“Hello, son.” Tim’s father shook his hand.

Tim nodded. “Good to see you, Dad.”

“It was a good service.”

Things still felt awkward between them. After the engagement announcement during the dinner party, they’d hardly spoken. He knew his father wasn’t pleased he was engaged to Molly, but he also knew their plan wouldn’t work if he couldn’t win them over to the idea. “Yes, it was. Pastor Dan spoke well.”

“How’s … Molly?”

Tim forced a smile. “She’s great, Dad.”

“Good to hear.” His father cleared his throat with a cough. “I thought she might be here with you…”

Tim shrugged. “She’s with her sister. I think she’s still a bit shaken up after everything that happened. She wanted to be here.”

His father nodded, and cleared his throat. “Oh, there’s Mom – she wanted to see you.”

“Hi, Mom.” He embraced her.

She kissed his cheek. “Tim, how are you?”

“Well, thanks. And you?”

“I’m doin’ okay. Are we still on for Friday night with you and Molly?”

He nodded. “We are. We’re both looking forward to it.”

Mom smiled. “So are we, honey. Did I tell you the gardener accidentally trimmed off my rosebuds this week?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry …”

“Cut them right off, just like that! I was going to enter them in the county fair, too. I still can’t believe it. I’m not sure what he was thinking.”

“I’m sorry Mom.”

“— And how’s work, honey?”

“Fine, thanks.”

“Tim …” Dad interrupted, his face coloring. “I really think you should take things slowly with that Molly girl.”

“‘That Molly girl’? Dad, she’s my fiancée.”

Dad grunted. “Whatever she is, I just don’t see any point in rushing into something you might regret.”

“Dad …”

“I’m just asking you to think things through. It’s all happening so fast. And I know dinner at our place the other week didn’t go well. I’m sorry for my part in that, but still – the sentiment was right. We just don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all.”

Tim nodded and swallowed hard. “I know you don’t, Dad. I promise I’ll be careful. But Molly’s not like that – she’s not going to hurt me. She’s really nice. You’ll see that when you get to know her better.”

His mother chimed in. “I’m sure she is. And we’re really looking forward to spending time with her. But perhaps you could hold off on setting a wedding date for now – just until a bit more time has passed. You know, my mother always told me that you should spend at least one of every season with someone before you marry them. And I think that’s a really wise idea – a year or more …”

“Yes, Mom, I hear what you’re saying.” They were interrupted by someone wanting to speak with his mother, and Tim took a long slow breath as their words washed over him.

He felt a tug on his shirtsleeve and turned to find Callum, who nodded toward Tim’s parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Holden. Good to see you.” They greeted him, then Callum pulled Tim to one side. “Tiffany and Jessica have agreed to go to lunch with us.”

Tim nodded. “Why are you being all cloak-and-dagger about it?”

“I thought you probably wouldn’t want your parents to hear, since you’re officially engaged to Molly. They might get the wrong idea.”

Tim nodded. “Good thinking. But seeing as how I’m not actually going out with either Tiffany or Jessica – you are – I don’t actually have anything to hide.”

Callum shrugged. “Just looking out for you.”

They headed to the truck and Callum said they were meeting the women at the Italian restaurant down the street. The whole way there, Tim sat quietly, listening to the radio, his thoughts in turmoil. It hadn’t felt good to lie to his parents again, especially while they were all together in church. He squeezed his eyes shut. It was time to make a decision about their relationship – even though something within him didn’t want to pull away or end things with Molly, he knew he had to do something.

Molly sighed, a hand on her belly. “We ate too much sugar.”

Amanda lay on the floor, one arm over her eyes, and groaned.

Molly nudged her with her foot. “Come on, we should get up and do something.”

Amanda leaned up on her elbows and stared toward the kitchen. “We should clean up.”

Molly grimaced. “Or we could go out?” She gave her voice as much chipper enthusiasm as she could muster. The last thing she wanted to do in that moment was tackle the disaster area Amanda’s kitchen had become.

