Lily closed the door behind her and leaned her back against it the way she’d seen an actress do in some romantic comedy she’d watched recently. She felt like she was living in her own romantic comedy.

She turned and caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror. Well, the comedy part anyway. Good grief. She looked like something out of a fifties mummy movie.

She checked the kitchen to be sure it hadn’t burned down while they were gone, then went back to the bathroom to examine the damage to her head. Fudge sauntered in, meowing loudly.

“You little matchmaker, you!” She bent and stroked the tomcat under his furry chin. This morning she’d wanted to kill him. Right now, she thought she might owe him the sum of her future happiness.

She washed her hands and dried them before unwinding the gauze they’d wrapped her head with. When she finally got to the end of it, she had a strip twice the length of the bathroom. The actual bandage over her sutures was only about four inches square. Wincing, she pulled it back to inspect. Eight neat stitches marched across her forehead just above her left eye. But the wound was no longer bleeding, and it didn’t even look like there was much bruising.

Relieved that it didn’t look nearly as bad as she’d feared, she wadded up the gauze “bandana” and stuffed it in the trashcan. Not a fashion accessory she’d be adopting any time soon. The square bandage was bad enough.

It struck her—along with no small measure of guilt—that she could probably go to church if she styled her bangs to cover up the bandage. But she wasn’t about to miss her own personal sunrise service.

She inspected the stitches again. The doctor had told her to keep the sutures dry but she was not going to Easter sunrise with Gage until she washed her matted hair.

Twenty minutes later, fresh from a bath, with reasonably clean hair, and a fresh, larger-than-necessary bandage on her forehead, she studied her Easter bakery orders. A quick glance at the clock told her she’d be late with a few of the orders, but nothing had been ruined beyond repair. In fact, the cupcakes Gage had taken out of the oven before they raced to the emergency room appeared to be perfectly done. She made a few quick phone calls and offered to deliver the tardy orders. Everyone was understanding, as she’d known they would be.

She assembled ingredients for the last batches of cupcakes and once they were in the oven, she took egg-shaped cookies from the freezer and smoothed on the first coat of pastel buttercream. Then she began to pipe on various designs freehand. This was her favorite task, making each cookie a unique work of art. Sometimes she thought it was a shame that the entirety of her oeuvre got eaten within hours of its creation.

She laughed to herself. The real reason frosting cookies was her favorite task in the bakery was because it allowed her to daydream. And she had plenty to entertain her dreams right now.

Gage. She realized she’d been waiting—since the first moment she saw him walking away from her house that day—for him to disappoint her. Like the other men she’d known. Like Dustin. She almost didn’t know how to process what was happening instead.

Not only was Gage Simmons the sweetest, most thoughtful man she’d ever known—right up there with her dad, who set the bar pretty high—but to top it off, Gage was also funny and selfless and honest and… And to top it all off, he played guitar?

Maybe she should reserve judgment until she’d actually heard him play, but it kind of seemed too good to be true. The man was so her type. So. Well, except for the whole jock thing. And the guitar almost made up for that. If he sang too—and surely he did…why else would he have a guitar?—she wasn’t sure she could believe this was really happening.

And really, it wasn’t fair to hold that jock business against him. After all, Dad had been a jock, and he came out of it and turned into a wonderful man. She sighed. She had to quit judging every man who’d ever played a sport just because Dustin had turned out to be a jerk.

She wondered what degree Gage was working toward. He’d said it wasn’t med school, but she hadn’t given him a chance to tell her what it was. If he was taking anatomy and physiology, maybe it was physical therapy. She gave a wry smile, thinking about how ghostly white Gage had turned at the sight of blood. He’d have to toughen up a little if he was going into some medical-related field.

Her pleasant reverie ended when virtually in unison the doorbell rang, the timer dinged for the last batch of cupcakes, and her phone buzzed a FaceTime alert. She glanced over her shoulder as if she might see the health inspector standing there, then laughing at herself, she licked the frosting off her fingers. She washed her hands, pulled the pan of cupcakes out, and grabbed her phone. Mom. She’d completely forgotten they’d planned to Skype today.

“Mom! Hi. Can I call you back in a few minutes? I have a customer at the door.” She carried the phone through to the hallway, holding it out so she could see her sweet mom’s face.

“We must have a bad connection. It looks like you have a big white patch on your forehead.”

