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Norah looked mildly surprised, as though everyone must be aware of what went on between Steffie and Charles. “Dad told me.”
Her dear, matchmaking father. Steffie should have known.
“It isn’t going to hurt anything,” Valerie reminded her. “If you want, you can ride into town with me. I’ll go over to Charles’s house with you and we can drop off the meal, then I’ll drive you home.”
Steffie still wasn’t sure, but Norah and Valerie believed it was a romantic thing to do. They both seemed to think Charles was serious about their relationship.
As for Steffie, she didn’t know what to think anymore. In fact, she preferred not to think about their relationship at all. And yet…
She remained hesitant about this project of delivering him a surprise dinner but Valerie and Norah were so certain it would be a success that she went ahead with it.
They were apparently right.
She’d found his door open—that hadn’t changed, she thought with a twinge of embarrassment—and had left a container of the sauce, some noodles with instructions and a couple of last-minute extras on his kitchen table.
Steffie was propped up in her bed reading a new mystery novel at ten-thirty that night. Her bedroom window was open and a breeze whispered through the orchard. The house was quiet; her father had gone to bed an hour earlier, and her sisters were both out for the evening.
When the phone chimed, she answered on the first ring, not wanting it to wake her father.
“How’d you do it?” Charles asked, sounding thoroughly delighted. “I came home exhausted and hungry, thinking I was going to have to throw something in the microwave for dinner. The minute I walked into the house, I smelled this heavenly scent of basil and garlic. I followed my nose to the table and found your note.”
“You should thank Valerie and Norah. The whole thing was their idea.” Had he been furious, Steffie would gladly have shifted the blame, so she figured it was only right to share the credit.
“I haven’t tasted spaghetti that good since my grandmother died. I’d forgotten how delicious homemade sauce can be.”
Steffie was warmed by the compliment. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“Enjoyed it! You have no idea. It was like stepping back into my childhood to spend the evening with my grandmother. She was a fabulous cook, and so are you.”
Steffie leaned against the heap of pillows and closed her eyes, savoring these precious moments.
“The bottle of red wine and the small loaf of French bread were a nice touch,” he told her.
“I’m glad,” she said again. A dozen unnamed emotions whirled inside her.
“I wish you didn’t live so far out of town,” Charles said next. “Otherwise I’d come over right now—to thank you.”
“I wish I didn’t live so far out, too.”
“Since we’re both making wishes, there are a few other things I’d like, as well,” he added in tones as smooth as velvet.
“You’re limited to three.” How raspy her own voice sounded.
Charles chuckled. “Only three? What happens if I want four?”
“I’m not sure, but I seem to remember reading about a handsome young newsman who was turned into a frog because he got greedy about wishes.”
“How many have I got left?”
“Two.”
“All right, I’ll choose carefully. I wish we were together in your father’s stable right now.”
“You’re wasting one of your wishes on the stable?”
“That’s what I said. It seems as though every time I’m there, you end up in my arms. In fact, I’m looking forward to visiting your father’s horses again soon.”
“That can be arranged. Fury and Princess will be thrilled.”