“Out where?”

“There’s that little Italian place down the road.”

“You want to eat?! I don’t think I can have lunch today.” Amanda groaned and lay back on the floor.

“No, but I could do with a good coffee, and they have the best around here. Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll get home without falling asleep once I come off this sugar high.”

“Then we’ll clean up after our coffee.”

Molly sighed. She wasn’t getting out of this. “Okay, after coffee.”

They struggled to their feet and went downstairs to the parking garage. It wasn’t far to the Italian restaurant. Molly soon saw the neon sign announcing “Belladonna’s,” pulled her car into the lot and switched it off, her head still spinning from their sugar binge.

As they walked in, Amanda linked her arm through Molly’s and leaned into her. “This is nice. We never hang out like this anymore.”

“You’re always working.”

Amanda sighed. “It’s what I do.”

“But not who you are.” Molly grinned.

“Good point.”

Their server led them to a table outside that leaned, lopsided, against some vines creeping up a trellis. Molly leaned her elbow on the table and it tipped precariously, then righted itself when she shifted her weight. They ordered coffee and chatted about family, friends and work as the afternoon sun lengthened the shadows across the café.

Amanda leaned back in her chair, staring into the restaurant, and her eyes narrowed. “Is that Tim inside?”

Molly craned her neck to see. It looked like him and his friend Callum – and two other women. One of them had her hand on his arm and was leaning in toward him, laughing. Molly’s heart fell and her throat tightened. It was happening again, just like with Andrew. She wasn’t sure she could take it – even if they were only pretending, couldn’t he at least show her the respect of being loyal to their fake relationship? “Yeah, it’s Tim. I think I’m ready to leave – I feel tired all of a sudden.”

Amanda nodded, her face grim. “Sure, let’s go home. I’ll pay.”

Molly drained her coffee cup, set it in the saucer and stood. “Thanks.” At least she didn’t have to go in the restaurant and walk by Tim’s table. They could leave by the gate in the courtyard where they’d been sitting – it led directly out to the parking lot.

She waited patiently for Amanda to pay the check, then they walked arm in arm back to the car. “I’m sorry, sis,” said Amanda with a wry smile.

Molly shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I’m sure there’s an explanation, but I don’t want to confront him in front of his friends. I’ll give him a call later and we’ll talk about it.”

Amanda nodded as she climbed into the driver’s seat, but she didn’t look convinced. And Molly swallowed hard around the lump in her throat, trying to convince herself that her words were true.

Molly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and scratched an itchy spot on the end of her nose. To her dismay, the hair fell back across her face and she grimaced, looping it back once again. “Now what comes next?” she murmured to herself. She’d bought a Donna Hay Classics recipe book and had been looking forward to using it … five years ago. Today she’d finally decided to give it a try – she and Tim were going to her parents’ for dinner and she’d offered to make dessert.

Now that she was in the thick of baking, she wondered why she’d ever thought that would be a good idea. Stuck late at the office, she’d rushed to the store for ingredients and now wasn’t sure the apple pie would be ready in time. Never mind – she could prepare it here and throw it in the oven once they arrived at her parents’ house. She was certain they wouldn’t mind and that way it’d be nice and hot when they were ready to eat it.

She smiled, thinking of how her parents’ faces would look when they tried the pie. They’d marvel over how she’d managed to put in a full day of work, write a story that’d likely make the front page, then throw together an apple pie from scratch, all before dinner time.

The doorbell rang and she frowned. She glanced at her watch and realized it was six o’clock, exactly when she’d asked Tim to pick her up. She grimaced and hurried to the door, wiping her flour-covered hands on her checked apron. She’d decided not to say anything about his lunch with friends at the Italian restaurant – after all, he didn’t owe her anything and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. At least not yet, not tonight. “Hi,” she said with a quick smile. “Sorry, I’m running late.”

