“Fuck off.” But I was glad he couldn’t see my face.

“You did. I know you.”

“What? Griffin got laid?” Handme came strolling over, wiping his hands on a blue shop towel. “Was it the new receptionist?”

“Will you guys stop? It’s none of your fucking business whether I got laid or not.”

“But you did, didn’t you?” McIntyre’s grin was all-knowing. “Where’d she sleep last night, Dempsey?”

I clenched my jaw and turned back to the Honda.

He burst out laughing. “Yeah, I heard all about how you rescued her from sleeping in her car from Emily. You left out that part of the story yesterday when you told me she was just passing through town.”

Fucking Cheyenne. She and Emily were best friends, so no doubt my sister had gone blabbing the moment I’d left the house yesterday.

“So does this mean she’s here to stay?”

“No,” I snapped. “It means my sister cannot keep her mouth shut to save her life, and it’s impossible to keep anything private around here.”

“If I were you, I’d keep her around,” said Handme. “Did you taste one of those things she brought in this morning? She only let me have one because she said they were for customers, but it was really good. And the lobby smells like a bakery.”

McIntyre was already heading for the door to the waiting room when I called after him. “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

“I just want to sniff the lobby, that’s all,” he said.

I knew what he wanted to sniff out—some gossip—so I followed him, grabbing a towel on my way out. Handme was quick on my heels.

In the lobby, Blair stood beaming behind the desk chatting with old man Dodson, who was eating something. I smelled fresh coffee and something sweet, and she’d propped the front door open, letting in a summer breeze as well as the sunshine.

She waved us in. “Hey, guys. Come try the scones. Mr. Dodson here came in just to taste one. He heard about them already.”

“Really?” I asked, moving deeper into the room. My hands weren’t clean, so I refrained from taking a scone off the tray—had that been in my apartment?—but I had to admit they looked delicious. Golden and fluffy and dripping with some sort of glaze that caused my mind to wander toward inappropriate territory.

“I sure did.” Mr. Dodson finished his scone and brushed off his hands. “I just saw Charlie Frankel at the diner and he said he’d been in here earlier this morning and had the most amazing pastry. He couldn’t remember what it was called, but he said he hadn’t tasted anything so good in years.”

Blair smiled at me and said, “Mr. Frankel came in to make an appointment for a tune-up, and I offered him a scone. Apparently he liked it.”

“I’ll say he did. He showed up at the diner raving about it, told everyone it was the best thing he’s tasted since Betty’s apple pie.”

“At least three other people came in to say hello and taste one after overhearing Mr. Frankel at the diner,” Blair said proudly.

“Did they make an appointment?” I asked.

“No,” she admitted. “But they all introduced themselves and said nice things about your dad. A couple said they’d be back soon.”

“Frankel will probably be back every morning,” Mr. Dodson said. “I think he’s in love with your wife.”

I sighed heavily, my eyes closing. “She’s not my wife.”

“I also took their names and email addresses down for our new mailing list,” Blair continued. “I said I wanted to be sure they got an invitation to our party.”

“What party?” Handme wanted to know.

“Is it a wedding reception?” joked McIntyre.

“No. We’ll talk about it later,” I told them, eyeing the tray again. I wasn’t even sure what a scone was. “So what’s in these things anyway?”

“They’re blueberry-lemon-thyme,” Blair said. “I call it a BLT.” She grinned triumphantly. “Try one. I made plenty.”

“I can’t. My hands are filthy.”

“Here.” She picked one up and held it to my lips. I took a bite, conscious of the way everyone in the room was watching us.

But as I tasted her creation, I had to admit I understood why widowed old Charlie Frankel might be back every morning. “Wow. It is good. I thought it would be sweet like a donut.”

She shook her head and smiled proudly. “My favorite things are both sweet and savory. I love the way the thyme and lemon balance the sugar and fruit. Here, have another bite.” She held the scone to my mouth again, and I bit into it once more. As the sugary glaze dissolved on my tongue, I wondered if that’s what she would taste like. Why hadn’t I tasted her last night? I made a mental note to rectify that as soon as possible.

“Want the rest of this?” Blair held up the scone. “I’ll wrap it up for you. You can finish it later.”

“Sure.” I watched her carefully wrap it in a white napkin, a stack of which sat next to the tray. “Can you set it aside for me? I’ll finish it when I break for lunch.”

She nodded. “Speaking of lunch, just let me know when you’re ready. I can run down to the deli again.”

Dodson headed for the door. “Guess I better get home for lunch too. Edna gets cranky if I’m more than five minutes late.” He turned back. “But I’m going to tell her to come in and try one of those things. Her car needs an oil change anyway. Think you can fit her in this afternoon?”

“Sure,” I said. “But have her come before four o’clock.”

“Will do.”

Once he was gone, I turned to Blair. “Nice work.”

She blushed. “Thanks. It’s a start, anyway.”

I moved toward the door and pulled it open. “Come on, you guys. Back to work.”

“Don’t I get to try one of those things?” McIntyre whined.

“Later,” I said. “We’ve got things to do, and we’re knocking off early tonight for the game.”

But Blair quickly wrapped one up for McIntyre anyway and handed it to him with a finger over her lips. He took it and ducked into the bay, flashing me a triumphant expression.

I was following right behind him when I heard my mother’s voice.

“Hello, darlings!” she called as she came hobbling through the open door behind a walker, as if she hadn’t been getting around just fine on her own yesterday. “My lands, something smells delightful!”

I turned around and sighed. “What are you doing here, Mom?”

“I came to see what all the fuss was about! It’s all over town that Blair is the new Betty.”

I shook my head. “Jesus Christ.”

My sister strolled in, sipping a cold coffee drink through a straw. “Hey, big brother. How’s married life?”

“Will you stop with that?”

“No. I like the way it bugs you.”

“What’d I ever do to you?” I asked her.

“Ha! You want the list I started at age seven, beginning with ripping the heads off all my Barbies and burying them around the yard?”