Zoe sipped her tea from her seat next to Donovan on the comfy sofa, trying hard not to fixate on the fact that she was drinking it out of a mini black cauldron cup or that there was a black cat staring her down, watching her every move.

“Would you like a cupcake? It’s lemon.” Sheila Stevens waved her hand over the cupcake before handing Zoe a small plate and then gave one to Donovan with the same gesture.

What was that little hand wave for? Did Sheila just perform a spell? Zoe took a cautious bite. “Thank you.” Her eyes rolled back. Spell or not, the cupcake might be the best thing she ever tasted. She took another bite.

It was the weirdest thing, but she had a sudden craving for eggs. Maybe she tasted them in the cupcake.

“You’re welcome.” Sheila settled into her rocking chair. “Donovan, I can’t thank you enough for helping Abby run the Sugar Spoon while Emma was away.”

“It was my pleasure. How was your trip?”

She rocked in her chair for a few seconds before replying. “It wasn’t quite what Emma hoped. We were in search of someone who wasn’t ready to be found.” Her gaze rested on Zoe. “Some secrets are kept very close.”

Zoe gulped, feeling exposed. Sheila couldn’t possibly know about the secret she was keeping from Donovan.

No. She couldn’t possibly. Zoe settled into the sofa, finishing her cupcake. She’d heard the talk that Sheila had flown to Texas to help Emma reunite with her long-lost father. She hadn’t heard that the trip was unsuccessful. Her heart broke for Emma. Although her father was miles away, she knew he was one phone call or Facebook message away whenever she needed him.

Sheila winked over at Donovan, changing the subject. “It’s good to have you back in town. I hear you make a mean Bolognese dish. Maybe you could share with me the recipe.”

“I would be happy to.”

As the two caught up, Zoe took in her surroundings. She wasn’t sure what she expected to walk into when Donovan had said they’d be visiting Sheila Stevens, but the living room was a far cry from what she imagined a witch’s haven to look like . . . sans the mini cauldron teacups, and the spread of flickering candles throughout the room . . . and the black cat, still at her feet, watching her every move.

Why were they here? How was visiting Emma’s mom going to lead them to who had placed the order?

Zoe set the small plate down on the coffee table, an apparent invitation to have her lap invaded by the inquisitive feline.

“Oh, he likes you,” Sheila quipped.

“I love cats.” At least ones that don’t judge me the minute I walk in or might be able to cast a spell on me. She laid a cautious hand on its black fur and began to pet.

“That’s Magic. He’s Emma’s kitty.” Sheila chuckled. “Unfortunately, he hasn’t warmed up to Jason, so he’s staying with Grandma for the time being.”

Zoe stroked the black cat’s silky back, feeling its accepting purr through her jeans. She’d only met Sheila a couple of times before tonight—once at the Sugar Spoon bakery and a second time when Sheila stopped into the frozen yogurt shop with Abby’s mom, Jackie.

She remembered the two women had been a hoot that summer day, dropping off a “welcome to town” basket of chocolate chip cookies and filling Zoe in on the ins and outs of Buttermilk Falls, which involved telling her all about the eligible bachelors in a twenty-mile radius and Batter Up night. In retrospect, they were probably trying to get information on her love life.

There was something warm about the two and how they’d made her feel welcome. That afternoon, she’d felt like she’d made the right decision to move to Buttermilk Falls. Maybe that’s what she needed. More visits from Sheila and Jackie and less from Donovan, his sister, and probably Will.

Although, she was starting to enjoy Will’s friendship. He could stay.

“So, Sheila, I’m sorry we dropped by without calling, but there’s something that we wanted to discuss with you,” Donovan began.

“I hear you two got into a little mischief last week,” Sheila interrupted, her eyes twinkling.

Zoe’s mouth went dry. She continued to stroke the furry feline, concentrating on his velvety coat. It wasn’t really a surprise that Sheila already knew about the bakery incident. “I’m sorry, I—”

“It was my idea,” Donovan cut her off. “I’m the one that took the spoons out of the safe. I take full responsibility. We were looking for something to do to pass the time. I suggested we make cupcakes with the spoons.” He glanced over at Zoe. “Dumb idea. We were just having fun.”

“Right. Fun.” Zoe nodded, gobsmacked. Was he referring to their steamy kiss as “just having fun”? Her lips heated, feeling his mouth on hers from memory alone. It’d been more than simply having fun for her.

