“Guess not. It’s still shy of five-thirty.” He sat back on his heels when she lifted her head again. Color was coming back, he noted with relief. “What’re you doing up?”

“I’m usually up by—” She jumped like a spring as the oven timer buzzed. “God! God!” With a half laugh she pounded a fist on her heart. “I’m going to be lucky to survive till sunrise at this rate. My muffins,” she said and got up quickly to take them out of the oven, slide the next batch in.

“I didn’t realize you started so early.”

He could see, now that he looked around, that she’d been at it a while. There was something simmering on the stove and smelling like glory. A huge bowl of batter sat on the counter. Another bowl, covered with a cloth, was beside the stove. Still one more was on the table, where she’d obviously been mixing something before he’d scared ten years off her life.

Ingredients were lined up, as organized as a marching band.

“I didn’t realize you worked so late.” She calmed herself by cutting shortening into the flour for her pastry dough.

“I don’t usually. I had a little project to finish up last night, and when it was all said and done, dropped off in my office chair. Nell, if you don’t give me a cup of that coffee I’m going to start crying. It’ll embarrass us both.”

“Oh. Sorry. Um.”

“You just keep on with what you’re doing there. Cups?”

“Cabinet to the right of the sink.”

“Want me to top yours off?”

“I suppose.”

He poured a cup, filled hers as it sat by the sink. “You know, I don’t think these muffins look quite right.”

With the bowl tucked in the crook of her arm, she turned. Her face was a study of alarm and insult. “What do you mean?”

“Just don’t look quite the thing. Why don’t you let me test one for you?” He gave her a quick, boyish grin that had her lips twitching.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Why don’t you just ask for one?”

“More fun this way. No, don’t bother. I can get it myself.” He plucked one out of the pan, burned the tips of his fingers. As he tossed the muffin from hand to hand to cool it, the scent told him it was going to be worth it. “I’ve sure got a soft spot for your blueberry muffins, Nell.”

“Mr. Bigelow, Lancefort Bigelow, prefers my cream puffs. He said if I’d make them for him every day, he’d marry me and we’d move to Bimini.”

Still grinning, Zack broke the muffin in half, treated himself to the fragrant steam. “That’s pretty stiff competition.”

Bigelow, a confirmed bachelor, was ninety.