Donovan set the container of motor oil on the counter in front of Rachel.

“I prefer ketchup with my fries,” Rachel said in between bites. She’d stopped by the Ice Heaven to drop off his phone. She’d accidentally picked his up from her kitchen table instead of hers. Easy to do since they had the same phone.

The lunch crowd had died down, so he told her to take a seat and fixed her a BLT along with a side order of his awesome garlic fries.

Over the last few days, he hadn’t seen much of his sister other than high-fiving each other in the hallway on the way to the bathroom. He’d gotten home close to midnight every day this week. It was nice to catch up. He grabbed the motor oil, turning it over. “It was in the purse.”

“The enchanted one?”

He smiled over at the few afternoon customers still milling about, lowering his voice. “Yeah. It was in there this morning.”

She took his cue to exercise discretion. “I thought you were getting rid of it,” she whispered.

“I’ve been meaning to take it over to Sheila’s, I just haven’t gotten around to it.” Truth be told, he didn’t want to get rid of it. He wasn’t quite sure, but every item seemed to link him back to Zoe. He didn’t know what Mary was trying to accomplish, but he wasn’t ready to part with the purse yet.

Every night before he turned out the light on his nightstand, he checked to see if there was anything inside, and then repeated the process the second he rolled out of bed.

Nothing had appeared since his old basketball jersey. However, this morning, when he pulled the purse out from underneath his bed, he’d found the quart of oil.

How it related to him and Zoe he wasn’t sure.

Rachel finished her sandwich. “Maybe Mary wants you to change her oil.” She scrunched her nose. “Did they even have cars back then?”

He rolled his eyes.

“So, where’s your partner?”

His heart raced at the mention of Zoe. It’d been an exhilarating week, working together, and he could tell this morning Zoe was losing a little steam. “I told her to take a lunch break. Get some fresh air.” He looked down at his phone. That was two hours ago. He wasn’t worried, but in a couple of hours the dinner crowd would start coming in. It’d be hard to cook and serve alone.

Plus, he wanted her here. Working side by side had been awesome. He loved watching her chatting up the customers and talking up his cooking, and the way she cheered every time a customer won one of the donated prizes.

The town was falling for Zoe Mathews.

He was falling for her, too.

Hard.

Working with Zoe had been the most fun he’d had in a very long time with any woman.

She was an awesome help in the kitchen, too, often prepping the meat and vegetables. Every so often he had to curb the impulse to reach out and pull her into his arms and kiss her crazy, and yeah, he fantasized what it would be like to scoop her into his arms and take her right then and there.

He didn’t like keeping things professional one bit, but after she disappeared the night of the basketball game, he’d thought long and hard. For some reason, their attraction frightened her.

So, he did the most selfless thing he could think of and backed off. It’s not what he wanted, but it was clear it’s what she needed. He’d give her some room. Focus all of his attention on their business, and hopefully, over the next two weeks, she’d see that he wasn’t a guy she needed to bolt from.

It had killed him to not admit he was insanely attracted to her, but she wasn’t ready. That much was obvious. So, he decided he’d take it slow.

Real slow.

Like a painful snail’s pace slow.

A total first for him. Normally, he didn’t have to wait for any woman, but Zoe wasn’t just any woman. His feelings for her were moving well beyond physical attraction.

The last couple of days reinforced how he felt. They’d laughed and joked while working together on his new menu. Really, it was their menu. She’d been the one to tell him his broccoli and cheese soup had fallen flat with the cheese he’d selected and that his beef barley soup would taste a hundred percent better with more dried thyme.

She had mad culinary skills. That was for sure. When he asked her where she learned to cook, her cheeks went an adorable soft pink and she’d only offered “around” as her response.

“Earth to Donovan.” Rachel’s hand in front of him snapped him back to attention.

“Sorry.”

His sister’s knowing grin suggested she knew he was daydreaming about Zoe. His twin had a keen sense. “So, did I win one of your big prizes?” she asked.

“Don’t know. Check the bottom of your soup cup.”

Rachel picked it up and held it high in the air. “Oh my God. I won!” she squealed.

“Get out.” He wasn’t sure it was right for a relative to win any of the prizes, not to mention, she didn’t pay for her meal, but he let her enjoy the moment.

Rachel squinted to read the bottom. “French culinary lessons with Marc. Who’s Marc?”

“My former business partner.”

“From the Rocky Top?” She straightened on her stool. “Are you flying me out to

Denver?”