“No problem,” he replied. “You look nice.”

She grinned, then noticed the look on his face. One eyebrow raised, he seemed to be resisting the urge to laugh. “I bought a new dress.”

“Oh, it’s great.” He leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

The smell of his aftershave sent her hormones into a spin. Her cheek tingled where his lips had touched it and her legs wavered beneath her. “Um … come on in. I’ll just finish making dessert and we’ll get going.”

He followed her to the kitchen, where she continued rolling out pastry dough. He leaned against the wall and watched her, his arms crossed over his thick chest. He wore a button-down blue checked shirt and loose jeans, torn on one knee, and his hair was damp. He oozed masculinity. She kept glancing in his direction, almost unable to keep her eyes on the dough. He acted as though nothing was wrong … but Andrew had been good at that as well.

“Did you have a good day?” She should make conversation – perhaps then she’d be able to focus on something other than the curve of his biceps, or the pain of his betrayal.

“Yeah, it was fine. I didn’t have work today, so I went to the gym, did some yard work, bought groceries … you know, all the usual errands.”

She nodded. “I like those kind of days.” The pastry broke apart between her fingertips. What was she doing wrong? At the rate she was going it’d never come together.

“Can I help?” he asked, his eyes narrowed as he watched her fumbling with the pie crust.

“Um … do you know anything about pastry?”

He chuckled. “I’ve made a few pies in my time.”

She glanced up at him, with wide eyes. “You have?”

“Sure. Why is that such a surprise?”

“You just don’t seem like the baking type.” She dropped the pastry back on the counter and sighed.

“What type do I seem like?” He walked to the sink, washed his hands and dried them on her apron, making her very aware of how close he was and how long it had been since she’d been that close to a man like him. If she’d ever known a man like him.

“The type who spends every night out with the prettiest girls in town.” Why had she said that? She clamped her mouth shut.

One glance in his direction revealed her words had found their mark. His brow furrowed and he stepped closer. “Is that so? You think I’m a playboy of some kind? What have I done to give you that impression?”

She sighed. “I’m sorry, that was really rude. I can’t believe I said that out loud. I’m not usually quite so … bold.”

“No, it’s fine – if that’s what you think, I’d rather know than have you think it behind my back. That way I can set you straight.”

Her head cocked to one side and she studied him through narrowed eyes. “Okay … I saw you at Belladonna’s the other day, at lunch with two women. So set me straight.” She hadn’t intended to bring it up, but now that it was out there she was glad. She wanted to know. He seemed so great – too good to be true. But this thing hung between them like a musty curtain and she wanted to tear it down.

He cradled her arms in both hands and took another step toward her, until all she could see was him. “Before you came along, I hadn’t been on a date in a year. Those women were Callum’s friends from church, and he asked us all to lunch.”

She gasped, her eyes widening. “You hadn’t been on a date in a year? Really?”

“Really.”

“Why not?”

“Because I hadn’t found someone I wanted to spend that much time with. I was sick of seeing different women every week, and I just wanted some time to myself. Also, I started going back to church after years away, and I felt as though God wanted me to take some time getting to know Him again. So that’s what I’ve done.”

She took a slow breath, inhaling his smell, enjoying his closeness, his touch on her skin. His explanation rang true, but her trust wavered on fragile wings. “Oh.”

“Maybe you can come to church with us next week.”

She smiled. “I’d love to.”

“Great, I’ll pick you up at 8:30 – service starts at nine.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Does that answer all your questions about me? Or do you have more?”

“Why did you agree to this ridiculous arrangement with me?”

He threw his head back and laughed, and she couldn’t help smiling in response. He had the best laugh she’d heard in an age – it was contagious and heart-warming. He caressed her cheek with his finger and her heart pounded. “I agreed to it because I wanted to get to know you better and I didn’t think you’d let me otherwise. And the whole family feud thing. That’s it really.”

She chuckled. “Oh.”