But there it was. His admission that their kissing that night was only really about passing the time. God, he was a jerk.

How many different ways was she going to need it beat into her head? The kiss meant nothing to him. Absolutely nothing.

Perturbed, she shifted her body away from Donovan, causing a miffed Magic to jump off her lap, tail high in the air. “I didn’t mean to break the blue spoon,” Zoe said and meant it.

“You didn’t, dear.” Sheila moved her gaze from Zoe to Donovan. “And you didn’t either.”

“We didn’t?” Donovan scrunched his eyebrows. “I’m not sure what Abby told you, but it’s broken.”

“Oh, I know. I saw it this morning.” She opened her mouth but hesitated. “What I’m getting at is I’m not quite sure you two were the ones who broke it.”

Zoe gulped, feeling an enormous lump blocking her air. Was Sheila a witch that could read minds? She placed her hand on her neck, messaging her throat. “Was it Mary?”

“You know about my mother’s best friend?” Sheila asked, her voice soft.

That she killed herself to reunite with the love of her life, crossed over recently, but somehow left her purse dangling off my business’s front door. “The gang has filled me in,” Zoe replied, unable to make eyes with Donovan. “It sounds like she’s been fairly active lately.”

That last part got a chuckle from Sheila. “I think you might be right. Mary likes to drop into this life from time to time and see what trouble she can cause. My mom’s best friend has a lot of unfinished business in this town. I’m sure the broken spoon is part of her master plan, and I suspect when she’s ready to fix the spoon, she will.”

The hairs on Zoe’s arms immediately stood at attention. “I’m not that unfinished business, am I, Mrs. Stevens?”

Sheila thought for a second, and then offered a quiet, “I don’t know.”

Not the answer Zoe was hoping for. “How could I be? I haven’t even been here a year?”

“I don’t think it matters,” Donovan said, causing Zoe to shoot the mother of all stares over at him. “C’mon, Zoe. Clearly she has an interest in you.”

“Has something else happened?” Sheila asked.

“Yeah.” Donovan locked eyes with Zoe, before proceeding.

“Go ahead,” Zoe said, shrugging her shoulders. I guess it’s why we’re here. To get advice from Sheila.

“Zoe received a purse last week that we think might have been Mary’s.”

“Oh, really.” Sheila’s foot came down on the carpet to stop her rocking, her hands gripping the handles. “Why do you think that?”

“Um . . .” Zoe started. That was weird. She would have thought that Sheila would have seen the purse—or at least heard about it—since Donovan took it to the Sugar Spoon.

Unless . . .

She turned to Donovan. “You didn’t take the purse to the Sugar Spoon, did you?”

He shook his head. “I got distracted.”

Distracted. Honestly. She’d asked him to do one little thing. Get rid of the purse. Did he even do that? “Where is it?”

“Relax. It’s in a safe place.” He placed his arm over the couch, touching her shoulder.

“Mrs. Stevens . . .” Zoe ignored the fact that it would be all to easy to maneuver into Donovan’s space and let his strong arm comfort her. “I saw the purse in a picture at the Majestic Theater. The one hanging on the wall of Mary holding a box outside the theater.”

“I love that picture,” Sheila said, adding, “but I don’t recall her holding a purse.”

“You can’t see it, but you can make out a looped chain strap over her shoulder.”

Sheila tapped a finger over her mouth. “And this purse you found has a looped chain strap I take it.”

“It does.”

“Interesting . . .” was all Sheila said, but it still caused a cold shiver up Zoe’s arms.

Donovan touched Zoe’s shoulder, and she instantly remembered how his touch had comforted her ever-so-briefly at the Majestic Theater. How was it he always knew when she needed some nonverbal assurance that everything was going to be okay?

“This purse was empty when she found it,” he said. “Hours later, I pulled out a soup ladle.”

“You don’t say?” Sheila asked. “It wasn’t in there when you first found it?”

Zoe shook her head. “No. I checked the purse that morning for identification. It was empty.”

“There’s something else.” He paused as if to say something.

“What else did you find in it?” Zoe shot that question over with both agitation and dread. He should have gotten rid of the purse like she’d asked.

“I was going to mention your food delivery.”

“Oh, right.”

Donovan twisted his body toward Sheila. “Zoe got a random order today from Fresh Foods. She didn’t place it, but we’re wondering if it might be Mary’s doing. I’ve heard from Adam that she likes to”—he paused, straightening his back—“help some business owners out with surprise deliveries.”