“You wish.” Donovan scoffed. “Marc’s coming here in June.”

Rachel set her soup cup down and reached for a lock of her blond hair, twisting it with

her finger. “Well . . . if I remember . . . he’s quite handsome. I wouldn’t mind a lesson.” She added, batting her lashes, “A culinary one.”

“Calm down. You can’t win.” He snatched the cup from her.

“Why not?”

“Because you didn’t pay for that lunch. It’s not really fair.”

“The hell it isn’t.” Rachel reached over to her purse, pulling out her wallet. It only took her two seconds to slap a twenty-dollar bill down in front of Donovan. “There. I paid. Marc’s mine . . . I mean the culinary lessons . . . they’re mine.”

Donovan grinned, shaking his head. Years of experience taught him it was no use arguing with Rachel. Not when her mind was made up. “He touches you, he’s a dead man.”

“Whatever.” Rachel grabbed her phone and snapped a selfie, holding up the cup.

Donovan could see Marc being totally smitten by Rachel. He’d always commented on how beautiful she was. Still, Donovan was really holding out for Rachel to give Will a try. If Rachel got serious with a guy who wasn’t Will, he wasn’t sure how his buddy would take it.

“Oh, wow.” She stared down at her phone. “I can’t believe it.”

“Good news?” He leaned in.

“Yeah.” She held her phone up. “I got a text from Bethany. Adam proposed.”

Wow indeed. “That’s great.” He cocked an eyebrow. “That’s great, right?”

Rachel tapped her finger across her phone. “Of course, it is.” She met his questioning gaze. “It’s awesome news. Bethany’s my best friend, and I want Adam to be happy. I always have.”

She stood and put on her coat, offering her seat to an old man who’d joined them at the counter.

“Welcome,” Donovan greeted him, picking up Rachel’s dirty dishes.

The old man maneuvered onto the stool, resting a brown cane against the empty stool next to him.

“Would you like to see a menu?” Donovan asked, glancing over at his sister who was now standing to the side, texting on her phone. No doubt making plans with Bethany.

“Actually, I’m looking for a gas station.” The old man chuckled, sliding his thick glasses in place. “This is a little embarrassing, but my car started sputtering outside your shop. I think I might be low on oil.”

Rachel stopped texting and looked at Donovan with wide eyes.

Was he hearing things? Judging by his sister’s reaction, no. He waved her off. “Um . . . I have a quart here.” He reached for the container and placed it on the counter in front of the old man. “Free of charge. You’re more than welcome to it.”

“Oh, thank you so much.” The man looked relieved.

Rachel placed her phone in her purse and buttoned up her coat. “Adam and Bethany are planning a celebratory gathering tonight at the Lakeside Inn around eight.”

“Great. I’ll try to make it.”

“You better.” She blew Donovan a kiss and hurried out the door.

Donovan set a coffee mug down, offering the old man a cup of coffee.

“She your sweetie?” the man asked, a big grin on his face.

“Oh, no. She’s my twin sister.” He held out his hand. “I’m Donovan Foster.”

“Jesse. Jesse Taylor.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Say, are you Debbie and Richard’s son?”

That he was. Was this man a friend? He looked about his parents’ age. Maybe a little older. Donovan nodded. “They’re my parents. Do you know them?”

“Yes. It’s been years.” The old man picked up the cup of coffee. “Feels like another lifetime.”

Donovan wracked his brain for anyone in this town with the last name Taylor but came up short. It was a common name, but he didn’t know anyone with it.

He glanced down at the quart of oil. He knew that this guy’s car needing oil wasn’t a coincidence. The question: what did it mean? This couldn’t possibly have anything to do with Zoe, could it?

He grabbed the quart, ready to find out. “Why don’t I give you a hand? Then lunch is on me.”

“Thank you.”

The old man slid off the stool and accompanied Donovan outside to his car, a beat-up tan station wagon, rust flaking along its side.

Damn, an oil change wasn’t the only thing this car needed.

Donovan breathed out a cold breath, waiting for the man to pop the lid. He’d forgotten to put his coat on. Although, he was grateful for the above-freezing temperatures. After the brutal single digits they’d recently experienced, today was downright balmy.

Still, he didn’t need to hang out here any longer than he had to.

While the man sat in his car with the driver’s side window rolled down, Donovan uncapped the quart and poured it in, a sticky film of grease coating his hand. The car probably need more, but that should be enough to get him to the auto body shop. He shut the lid. “You should be all set, sir. There’s a body shop straight down the street.”

