When she opened the lid on the trash to throw away the eggshells, she found something strange. Bread. Cheese. Shriveled leaves of arugula. And a pickle spear.

In short, everything but the ham from Reece’s sandwich.

“That little sneak,” she muttered. If he didn’t like the way she fixed his meals, he needed to tell her rather than wasting perfectly good food.

Honestly, the man was the pickiest eater she’d ever known. Well, no, that title went to her father. He had to have beef and potatoes on the table every night at six-thirty sharp. One or two additional side dishes were tolerated-corn, carrots or an iceberg salad, in rotation.

The first time she’d tasted tacos at a friend’s birthday party, she thought she’d landed in a new universe. After that, she had tried every strange new dish she could get her hands on. Once she started experimenting in the kitchen, there’d been no stopping her.

When Reece joined her, she was taking a coffee cake out of the oven.

“That smells fantastic,” he said, going straight to the coffeemaker for his morning java fix. Reece did like his coffee, she noticed, and he drank too much of it.

“You don’t have to humor me, you know,” she said lightly. “If you don’t like my cooking, just tell me.”

He froze, a guilty expression crossing his handsome face.

“Do you dislike all bread, or just rye?”

“I don’t like those seeds,” he confessed.

“What about pumpernickel?”

“Not my favorite.”

“White?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “White is good.”

Figured. He’d probably been raised on Wonder like most American kids and had never branched out.

“I thought maybe I would buy a few groceries today,” he said casually. “You shouldn’t have to fix all our meals.”

“No, please,” she said, shuddering at the thought of what he would bring home. Saltines and cheese from a can? “I like to cook. We’ll just have to adjust to each other. But you have to tell me if you don’t like something. No more sneaking food into the trash.”

“Ah. Now the bread interrogation makes sense.” At least he looked a little bit shamed. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but it just wasn’t my kind of sandwich.”

She smiled, suddenly finding the whole situation funny. “Got it.”

Reece helped with breakfast as much as he could, but mostly he carried dishes in and out of the dining room and forwarded requests from the guests.

Sara and Reece worked in a comfortable rhythm, which was frankly amazing given that it was only the second breakfast on which they’d cooperated.

Reece, as usual, ate oatmeal. At least that was healthy. But he loaded it with butter and sugar and refused her offer of raisins.

Strawberries. She remembered that he liked strawberries on his oatmeal, and she mentally added them to her grocery list.

She had a sudden vivid memory of wandering through the grocery with her mother.

“Oh, these tomatoes won’t do,” her mother would say, frowning at the produce. “Your father doesn’t like his tomatoes too ripe.”

“But I like them ripe,” Sara had pointed out.

“I do, too. But I have to put a meal on the table that pleases your father. I like to make him happy. You’ll understand someday.”

Sara had privately believed she would never understand, and she’d vowed that when she was grown-up she would cook exactly what she liked, husband or no husband. Yet here she was, plotting how to fix food that Reece would like.

And he wasn’t anything close to her husband.

What was going on here? Was she secretly more like her mother than she thought?

“You know,” she said, “maybe you should buy a few foods that you especially like. Then you’ll have something to fall back on if you’re not wild about my cooking.”

“Sara, I never said I don’t like your cooking. I think you’re amazing in the kitchen.”

She knew he was just soothing her ego, and she tried not to feel ridiculously pleased at the compliment.

But she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. Reece thought she was amazing.

“I WALKED twenty-two steps,” Miss Greer said proudly. “Can you believe they have me walking the day after surgery?”

“The doctor said your recovery is going well.” Reece was surprised at how chatty Miss Greer was on pain meds. Not out of her head or talking in German, as she’d been yesterday according to Sara, but relaxed and jabbering like a magpie.

“So how’s everything back at the castle?” Miss Greer asked. “I understand you fixed breakfast yesterday.” She didn’t seem distressed by that idea.

“Sara did all the cooking. I just put it on the table.”

“She’s a good girl, that one. You’re not letting her handle the money, are you?”

“No, ma’am. I ran the credit cards for the guests.”

“Good. Now, Reece, I want you to do something for me. There’s a girl here who’s been taking care of me-I want to give her some money, but I don’t have any cash with me.”

“You want to…what?” Were the hospital staff shaking down Miss Greer?

“She’s not a nurse, just a volunteer, and she’s been so sweet and I know she could use some extra cash.”

“Miss Greer, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The woman was on heavy drugs and she might not be thinking right. “Did she ask you for money?”

“Oh, heavens, no. Her name is Fatima. I don’t have any cash in my purse, but I have some at home. Could you get out…oh, about a hundred dollars and make sure that Fatima gets it?”

Normally Miss Greer was extremely prudent with her money. “Why don’t you wait until you’re at home, and send it to her?” Reece suggested.

“My secret stash is under my mattress. Just bring the money next time you visit. Or send it with Sara.”

Now he knew Miss Greer wasn’t in her right mind. No one who knew Sara would give her a hundred dollars to deliver. Not that she would steal it-never that. But what if it got mixed up in her money ball? At the very least, the bills would get all wrinkled. If she didn’t give them to some homeless person.

“I’ll do that,” he said to appease Miss Greer. Chances were by tomorrow she would forget all about it. Later, if she really did want to send a gift to Fatima, she could still do so.

“Well, I expect you’ve humored me long enough,” she said. “Jeopardy’s on. I want to watch that.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing else you need?”

“They’re taking good care of me here, don’t worry.”

They were drugging her up, that was for sure. He’d never seen her so cheerful.

“You and Sara enjoy the evening. Why don’t you go to a movie or something?”

Reece coughed to disguise his reaction. “Sara and me?” Why would she say that? Had Sara mentioned their quasi-date?

“Come on now, Reece,” Miss Greer said with a smile. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. Have you tried asking her out on a date? I know she’s not dating anyone.”

“I’m not really Sara’s type,” he said diplomatically.

“Her type are all flakes. Artists, musicians, movie directors, starving actors. She could use a boyfriend with a head on his shoulders.”

“I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll let you play matchmaker with me if you return the favor. How about that nice man who owns Old Salt’s Bar and Grill? He’s a widower, nice-looking-”

Miss Greer tittered like a schoolgirl. “Don’t be silly. I’m allowed to play matchmaker-I’m an old woman. Now be gone with you. Alex Trebek is on.”

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Allie came over to the B and B. Cooper was handling the afternoon charter on his

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