“I don’t think she was doing this for herself. What do you want to bet that belongs to her date for the wedding?” Cate zeroed in on Nate’s shirt.

Sometimes having an ace detective for a sister stunk.

“Does it?” Eve stepped closer to her.

Short of fleeing through the back door or lying, she was stuck.

“As a matter of fact, it does. I stopped by to, uh, discuss a case, and decided to lend a hand with the house he’s rehabbing.”

Cate began to prowl around the kitchen.

Of course she found the remaining baklava.

“Well, well, well. What have we here?” She lifted the plastic-wrap-covered plate with the remaining pieces and tilted it toward Eve.

“You made baklava? In the middle of the summer?” Eve scrutinized her. “I thought you were too busy to make that except at Christmas. At least that’s what you told us.”

“She did it for the sheriff.” Cate set the plate down, dropped the shoe to the floor, and leaned back against the counter beside Eve, expression smug. “This guy must rate. I can’t wait to meet him.”

“You make baklava for him but not for us?” Eve folded her arms and sniffed. “I’m insulted.”

“He did me a favor, okay? But you guys are welcome to what’s left.”

Eve nudged Cate. “Did you notice that? We get the leftovers.”

“I noticed. However, I’m not too proud to help finish this off for dessert. No one makes baklava like Grace.”

“You realize what this means, don’t you? If Ms. I-Hate-DIY helped him paint and carved time out of her schedule to make him baklava, this guy has serious walk-down-the-aisle potential.” Eve gave her a once-over as she directed that comment to Cate.

“Uh-huh. Lucky he passed the facts and figures background test or we’d be having a heart-to-heart about now. We’ll have to see how he does in person.”

“Hey.” Grace set the shirt on the kitchen table and planted her fists on her hips. “I’m thirty years old. I can handle my social life without input from my two nosey older sisters, thank you very much.”

Eve ignored her and took another sip of soda. “So are we in the way here? Is he stopping by later?”

“No, he is not stopping by. And FYI, we haven’t even been on a date yet.”

“But painting parties can be very romantic.” Eve swirled the ice in her glass, a slow smile bowing her lips. “I speak from experience on that topic.”

“When are you going out with him?” Cate loosened the plastic wrap over the baklava and pressed her index finger against a crumb.

“Saturday.”

“Where?” Eve edged in again.

“To a restaurant. For dinner. And speaking of food, why don’t we eat now? I’m starving.”

“I think she’s done talking.” Cate popped her finger into her mouth and sucked off the crumb.

“I think you’re right.” Eve strolled over to the refrigerator, opened the door, and pulled out the barbecue. “I’m fine with the eat-now plan. Cate?”