The old man started the engine, and the car roared. “Thank you, son.”

“You’re welcome,” Donovan said, still holding the empty quart. “Did you still want that lunch?”

“Nah, I’ve got places to be. Say, can you tell me where the Sugar Spoon is? It’s been awhile.”

“Sure, it’s a half a mile down the street, and the auto body shop is that way.” He pointed in the opposite direction, really hoping the man went for the oil change first.

“Thank you. I want to see my daughter before it closes.”

“Have a good afternoon.” Donovan turned to go back but stopped.

Wait. Did he say daughter? This guy wasn’t . . .

Donovan spun back around, his curious gaze dropping down to the Texas license plate. Was he Emma’s long-lost dad?

The old man inched past him him, rolling his car window back down. “Hey, tell Mary I said ‘hi’ and thank her for the oil,” he said and rolled up his window.

Donovan’s jaw dropped as he watched him drive away.

What the hell just happened?

Emma’s father or not, how did the old man know that Mary’d left the oil?

Zoe placed her hands on the glass door handle, folding her fingers around it and gathering her thoughts one last time.

Don’t think. Just do it.

She’d given herself a pep talk on the walk back from the park, a walk easily cut in half due to the adrenaline pumping through her. She knew what she wanted to say once she saw Donovan.

She wouldn’t get into her feelings or ask him his.

She’d simply ask him out.

Simple. One question. Would you like to have dinner with me?

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered under her breath and pulled open the door. The Ice Heaven was surprisingly empty. “Donovan,” she called out, moving across the shop. No business partner. Even stranger, on the counter lay a quart of oil, top opened.

Weird. She reached for it. The last thing she needed was for any remnants to spill on her counter.

“Donovan, are you here?”

The kitchen door swung open and he appeared, his hair tousled and sleeves rolled up. “Hey, you’re back. How was your lunch?”

“It was gr—” The last word died in her throat as her gaze zoomed in on his face. She dropped her head to the bottle and then back to him. Her heart began to pound, hard.

Donovan had a grease stain spread across his right cheek.

“Are you all right?” His eyebrows wrinkled his concern.

She stepped closer to him. “No,” she whispered, her hand covering her mouth. Could it be? She’d had a similar smudge on her face two months ago thanks to the magical hope chest.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He paused, adding, “You didn’t see one, did you?”

“No.” She shook her head and gave him a half smile. At least, she hoped not. “What’s on your face?”

He rubbed his cheek with his knuckle, lengthening the smudge. “Oh, nothing. It’s a little oil grease. It was the weirdest thing. This old guy came in and needed some oil for his car, which I swear was older than him. I must have gotten some of the engine grease on me. I added some oil, but the engine was pretty grimy.”

Grease.

She let that word sink in.

Grease!

She reached her hand over and stroked his cheek with the back of her finger, her eyes locked with his.

“Hi,” was all he said, not making a move to leave.

The hell with “hi.” Her thoughts went back to the antique hope chest. Her fingers had been unexplainably covered in car grease after she’d opened it.

Donovan was now covered in car grease. This had to mean something. She threw down the empty bottle and snaked her arms around his neck, her lips on his, desperate to prove that the antique chest had gotten it right.

Donovan—not Will—was her soul mate. Rachel was wrong.

His arms went around her and their kiss deepened, her tongue easily connecting with his. She ran a hand up the back of his head, running her fingers through his hair.

Donovan was the first to break apart. “Zoe . . .” he started, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. “We should stop.”

She took two steps back. Oh, God. What have I done? He didn’t feel the same way. Was she ever going to get the memo? Why couldn’t she have stuck to her plan and asked him to dinner? Did she have to go on and sexually assault the man? “I’m sorry,” she said, smoothing her hair. “I’m so embarrassed.”

He touched her arm. “You shouldn’t be. All I was going to say is we shouldn’t continue until I do this.” He moved passed her toward the door, locked it, and flipped the sign to closed, his grin full-on mischievous as he sauntered back to her.

Before she knew what was happening, Donovan had brought her into his arms, his mouth back on hers. “We’re closed,” he whispered into her ear. “Mandatory inspection.”

“Can we afford to take the night off?” She tilted her head, giving his mouth total access. The shop’s bottom line was the last thing on her mind with Donovan’s warm lips traveling down her neck.

“I’ll work overtime tomorrow.” He scooped her up, taking her God knows where, but she was sure she’d thoroughly enjoy this inspection.