation, I glanced at my phone and then at the road. “According to the phone, we should be turning up ahead.”

His gaze followed the direction of my finger, which had zeroed in on a rusted mailbox leaning slightly to the left. By its looks, there’d been a name painted on it, but the lettering had long ago faded and chipped.