“We could take care of all your insurance needs and we’d be right down the hall,” Doris was saying as Tiffany pulled the billings off the printer.

“I’ll think about it.”

“And talk to your dad. We could help him out, too.” Doris nodded toward Tiffany. “I’ve asked Tiffany to call him and show him how we could help out, but she—”

“Doris!” Tiffany reproached, shaking her head. That was the trouble with her boss. Doris didn’t understand the word soft when it was applied to sell. “You don’t have to talk to John,” she said to Bliss. “Doris can call him herself.”

“I suppose,” Doris said with a theatrical sigh. “But I should wait until after the wedding.”

“Good idea.”

“You can’t blame a girl for trying, now, can you?” Doris slipped a thick bundle of papers into an envelope and handed the packet to Bliss.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bliss replied, tucking the envelope into her leather bag. “I, uh, was hoping that you and I,” she said to Tiffany, “could have lunch or coffee or something. You know, get to know each other.”

“As long as it’s what you want and not John’s idea.”

“Tiffany!” It was Doris’s turn to appear aghast.

“Bliss understands,” Tiffany said. “Ever since John came back to Bittersweet, he’s been trying to steamroller me into doing things I’m not comfortable with.”

“That’s between you and Dad,” Bliss said.

“So you’re not going to try and pressure me into attending his wedding?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Bliss sounded sincere. “But it’s up to you. This whole concept of a new family—stepmother, half-sisters and the like—hasn’t been easy for me to swallow, either. But I’m trying. And I’d like to start by having coffee or . . . a glass of wine . . . or whatever with you. But it’s your choice.” She glanced back at Doris, who was assessing the situation between the two half-siblings with surprised eyes. “Thanks.” To Tiffany, she added, “I’ll give you a call.”

“Any time.”

Bliss left and Doris stared after her. “You could have been more friendly, you know.”

“Just because she bought a policy—”

“That has nothing to do with it. You should be friendly because she’s your damned sister, Tiffany.”

“Half-sister.”

“Whatever.” Doris straightened the papers on her desk. Her lips were pursed into a perturbed pout, little lines appearing between her plucked eyebrows. “You’re lucky, you know. A sister—even a half-sister—is a special person. More than a friend.” She cleared her throat. “There isn’t a day goes by that I don’t think of mine.”

Tiffany cringed and felt like an insensitive oaf. Doris’s sister had died less than a year ago from heart disease. “I suppose you’re right.”