She took a deep breath, then straightened. She would fix this.

She went to the phone and pushed the redial button.

It took a few moments, but Tyler’s voice finally came on the line, slightly breathless. “Hello?”

“Tyler?”

“Yes.”

“This is Claire Waverley.”

There was a definite pause of surprise. “Claire. This is strange. I just got a call from your sister. She sounded upset.”

“She is. She’s with me on a job. I need to…ask you for a favor.”

“Anything,” he said.

“I need you to go next door to my house before you pick Sydney up here. Will you bring me some things from the house and garden? I’ll tell you where the keys are hidden.”

About forty minutes later, there was a knock at the back door.

Claire opened the door and found Tyler there, carrying two cardboard boxes filled with flowers and ingredients from the house. “Where should I put this?”

“On the counter by the sink.” When he passed her, she looked out to the service driveway, where Tyler’s Jeep was parked with his lights still on. Sydney was sitting in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead.

“I saw you at work at Anna’s, but I have to say, behind the scenes is even more impressive,” Tyler said, taking a look around the kitchen as he set the boxes down.

Claire turned. While waiting for Tyler to bring the things she needed, Claire had lined up the food and flowers. Then she had written ingredient descriptions and a list of the flowers outside on index cards so she wouldn’t confuse a recipe and cause mixed signals. This was too important. They wanted roses tonight to represent their love, but when you added sadness to love it caused regret. They wanted nutmeg because it represented their wealth, but when you added guilt to wealth it caused embarrassment.

“Thank you for doing this,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t ask what all this was for. But why would he? He wasn’t from here. He didn’t know the subversive nature of what she could do.

“No problem.”

She lowered her eyes and noticed that his jeans had dirt on the knees from the garden. “Sorry about the stains. I’ll pay for a new pair.”

“Sweetheart, I’m a painter. All my clothes look like this.” He smiled, so warm, so calm. It almost took her breath. “Anything else I can do?”

“No,” she said automatically, but then added, “Wait, yes. Will you ask Sydney not to leave tonight? Not until the night is over. I need to fix something.”

“Did you two have a fight?”

“Sort of.”

He smiled again. “I’ll do my best.”

When Claire got home, Sydney and Bay were already in bed. Sydney had obviously asked Tyler to pick Bay up at Evanelle’s house on their way home.

At least they were going to stay the night, long enough for some things to be made right.

Claire stayed up late to make her regular order of six dozen cinnamon buns, which she delivered early to the Coffee House on the square every Sunday morning. Around midnight she sleepily made her way up to her room to set her alarm clock. She checked in on Bay, though she knew Sydney did it several times a night, then she walked down the hall.