“She does seem to like to keep people on their toes.” Sheila seemed to be amused by that. “It’s certainly possible. Mary was a powerful witch. I’m sure even in the afterlife she’s found a loophole to cause some real-time ruckus. I wouldn’t worry about it. Eventually her motives are revealed. In the meantime, enjoy the food.”

Zoe couldn’t help but notice the earlier twinkle in Sheila’s eye was back. “Well, if you can get a message to her, can you tell her the next time she feels like placing an order for me to check my bank account? Otherwise, I’ll go bankrupt before spring.”

“I’ll help you pay for it,” Donovan piped up.

“That’s not the point.” Zoe stood. “Sheila, thank you so much for letting us barge into your home. I appreciate your listening to us, and I’m truly sorry for the blue spoon.” She pulled on her jacket as Donovan stood and grabbed his.

“You’re welcome anytime. We’ll deal with the blue spoon.” Sheila got up from her rocking chair, moving over to her living room window. “My, it’s sure coming down hard out there.”

“Yeah, we should get going,” Zoe said, zipping up her jacket all the way. The last thing she wanted was to get stuck again in the snow with Donovan.

“You two need hats,” Sheila said. “Do young people not wear them these days?”

“Mine was blown off the night off the blizzard,” Zoe said, feeling a ping of sadness. She’d looked up and down Main Street the next day for her mother’s hat but never found it.

“I lost mine, too,” Donovan said. “My lucky Colorado Rockies cap.”

“Maybe they’re together,” Zoe scoffed. They really needed to stop talking about winter outerwear and get going. “Thank you, again, Shei—”

“Wait!” Sheila cut her off. “Stay right here.” The old woman scurried out of her living room, almost tripping over Magic in the process.

Zoe stepped closer to the window and stared out into the dark, the wind whistling through the trees as the snow steadily came down. It would be a picturesque scene that she’d enjoy if she was home in her flannel pajamas with a nice glass of wine.

“You okay?” Donovan asked, coming up beside her.

Was she okay? Not really. What other ways would Mary try to interfere with her life? Why did this dead resident care about her? She was a transplant. Moving here had been a random decision. She could have easily picked another small town on the map.

She glanced up at Donovan. And if he hadn’t fired her she’d still be in Denver. Maybe him, too. “We should probably go before the roads get worse.”

“Yeah, I’ll give you a ride back and follow you home to make sure you get there safe.”

“That isn’t necessary.” She paused, adding, “The following me home part.”

“I insi—” Donovan stopped mid-sentence, his jaw dropped.

“What?” Zoe spun around to see Sheila had returned to the living room. In one hand was a worn black and purple baseball cap and the other . . . “It can’t be,” Zoe whispered.

“I found them on my doorstep when I returned home from Texas. I take it these are yours.”

Zoe’s hand visibly shook as she took her mother’s pink hat from Sheila.

“Zoe, where are you going?” Donovan called out, the cold wind rushing through him. Once again, she was running away, this time down Sheila’s small hill leading to the gravel road.

Moments earlier, she’d snatched the pink hat Sheila offered and tore out of the house without a word.

Why was this woman always so desperate to flee the scene? Concerned and more than a bit annoyed, he trudged across Sheila’s lawn, his shoes sinking into the fresh snow. He wasn’t going to let Zoe attempt to walk back to town in a snowstorm in the pitch dark, which he suspected was what she set out to do. Nope. Not tonight. “Zoe! Stop!”

His demand worked, because she spun around, clutching the pink hat. “Why is this happening to me?” she shouted over the blustery wind, her bangs whipping across her face.

“I don’t know,” Donovan yelled back, catching up to her. The cold air stung his lungs. “But it’s not only you.” He touched the baseball cap now on his head. “This is mine.”

“Yeah, but Mary left me the purse and all that food.”

“And she left me a notecard. Not you. It was addressed to me. The soup ladle was probably meant for me, too. It’s not just you Mary’s messing with.” He knew that now but refrained from telling her about the additional mystery items he’d found in the purse. She didn’t need to know about the soup seasoning, the eggs, the old penny, or the business cards. Heavenly Soups would stay between him, his sister, and Mary for now.

Zoe placed the pink hat on her head, pulling it over her ears. “Well, I’m not waiting around to see what’s next.” She sighed loudly. “If you could give me a lift back to my car, I would appreciate it.”