“Oh.” Lily reached up to touch the bandage on her forehead. She’d almost forgotten about it. “I do have a big white patch on my head. I had to get stitches.”

Her mother gasped. “What on earth happened? Lily? What did you do?”

“Long story. I’ll tell you all about it in a few minutes. But I’m totally fine. Call you right back.”

“Well, please hurry. That does not look like you’re totally fine!”

Laughing, Lily ended the call and opened the front door only to get the same reaction from her customer. She told Mrs. Henderson the short version of the story—one that didn’t include her almost-complete-stranger delivery man driving her to the ER. She decided that might be the best version to give her parents as well. At least for now. She still had to get groceries for the sunrise breakfast she’d promised Gage. But she’d just leave it at “sunrise service” when she talked to her parents. No use getting their hopes up prematurely.

Even if her own were mile-high.

* * *

Gage closed the book and dropped it on the floor beside his bed. The six-pound textbook landed with a thud that would no doubt have Mrs. Sharvant banging on her ceiling with a broom handle in protest. He’d just read forty-two pages, and he didn’t have a clue what he’d read. There was only one person’s anatomy and physiology he was interested in thinking about right now.

He could not get Lily O’Neal out of his head—not that he wanted to—and it seemed fair to say that he’d swept her off her feet too. Literally. He smiled. Then just as quickly sobered. If he flunked this class because he was moping over a girl he barely knew, he could forget about asking her to marry him, because it would be yet another semester before he would have anything to offer her.

He dropped his head into his hands. What was wrong with him? He’d never fallen for a girl—a woman—like this before. Lying to yourself now, Simmons? Okay, he’d fallen all right. But Sabine didn’t count. The only thing he’d fallen for was her deceit. Her betrayal. And those haughty hazel eyes. He would never be that stupid again.

But this…this was different. He could already tell. Lily was different. In a league of her own—one that was likely seriously out of his league.

And he was… Twitterpated, Cara would say. Some Disney reference, apparently. His big sister could quote any Disney movie verbatim on command. And she and Jake didn’t even have kids yet.

He checked the clock on his bedside table. It was only ten o’clock, but he had the alarm set for four-thirty. Sunrise was at six twenty-two and it would take a while to get where he had in mind. He’d texted Lily that he would pick her up at a five o’clock sharp.

She was bringing a picnic breakfast. He was bringing his guitar. He swung his feet over the side of the mattress and reached for the Martin that hung on the wall beside his bed. The instrument had been his dad’s, and it was Gage’s greatest treasure. Dad always said it was an insurance policy of sorts. “You should be able to get a couple thousand for that guitar if you ever get in a pinch.”

Now that Dad was gone—a fatal heart attack at only sixty-three—Gage couldn’t think of a pinch in the world that would make him sell the Martin. He hoped to someday have a son—or daughter—to pass it on to.

He hadn’t played in public since he started back to school, but he wasn’t rusty. He played every night before he went to sleep. Usually songs from when he’d led the worship team back in high school. Now, like then, the Martin was how he prayed.

But he was a little rusty on Easter sunrise service songs. Was Lily a worship chorus kind of gal? No, she struck him as more the traditional hymn type. Maybe he’d cover all his bases and do a medley.

He strummed a few chords, turned a couple of tuning pegs and plucked a string, picking his way through “Up From the Grave He Arose.” Good hymn, but not for his voice range. He switched gears and tried “Christ The Lord is Risen Today.” Better. And in case she didn’t know the words, he had a whole arsenal of worship songs starting with the quintessential Easter song.

Hear the bells ringing…they’re singing… The lyrics marched through his head and he beat on the soundboard in time.

Bang bang bang. Ah… There it was, right on cue. Mrs. Sharvant’s broom. So much for “choir” practice. It was getting kind of late if he was going to get up by four thirty. Too bad he was wide awake now.

He turned out the lights, but after ten minutes of tossing and turning, an idea struck him. One that would require a trip to the grocery store. Still, he thought it would be worth the trip. And maybe he could finally sleep once he got home.

He pulled on a pair of jeans and slipped into the flip-flops by the front entry. Careful not to slam the screen door, he navigated the back steps down to his car—in the dark, lest he disturb Mrs. Sharvant again. He climbed behind the wheel and rolled silently out of the driveway, headed for the new Schnucks on the edge of town. He wasn’t sure if the grocery store had a floral department or not, but if not, he’d just drive on to Cape Girardeau.