On Wednesday, Lily ignored the doorbell and only snuck out to the porch after her mystery man had left her order of cupcake papers by the door. It seemed people were on a cupcake binge this Easter and she had twice as many orders for cupcakes as she did for her trademark frosted sugar cookies.

She baked all day, praying she’d run out of something…anything…and have to place another order before the day was over. She didn’t want to go the whole weekend without seeing him. But she’d blown it big-time getting all huffy about his no-doubt-totally-innocent question about Fudge. She didn’t even know why she’d gotten so worked up. She seemed determined to sabotage her own love life.

She nudged the cat with one foot. “It’s your fault, buddy.” As if in protest of their intruder’s comment, Fudge had barely left the kitchen since yesterday.

Lily added an extra teaspoon of vanilla to each batch of cupcake batter and the same to her frostings, and by four o’clock, she could justify reordering vanilla. You never knew if a big order might come in before the weekend. She might need sugar too.

Fortunately, she was running short on licorice whips and cupcake liners, too, which should summon Gage at least a couple of days next week as well.

Sure enough, by Friday, she had orders for ten dozen cupcakes and half again as many dozen cookies, fully justifying the supplies she’d ordered. The kitchen counters were a palette of pastel jewels with all the frosted cookies spread out to dry and white bakery boxes of cupcakes waiting to be picked up. She usually asked her clients not to pick up between nine and four—partly because those were her prime baking hours, plus it kept traffic to a minimum when the school buses were running. But mostly she limited the hours because the neighborhood homeowners’ association kept a close watch on Lilybeth’s Confections. She would hear about it if the board decided the bakery was generating too much traffic in the neighborhood.

They never had been allowed to put up a sign for the bakery, and the HOA had almost shut them down three months after her mother opened—until Dad gave a convincing speech to the board about how much safer neighborhoods became when residents were at home during the day and when streets weren’t void of traffic during the time most homeowners were at work. Lily was careful not to violate the HOA’s rules, however, she’d made a few exceptions for Easter pickups this weekend. Between getting all the orders filled and visits with customers—most of whom she’d known since childhood—she fell into bed exhausted.

It was barely light yet on Saturday morning when the doorbell rang just as she was taking pans of fragrant poppy seed bread out of the oven. She set the hot pans on the stovetop and quickly checked her order sheet. She wasn’t expecting anyone until after three p.m.

She turned the oven down to 350 degrees, popped in two waiting pans of cupcakes, and set the timer for seventeen minutes. Wiping her hands on her apron, she went to answer the door.

The automatic porch lights popped on and there he stood, grinning, a plain brown package in hand. He wore blue jeans and a button-down shirt the exact cornflower blue shade of his eyes. If she’d thought he looked good in khaki… Whoa…

She pushed the thought aside. He was waiting for her to say something. “Um…hi. I didn’t know you delivered on Saturday.”

He shrugged. “We don’t usually. But this one came in right before I clocked out last night. Thought you might need it. Figured Easter was a busy weekend for you.” He looked past her and inhaled deeply through his nose. “Man, it always smells so good in there.”

“Thanks. Poppy seed bread. And cupcakes.” Suddenly aware of her disheveled ponytail and lack of makeup, she took the package from him and quickly stepped back into the shadow of the entryway. “And this is my vanilla. Madagascar. But…I hope you didn’t get up early just to deliver it.”

“Not just that.” Smiling, he reached into his jacket pocket and produced a crinkly packet. “For Fudge.”

She held the packet up to the dim porch light. Cat treats. “Ohhh. You didn’t have to do that.” But how sweet.

“I know, but I figured it might get me back in his good graces. And yours. A peace offering.” He looked shy and boyish. And flat-out adorable with that tuft of blond hair sticking out at a jaunty angle from his cap.

“I don’t think he was ever that mad at you.”

He shrugged again. “Well, anyway. I tried.”

“Thank you…um… What is your name anyway?” There. She’d asked.

“Oh… You don’t know?”

“I don’t think you ever said. Did you?”

“Hmm. I guess not. It’s Gage.” He spelled it. “Gage Simmons.” He stuck out his hand as if they were meeting for the first time.

She stuffed the packet of cat treats in her apron pocket and took his hand. Her face warmed at the feel of his fingers wrapped around hers. He had a firm handshake and he held on a second longer than necessary. She was glad it was still dark beneath the porch awning.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Lily. But then, you know that.” She brushed a wayward strand of hair from her face, wishing again that she’d taken time to put on makeup this morning.

“Yep. I know.” He reached over and tapped the address label on the box in her hand—the one he’d just delivered.

Gage Simmons. She committed the name to memory. She would google him the minute she closed the door.

“Well… Thanks again. Sorry about getting you up at the crack of—”

A gray blur streaked between them.

“Fudge! Oh no! Fudge, come back here!” She thrust the package back at Gage as the cat made a beeline for the driveway. Fudge stopped short when he hit the frost-laced grass. He hunkered down on all fours, his belly low to the ground.

Lily shoved past Gage and ran barefoot onto the lawn. The grass was cold. And slippery. She dove for Fudge, barely avoiding a tumble.