“Done.” He cracked a smile. Although, now that he was outside, he could tell that the steep hill would be too slippery to make it all the way down. There was no way they’d make it until a plow came through. “Actually, we’re not going to get far if we attempt the hill. Let me drive you to Rachel’s. My car should make it a half a mile. We’ll wait out the storm there.”

Zoe made no effort to move. “I’m not going to your house.”

Damn, this woman could be stubborn. “Good. I don’t have one. It’s Rachel’s.” He walked over to his car and opened up the passenger side, motioning with his head for her to get in.

Zoe parted her lips, and he fully expected her to argue about it for another minute, but she closed her mouth and proceeded to the car, sliding in.

Finally. She’d come to her senses. He moved to the driver’s side. He’d take her to Rachel’s and make them something warm for dinner.

Although he was still agitated with her, he couldn’t deny that the idea of making a meal for Zoe made his heart skip. Mother Nature was giving him another unexpected evening with the pretty blonde. Maybe this time he could prove to her he wasn’t the asshole that she seemed to think he was. He started the car and slowly backed out, inching toward his sister’s house.

“Thank you for giving me a place to stay,” she finally said.

“Don’t mention it. I promise I’ll drive you to your car as soon as the snow stops and this road is plowed.” No sooner did he say that then his front tire began to slide. He took his foot off the pedal, controlling the swerve.

The half a mile from Sheila’s to Rachel’s seemed like an eternity, but he finally turned into the driveway. The first thing he noticed was that Rachel wasn’t home. As soon as they got

inside, he’d send her a text and track her down.

Hopping out of the car, he turned back. Zoe took her time getting out and then leaned against the car.

Was she really deciding if she should go in? Man, was spending time with him all that bad? “I can promise you it’s a lot warmer inside.” He walked over and offered his hand, a little surprised when she took it, letting him lead her up the walkway. “Rachel’s not even here,” he said, unlocking the door and holding it for Zoe.

He quickly turned on the lights and moved the thermostat up. “First things first. Dinner.”

“I am a little hungry,” Zoe admitted, pulling off her hat and tucking it into her coat pocket.

“Let me just text my sister.” Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out his phone, tapping on the screen. Not even a minute later, he had his answer. “Rachel’s at my parents’ place for the night. You’re safe,” he joked, motioning for her to join him in the kitchen.

“It’s not that I’m afraid of her.” Zoe followed him in and slid onto the kitchen barstool he offered, pulling off her coat. “Okay, maybe I am a little.”

“I can understand. She’s always been intense. I’m the carefree twin.” He smiled, feeling a little awkward when his joke was met with a blank stare. “Alrighty, then. First things first.” He grabbed a bottle of red wine from the rack on top of the refrigerator. In no time, he set on the kitchen island a full glass for Zoe.

“Thank you,” she said, giving it a swirl.

“Feels like déjà vu, doesn’t it?” He went for another joke.

“Very funny.” She sipped her wine, her eyelids closing for a long beat.

Donovan took that moment to sneak in her features. Small indented lines were evident on her forehead. Man, this day really had stressed her out.

Of course, it did. Getting a massive grocery delivery from a dead woman should not be part of anyone’s normal routine.

No. There was nothing normal about what was going on. He’d meant what he’d said back at Sheila’s. Whatever was happening wasn’t only happening to Zoe. For whatever reason, Mary seemed to have an interest in him, too.

He turned and opened the refrigerator. They could dissect all recent events later. Right now, the only thing he wanted to do was make Zoe a dinner she’d love. He surveyed the refrigerator contents.

Maybe he couldn’t give her an explanation when it came to Mary’s interest in them, but he could cook her a meal that would take Zoe’s mind off things for a couple of hours.

He shut the refrigerator door. But first he needed to know what she was in the mood to eat. “So, what would you like?”

Zoe ran her fingers through her hair, causing his insides to stir. “I don’t know.” She smiled. “Surprise me.”

That he could do with both eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back, but he’d rather make her something that she loved. “How about something you haven’t had in a while?”

“Well”—she took another sip of her wine—“you know what I haven’t had in ages, but for some reason I’m craving?”

“What’s that?” he asked. He turned his back to her as he rummaged around a lower cabinet for his favorite frying pan. His sister had an awful habit of throwing his pans in there and not hanging them like he’d requested.

“I really could go for an omelette.”

He froze. Holy crap! Was it a coincidence that he’d found two eggs in the purse this morning?