“And now I know you had all these preconceived ideas about me. Which couldn’t be more wrong, by the way.”

“But you’re so …”

“What?”

“Good looking, confident, funny! And you’re a fireman, and I’ve seen Rescue Me – I know there are groupies. I just imagined women throwing themselves at you constantly. Also, the whole carrying-me-down-the-stairs-over-your-shoulder thing reinforced that impression.”

He laughed. “You got me there. I just couldn’t resist – you seemed so completely unaware of how your actions might affect others. I guess I got you all wrong as well.”

She grimaced. “Not all wrong, I’m afraid – I do tend to get tunnel vision when it comes to work. I should’ve been more considerate.”

He stepped back and studied the pile of pastry. “Okay, what can we do to save this dessert?”

She watched him roll it out all over again, then cut out a circle to slip over the pie pan. Had she gotten him all wrong? Everything he’d done since that night they’d met at the bowling alley was consistent with what he was saying. Perhaps she was letting her own history with men color her judgment of him.

Before long, they had a passable apple pie ready to go. “I’ll just grab my purse.” She bustled into her bedroom, glanced in the mirror and gasped. She had flour all over her nose and in her hair, making it look gray and wispy. She went to the bathroom, wiped her face, left the apron on the counter and brushed her hair. After grabbing her purse, she hurried back out.

Tim stood by the front door, pie in hand. “Ready?” he asked.

She nodded. “You didn’t tell me I looked like I’d been rolling around in the flour.”

He laughed. “You were cute.”

Her eyes rolled. “Cute? Your definition of ‘cute’ bodes well for me – I can be such a klutz. And by the way, flour makes a really great dry shampoo, in case you were wondering.” She patted her hair and smiled wryly.

He laughed and opened the door. “Good to know. After you.”

Standing by the elevator doors, she folded her hands in front of her dress. It was a simple beige gown with large red and purple flowers, much bolder than what she’d usually wear. But she felt bolder these days, more confident. Perhaps being single the past two years had been good for her.

“I’ll drive,” said Tim.

She nodded. “Okay. I can show you the way.” Molly scanned the guest parking for Tim’s pickup, couldn’t find it and frowned.

“I didn’t drive the truck. Actually, it’s not mine – it belongs to Callum.”

Molly’s eyes narrowed. “Which is yours, then?”

“Here.”

She looked where he pointed, but didn’t see a car or a truck … it couldn’t be. “You don’t mean that motorcycle?”

He laughed and reached for the helmet that hung from the handlebars. “Yep, this is my ride. Come on, I’ve got a spare helmet – you can climb on the back.”

She tipped her head to one side. “I’m wearing a dress and you’re carrying a pie. How’s this going to work?”

“Well, it’s not just a motorcycle, as you called it – it’s a Harley-Davidson. That means saddlebags – which happens to be wide enough to hold your pie.” He carefully set the Tupperware container that held the pie into a plastic compartment on the back of the motorcycle.

She shook her head. “But … I’ve never ridden one of these before. Isn’t it dangerous?”

He laughed. “I promise to take care of you. Climb on – we’re going to be late.”

Molly took the small black helmet he offered her and put it on, grateful she hadn’t bothered styling her hair after work. She rolled her eyes. “This isn’t going to be graceful,” she mumbled.

“Excuse me?” he asked, tapping the helmet over his ear.

She pasted a smile on her face. “Nothing.” She held her dress down in front while she threw her leg over the seat. “So you don’t own a car or truck or anything like that?” she shouted.

He took hold of the handlebars, grinned and shook his head. “Nope.” The bike growled to life, its engine roar filling the quiet night.

Molly put her arms around his waist and squeezed her eyes shut tight. Wonderful – she finally found a gentleman who knew how to make apple pie, loved God and looked as though he stepped out of the pages of GQ, and the only vehicle he owned had only natural air-conditioning and was loud enough to wake the dead.