Her cell pinged, and she pulled it out of her purse.

A text from Eve.

At least she’d waited two hours longer than Cate had to ask about last night’s date.

Grace scanned the message.

How was your dinner?

May as well answer their questions and be done with this.

She typed in a response.

Didn’t happen. He’s down for the count with the flu.

Bummer.

Yep.

Did he reschedule yet?

No. He’s too sick to think about romance.

Guys are never too sick to think about romance.

I’m cutting him some slack until he recovers.

Take him soup.

The very offer she’d extended this morning. But Nate had extracted a promise that she’d keep her distance until he was certain he wasn’t contagious anymore.

Thanks for the advice.

What are sisters for? I’ll check back with you in a couple of days for an update.

Don’t bother. I’ll keep you in the loop.

Ha. I’ll check back.

Fine. Brief Cate, okay? She texted this a.m. too.

Will do. Sorry about the date.

Me too. But we’ll make up for it.

Hold that thought.

Grace stowed her phone as Jolene delivered a steaming cup of coffee and a glass of juice.

“Enjoy, honey. Too bad you have to eat alone, though.”

“I’m used to it.”

“More’s the pity—but it may not be a permanent situation.” Grinning, she bustled off to answer a summons from another customer.

Oh brother.

While small-town living had many charms, it appeared privacy wasn’t one of them.

But an active grapevine and a modicum of nosiness were more than worth the aggravation for a payoff like Nate.

He felt like he’d been hit by a truck.

And he wasn’t in the mood for company.

But if someone was ringing his doorbell on this Tuesday morning at—he squinted in the direction of the bedside clock—seven forty-five, they must have an urgent reason to see him.

After leveraging himself upright with considerable effort, he tugged on the jeans he’d dropped on the floor three days ago, pulled on a T-shirt, and padded barefoot to the front door.

Eleanor stood on the other side, holding a large Tupperware container.

“Sorry to come calling this early, but I’m on a mission of mercy.” She sized him up and shook her head. “None too soon, either. You look like death warmed over.”

“Good morning to you too—and keep your distance. I wouldn’t wish this bug on my worst enemy.”

“Do you still have a fever?”

“No.”

“Then you’re probably not contagious anymore.”

“Let’s not take that risk. You’re leaving on your trip next weekend, and I don’t want you to get sick.”

Twin creases appeared on her forehead. “Maybe I should cancel. With you under the weather and half the department on vacation, someone has to keep the office running.”

“Don’t even think about it. I’ll be back in fighting form in another day or so, and all your plans are made.”