Whatever you do, don’t show her your surprise. It’s only a coincidence. Doesn’t mean anything.

Coincidence or not, the last thing he wanted to do was chase Zoe down another snowy hill.

He relaxed his shoulders and stood, flashing her a wide smile. “Well, you happen to be in luck. Breakfast food for two is my specialty.” Her eyebrow shot up, and he quickly added, “I like to cook Sunday breakfast for me and Rachel.”

“Right,” she said flatly.

Okay. He’d admit it. He stepped right into that one, but it had been a long time since he’d made a woman breakfast. Right now, he was happy to make it for Zoe. So what if it was seven o’clock at night and they were fully clothed? If it was for this woman, he’d take it.

And take his opportunity he did. He rummaged through the refrigerator, grabbing the two eggs he’d found this morning in the purse. In no time, he had all the ingredients to make Zoe Mathews the mother of all breakfasts. Mushroom and goat cheese omelettes were his specialty.

“So . . .” He cracked an egg to the side of a mixing bowl, the yolk filling the bottom. Wait. He dipped a finger in the runny yolk. Should they even be eating these eggs? Who knows where the hell they came from? He thought about it for a split second and moved the bowl to the side, setting the other egg in it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I think these might have expired, but don’t you worry. I have more.” He retrieved a carton and flipped it open. The four eggs in there he was sure weren’t tampered with by a dead witch since he’d purchased the carton last week at the supermarket. He resumed his quest to make Zoe a mouthwatering breakfast complete with a scrumptious omelette, buttery toast, and hash browns.

And while he did it, he’d lighten the mood and get to know Zoe a little better. Maybe she’d want to learn a little bit about him. He’d like to show her he wasn’t a jerk.

“So,” he started, “tell me what you liked to do in the winter in Denwood.”

She blinked and didn’t say anything.

Okay. Obviously, not into winter. Maybe she was more a warm weather gal. “How about summer?”

“I like the beach. My dad and I used to make a day of it, combing the sand for seashells. We’d arrive early and were often the last to leave,” she said softly. “It’s one of my favorite memories.”

“Will you go home this summer and visit?”

“Maybe. I’d love to have him come stay with me, but he’s not much of a flyer.”

“Couldn’t he drive?” he asked. Denwood couldn’t be more than a day by car. At least he didn’t think so being in Massachusetts. He kept forgetting to Google it. He chuckled to himself as he finished cutting the mushrooms and grabbed his whisk. See, Abby, I’m forgetful. That’s far from perfect.

“What’s so funny?” Zoe asked.

“Oh nothing . . . I love the water, too. I’m excited for this summer. The lake is a total blast.” He finished whisking the eggs and slid the yolk in the frying pan, turning up the burner. “Some of my best memories are on that lake.”

“I know. Um . . . I mean about the lake being a blast. I don’t know anything about your memories.” She reached for the wine bottle and refilled her glass. “What is your favorite one?”

“Memory?”

“Yeah.”

That question drew out a smile. Not so much for the memory, but Zoe had finally asked about him. “My favorite . . . hmmm.” He thought about that for a second while he added in the mushrooms and goat cheese. “Well, there were many wild parties on that lake during high school. The gang was a bit wilder back then, especially Caitlin and Abby.”

She laughed. “Kids have a way of slowing you down.”

“My favorite memory . . . hands down the time I was eight. My grandpa bought both Rachel and me fishing poles for our birthday. He took us out onto his pier and showed us how to fish. I can still remember how it felt the first time my pole shook.”

“Let me guess.” She rolled her eyes. “You caught one on your first try.”

He turned back and flipped the egg over the mixture. What did that jab mean? Maybe he was too sensitive after Abby’s declaration that he was only interested in perfection. “No. Not at all. I got so excited that I lost my balance and fell into the water. Good thing I’d already learned to swim.”

She tried to stifle a laugh.

“It was funny. You have my permission to laugh.”

“Were you close to your grandparents?” she asked.

“Definitely. Especially my grandma on my dad’s side.” He chuckled. “My Grandma Foster knew how to put me in my place. I miss her. She passed away a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“She was a great lady.” He flipped the omelette to cook on its other side. “How about you? Any relatives still in Denwood?”

She shook her head. “No, not Denwood.”

Donovan detected sadness in her voice. I wonder where her father lived, then. He continued to work on her dinner, finally sliding her omelette onto a plate, added the hash browns and toast, and brought it over, telling her to go ahead and eat while he made one for himself.