Unfortunately, the cat chose that exact moment to dart into the driveway. He scurried underneath the car parked there. Gage’s? Must be. There was no delivery truck in sight.

“Fudge? Here kitty, kitty,” she coaxed, trying to make her voice soft. It was not easy to do when her heart was beating like a bongo. Getting on all fours herself, she spotted the stupid cat under a front tire, tail twitching, daring her to crawl after him.

She heard footfalls crunching the frosty grass behind her. “What can I do?”

“I have to catch him.” Her voice broke, but she didn’t want him to know she was near tears. She took a deep breath and forced her voice to steady. “He doesn’t have front claws. He’s defenseless out here!”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get him.” He snapped his fingers. “What’d you do with those cat treats?”

“Oh! Right here.” She retrieved them from her apron pocket and tore the bag open. Fudge wasn’t accustomed to treats, and she’d already fed him this morning, but it was worth a try. She knelt on the driveway and peered underneath the car, holding the morsel out for him. “Look what I’ve got for you, buddy. Come and get it.”

Fudge sniffed the air and slinked toward her.

“That’s it, bud. Come on. Come to mama.”

The cat edged ever closer, sniffing the air around the treat she held. When he finally poked his nose from beneath the car, she grabbed his collar and dragged him out. “Naughty kitty!”

Gage laughed, but turned serious when their eyes met and he apparently saw that she was not amused. He held out a hand. “Here, you want me to take the treats?”

She reached a hand out from under the cat and handed Gage the packet pinched between her thumb and forefinger.

“Got it. You get him into the house. I’ll leave the treats on the porch and get out of your way.” He gave a little wave.

Cradling the cat like a baby, she dashed back up the stairs, but hadn’t gone three steps when she hit an icy patch and pitched forward. She went down—hard—before she knew what’d hit her.

Fudge squirted out of her arms like a greased pig. She scrambled to a sitting position, but her head hurt too badly to even look which way the cat had gone. Or whether Gage Simmons had witnessed her graceless gymnastics.

“Are you okay?” She felt him hovering over her.

“I’m fine.” She moaned. “Stupid cat.”

“No.” His voice wavered. “You’re not fine. You’re bleeding!”

She took her hand away from her face and gave a little gasp. Her hands looked like she’d been finger painting in red. She blinked and realized she couldn’t see out of her left eye.

Gage turned away, looking like he might hurl. “That’s going to need stitches,” he said through hands cupped over his mouth. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

“I’m fine. Head wounds just bleed a lot.” She just wanted him to go away. She must look like a complete idiot.

“Let me see you?” He stood one step below her and pushed a hank of damp hair away from her forehead. He shuddered. “No. You need stitches. I’m not kidding.”

“I can’t leave Fudge out here.”

“I’ll get him. Just as soon as I get you something to put on that cut.”

She pointed toward the front door. “There are paper towels on the counter beside the fridge.”

He ran inside and was back in a few seconds with half the roll trailing behind him. “Here.” He made a huge wad of white paper and pressed it to her forehead. “Hold that right there. I’ll try to find the cat.”

“Get the treats.” She pointed to where he’d put them by the front door.

He grabbed the packet and crept gingerly across the grass, calling for Fudge. Kneeling beside his car, he peered underneath. “He’s right here,” he called over his shoulder.

“Just hold a treat out and talk softly.” Her head pounded with each word. She pressed the pad of paper towels tighter to her forehead and prayed she wouldn’t faint. Of all the stupid things… She pulled the towel away and gave a little gasp at how quickly it had turned bright red.

“Got him!” Gage held Fudge out, gripping him by the collar as if he were showing off a prize-winning trout. He hurried toward her and hauled the cat up the steps.

But one look at her and he turned two shades paler than he already was. “You need to get to the ER! I’ll put him inside. You go get in my car.” He sounded angry.

And who could blame him. He’d gotten up early to make this delivery as it was. Thank goodness he didn’t know she’d placed that order of vanilla with the distinct intent to lure him here. The thought made her flush hot.

“I’m serious. Get in the car!” He shooed her toward the driveway. “And don’t slip on the sidewalk.”

“But I’m barefoot.”

“You won’t need shoes if you’re dead.”

“And I’ve got cupcakes in the oven!”

“I’ll take them out. And I’ll turn off the oven. You get in the car,” he barked.

She obeyed, knowing he was right about the ER, but already worrying about how she’d get the baking done on time for her customers, who were all depending on her for their Easter treats.

She walked slowly to his car, careful not to lose her footing again. She opened the passenger door and stopped short. The car’s interior was immaculate. She looked down at her shirt, splattered with blood, and her hands, which were closer to drenched.

The front door slammed, and she turned to see him jogging toward her. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t ride in your car. I’ll get blood everywhere.”

“Get in!” he said for the third time. This time through clenched teeth.

The twenty-minute ride to the hospital in Cape Girardeau went by like a blur, but the feeling of Gage’s strong arms as he practically carried her into the ER waiting room did not. That was one feeling she might not ever get out of her mind…nor was she sure she wanted to.