Marge fiddled with a giant star-shaped wire earring. “Thanks for the ride.”

“I’ve got your plate from the other day.” Mitch scratched the top of his head. “You want to come in and grab it? Those muffins were good.”

A huge smile split her face. “I just wanted to share. Couldn’t eat them all myself, you know.” She patted the curve of her hip. “I’ve got nowhere left to put it.”

He cleared his throat and tried not to stare at her abundant behind as she led the way into the house. She’d put just the right amount there, as far as he was concerned. He shook his head—he shouldn’t be thinking like that.

They headed for the kitchen. He hoped Bea and Jeremy were on a walk or a drive or in their room or something . . .

Nope. They sat at the kitchen table, drinking an orange smoothie in a large glass with two straws.

“Hey, guys.” Bea smiled at him. “How was your meeting?”

“Uh . . .” Mitch pointed at the counter. “Marge is just picking up her plate.”

The plate had been washed and sitting on the counter for a couple of days. He handed it to Marge, the tips of his ears burning. He already felt weird around Marge, but when Bea was around, it was a hundred times worse.

Marge took the plate and sat down at the table. “Your father tells me you’re moving to Ponderosa.”

Bea nodded, a look of amusement in her eyes.

Marge turned around to face him, putting one arm on the back of the chair. “I’ve been thinking.”

That’s exactly what Mitch had been afraid of. “Oh?”

She stared at him for several seconds, her neck twisting awkwardly, before he realized he was being rude. He moved to the table and sat down.

“Much better.” She sat up straight. “Now, I know you’ve had a tough few years and that you’ve had a lot on your mind lately.”

He pinched the inside of his elbow. Where the heck was she going with this?

“I also know you don’t want to move your parents to Ponderosa,” she continued. “So here’s what I’m thinking. The hospital just bumped me down to two shifts a week, and at first I was disappointed, but now I see it was all for a reason.”

She paused for a breath, and Mitch sat perfectly still, afraid to look at Bea because he suspected she found this whole situation far too entertaining.

“You work Monday to Friday.” Marge gave him a serious look, and he noticed the wrinkles around her eyes were more pronounced when she did that. He liked it. “I work Wednesday and Friday. We’re both home on the weekends. That means there are only two days a week you would need to have someone available for your parents.”

His nose scrunched. What was she talking about?