In no time, he had his meal and suggested they move to the living room.

“I really like your house,” Zoe said as they made their way to the sofa.

“Rachel’s.”

“Right. It’s cute.”

“Yeah, she and Adam bought it together years ago. When they broke up, she decided to stay here.” He chuckled. “I think she likes being close to the winery next door.”

They continued their light conversation, in which he learned not only did Zoe know about frozen yogurt, but she knew her wine. “We should check out some of the wineries some weekend,” he suggested. “We’ve got a lot of great ones.”

“I’d like that.” Zoe smiled and finished her plate.

Score! He gave himself a mental high five. Would it be a date? He hadn’t mentioned anyone joining them. “Good. We’ll sync up our calendars,” he said, feeling like he just asked a girl to the prom. Majorly excited and a little awkward.

“This was delicious. Thank you.” She pointed to her plate.

“You’re welcome. Did it satisfy your craving?”

Zoe’s cheeks turned red, and damn, she was adorable. “For eggs,” he added. Yep, she was definitely blushing, and he found that hot.

“It was really good,” she admitted.

“I love making breakfast food. Omelettes were one of the first things I learned to cook from my grandma. She was a master in the kitchen, and I’d watch her make these incredible Sunday brunches. Half the town would show up for one of Grandma Foster’s meals.”

“I bet that was something to experience.” Zoe smiled at him and his insides warmed.

“It was. When I was seven, she handed me two eggs one day and said go to it.”

He paused, his thoughts racing. Wait a second. Was there some correlation between the eggs he found in the purse and Zoe’s craving the first meal he’d ever made?

“Nah,” he said out loud.

Zoe’s eyebrows crinkled. “Nah, what?”

“Nothing.” Maybe it was something. He’d give that more thought later. Right now, he wanted to concentrate on the fact that he was having a great conversation that he never wanted to end. A quick check out the window indicated the snow was still falling.

Satisfied that they wouldn’t be going anywhere soon, he settled into the sofa. “My Grandma Foster told me if I was going to be a good husband I was going to have to know exactly how my wife liked her eggs. The omelette was the first thing she taught me how to make.”

“Smart woman,” Zoe said. “Did you know you wanted to be a chef as a kid?”

He thought about her question. “Yeah, I think I did. I mean, I wanted to be everything from a police officer to a scuba diver.”

“Scuba diver?”

“Rachel and I used to take our family’s boat out on the lake and pretend we were in the middle of the ocean. We had gear that we’d take and dive down to the bottom of the lake.” He chuckled. “Not exactly the Barrier Reef down there.”

“So, when did you know you wanted to be a chef?”

He thought about that question for a second. “Probably in high school. I had a job at Ralph’s Pizzeria when I wasn’t playing basketball. He was an excellent teacher. That Bolognese dish we had the other night, he taught me that.”

“No way!”

Wow. His heart galloped at her reaction. Glad his dish was memorable. Maybe there was hope in redeeming himself in her eyes yet. He nodded. “Yep. Ralph shared with me all of his Italian recipes from his grandmother. He’s a great teacher. Taught me also that there was more to being a good cook. You had to enjoy it. People can taste your enjoyment. There’s no faking that.”

“I completely agree. I’m never more satisfied than when I’ve created a frozen yogurt that I know people are going to love. It makes all the difference.”

“I’ve seen you in your glory.”

She cast him over a look of doubt. “You have? When?”

He moved his arm around the back of the sofa. “The night of the blizzard. I saw you.”

“Saw me where?”

Should he admit that he caught her celebrating? Why not? It wasn’t like he stood outside the door stalking her. He’d just been lucky enough to witness a moment that obviously meant something to her. “It was when I stopped by your shop. I saw you fist-pump the air.”

She offered a small smile and took another sip of her wine. “You saw that?”

“Yeah.” He noted the softness in her voice. Was she embarrassed? Maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up. “You looked pretty excited.”

“I was,” she admitted. “I’d finally nailed a recipe I’d been working on for months.”

“Care to tell me?” He chuckled, adding, “From one culinary genius to another.”

She brought her thumb and finger in between her lips, pretending to zip them. “It’s top secret until my summer launch at the fair.”

“The Buttermilk Falls fair?”

“Yes. I’ve signed up for a booth. I’m going to debut five new flavors there.”

“That’s great. People come for miles to experience the fair. Smart move to showcase your frozen yogurt there.”

“I hope so.” She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I need this to be a success.”

