Meg was getting the twins ready for church, which meant she had only minutes to talk. Instead of savoring my news, drop by delicious drop, I had to spill it all in a rush.

“What’s up? Are you all right?” my sister asked.

“I’m fine. I’m great.” I shivered a little with happiness and hormones. My chef’s coat, designed to shield me from burns and spills in the kitchen, was lousy protection against the winter wind. “I’m seeing someone.”

“You what?” said Meg, sounding distracted. “Sweetie, where is your bow? We need to do your hair.”

“I brushed it,” I said.

“Very funny,” Meg said. “Wait. What? You met someone?”

“Not exactly. Not recently. Someone from work.”

“You’re dating a waiter?”

My huff of laughter hung like a cloud in the air. “No. God, no. You sound like Aunt Phee.” I moved away from the kitchen door, so I wouldn’t be overheard. “It’s Eric.”

Crickets.

I held the phone tighter. “Eric Bhaer?” I talked about him. All the time. Although maybe not by name. “Chef.”

“Your boss?” Meg asked.

“Um. Technically. Yeah.”

Another pause. I heard Daisy piping, “DJ has a stinky bottom.”

“DJ, honey, did you poop?”

“He poop, Mommy.”

“That’s okay. Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetie,” Meg said. She was such a good mom. If I ever had children of my own, I hoped I had her patience.

Not that I was looking to have kids anytime soon. But the thought of some future baby, my baby, with hazel eyes and dark curly hair, momentarily stole my breath away.

A rumble in the background.

“No, it’s all right. It’s my sister,” Meg said. “John says hi.”

I smiled. “Hi, John.”

The thing about having babies was, you needed a father. Or at least a baby daddy. Trey and I used to joke that if I were still single and childless at forty-two, he would make the perfect sperm donor.

“Can you . . . ? Thanks.” A door closed. Meg took a deep breath. “All right. So, when did this start? The dating.”

Eric and I weren’t exactly dating. We were . . . We didn’t need labels, I reminded myself. “Not long. I met him when I was out running on Friday, and then he asked me to cook the family meal, and . . .”

“Is it serious?”

Serious? I caught myself grinning at the Dumpster. “He hasn’t given me his letter jacket yet. But it’s pretty wonderful. He’s pretty wonderful.”

“It sounds . . . wonderful.”

That was it? “I thought you’d be happy. You’re always telling me I should be more open to finding . . .” Love. I cleared my throat. “Somebody.”

“If you’re happy, I’m happy,” Meg said staunchly.

She didn’t sound happy.

“Is everything all right?” I asked.

“Everything’s fine. Did you hear about Beth?”

“I got a text. Good show last night?”

“She sang a duet. With Colt Henderson. That song she wrote, candle something.”