“Note there’s no red dye. I don’t want you having an allergic reaction on our trip. That would seriously interfere with my plans.” Ty raised his eyebrows up and down. “And my mother taught me to take care of myself. She always said she was raising future husbands, not boys.”

Touched he had remembered an allergy she had only mentioned once when he’d been eating candy at Tamara’s house, Imogen said, “Thank you, that was sweet. And I should thank your mother as well.”

Immediately she realized how that could be misconstrued and she tried to explain. “I mean, I should thank her for ensuring you were capable of preparing decent meals, as I’ve now been the recipient of them twice. I wasn’t at all making any reference to your potential as a husband.” Imogen bit her grape and told herself to shut up.

Ty looked more amused than put out. “I kind of figured that out, but thanks for clarifying. And you already made it clear what you think of my potential as a husband when you asked Nikki why in hell she’d ever want to marry me.”

She knew he was teasing her, but she still couldn’t help defending herself. “I explained that to you. The girl was using absolutely the wrong set of criteria to choose a spouse and, frankly, to reach the conclusion that marriage was even what she wanted at this juncture in her life.”

“I agree. But what is the right set of criteria, Emma Jean?” Ty bit into a turkey sandwich as he sat on the bench across from her. “How do you know when the time is right?”

“Prevailing opinion would have it you just know.”

“I thought I knew and I was wrong.” He shrugged. “Does it matter in the long run? No, I guess it doesn’t. No harm came out of it. And it’s funny now that I can look back and see it was more of a puppy love on my part than a true and deep love.”

“What is the difference and how do you know?” That bothered Imogen, the great unknown, the wondering if there would ever be a life partner for her. She could live happily alone, she knew that, but everyone craved on some fundamental level that kind of passion and devotion. The safety that came from knowing you were truly and completely loved. But how would she know when she did have it, if she did?

“Beats the hell out of me. I don’t think I’ve ever actually been in love the way I imagine you need to be to sustain a thirty-year marriage.”

He set his sandwich down on the uncovered picnic table, which momentarily distracted her. Wasn’t that table dirty? But it didn’t seem to bother him, so Imogen forced herself to refocus. His wheat bread wasn’t the issue here; they were talking about love.