“I’m sure it will be, and I look forward to the big reveal.” Donovan took his last bite of the omelette. As far as nights stuck home went, this was by far the best one he’d experienced since moving in with Rachel. He reached for the wine bottle and refilled their glasses, finishing it off.

“So, what made you leave Denver?” Zoe asked, resting her empty plate on her lap.

“Good question.” His earlier conversation with Abby played in his mind. “I’d lost my drive.”

“Really? But you were so well known in Denver.”

Donovan cocked his head. How did she know? Maybe she’d heard the gossip. That had to be it. He shrugged. “Some people in this town may think all I want is a perfect life, including culinary fame, but that’s not true.” He reached for her empty plate off her lap to illustrate his point. “See this?”

“What?”

“Right here. This is what I want.”

Zoe knitted her eyebrows. “A plate.”

“An empty plate.”

“You want an empty plate?”

“I want what it represents. For a few minutes, I took you somewhere enjoyable. Maybe you were really hungry. Or maybe you had a bad day, or maybe this meal reminded you of something you once had with someone special.” He paused for a beat. “That’s what I want. Owning a famous restaurant doesn’t mean a damn if I’m not invested in the experience of every single customer.”

Zoe’s eyes watered, and a tear slid down her cheek.

Oh shit. He’d made her cry. “Zoe, I’m sorry. Dumb point. Maybe you just craved eggs.”

“It wasn’t dumb. My mom used to make me omelettes. Until she got sick. Your meal reminded me of being curled up on the sofa, enjoying breakfast for dinner with her.”

His heart squeezed for her loss. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t.” She turned her body to face him, nodding down to the plate. “Did you feel that you weren’t giving your patrons in Denver an experience?”

“Yeah. I mean, at first I was, but things were different over the last couple of years. I mean, I was still making the same great food that I’m known for, but I was going through the motions with no real purpose. The enjoyment was gone. I’d lost that spark.” He glanced out the window. “I didn’t know that then, but I got it back recently, and it felt amazing.”

“When?”

His eyes met hers for a brief second before he admitted, “At the Sweet Match Up.”

“Oh,” was all she said.

He quickly added, “Putting a smile on the faces of all those seniors who ate my soup and grilled cheese is what I meant.” He cast what he knew was an “I’m guilty” smile in her direction. “And, yeah, I did hope you’d say yes to my proposition to partner with you.”

Her lips turned up. He’d take that as a good sign that he was forgiven and continued, “I didn’t mean to railroad you. I truly wanted to help.” He paused. “I thought we’d be a good team. I help your business, and you give me a place to find my purpose.”

She didn’t say a word. Instead, she turned her head toward the window.

Terrific. He gave himself a mental head slap. Once again, he’d upset her. “I’m sorry, Zoe. Let’s forget that I even brought up the idea in the first place. It was a dumb idea. I’ll butt out of your business.”

She let out a sigh. “I completely understand the spark thing and wanting to give people an experience through food. I’ve been so worried about staying in business I’ve forgotten why I wanted to open my business.”

Donovan sat up. Was she changing her mind? “I meant what I said at the Sweet Match Up. We could work out a deal that gets you back in the black.”

“I do like the sound of that,” she admitted. “I don’t know . . . the Ice Heaven is a pretty tight space.”

“You have a sink and a stove.”

“Well, yes, but they’re both small.”

“I can make it work,” he said. That he was sure of.

“We’d be in each other’s way. What if we end up strangling each other?”

That would never happen. At least not on his end. He needed a week or two to show her how good their partnership could be.

But before that, he needed her to say yes. From what he was learning about Zoe, she had an enormous amount of pride. Agreeing to do this wasn’t going to be easy for her. If only he could take the decision out of her hands.

All of a sudden, an idea popped into his head. He jumped off the sofa. “Hold on a second,” he said, moving through the living room, down the hall, and into Rachel’s spare bedroom. In less than a minute, he had the 1937 penny in his hand. He knew what he was supposed to do with it. “Why don’t we flip for it?”

“Flip for it?”

“Heads or tails.” He held up the penny. “Heads we become business partners for the next two weeks. Tails we don’t.”

“Let me see that.” She grabbed it out of his hands, inspecting it. “Only two weeks?”

“A trial run, and then we can renegotiate.”

“Okay, fine.”

Holy crap. She said yes. He flipped the coin in the air before she could change her mind and held his breath, watching Mary decide their fate.