“She worked at the shop all day. She may be tired.”

“You could ask her, couldn’t you?”

He was out of arguments.

“Fine. I’ll give her a call—after I put this in the kitchen.”

Resigned, he retraced his steps through the living room. It was probably for the best that the arrival of Eleanor’s cake had forced his hand. He’d dragged his feet long enough, and he owed Christi an answer.

So before she arrived, he’d come up with a way to turn her down that would be clear and definitive.

And he would not let her undermine his resolve to refuse, as he had with the loan that morning he’d found her sleeping at Sea Glass Cottage.

The Hope Harbor Herald editor had outdone herself signing up talent for the masterclass festival.

Christi nibbled on her omelet and perused the list of presenters. There would be sessions offered on photography, painting, furniture making, research and genealogy, chocolate making, acting, lavender crafts, fishing tips, the art of coffee, and gardening. All taught by qualified experts, many with national renown. Quite a few would be concurrent, so several people had agreed to teach duplicate sessions to accommodate the hoped-for demand.

It was a full weekend roster.

There was just one slot yet to fill on the tentative schedule she’d drawn up.

Writing.

Because she had yet to deliver on the one presenter she’d promised to solicit.

Christi poked at her eggs.

Why hadn’t Jack called?

And what if he said no?

She sighed and stabbed a bite of omelet. The world wouldn’t end if he declined, not with all the talent already committed—but failing to deliver the one presenter she’d promised to ask would be embarrassing.

Should she call him?

But what if—

Her cell began to vibrate, and she picked it up off the table.

Speak of the devil.

Pulse picking up, she pushed talk. “Hi, Jack. Your timing is impeccable. I’m working on material for tomorrow’s masterclass festival meeting while I eat dinner.” That must be why he’d called, so why pussyfoot around?

“I don’t want to interrupt your dinner or your work, but Eleanor Cooper—the woman who stopped by our pew last Sunday at church—followed through on her promise and sent over one of her famous fudge cakes. Hannah and I wondered if you’d like to join us for dessert.”

Huh.

That had come out of nowhere.

Yet sharing a sweet treat with Jack and Hannah would be the highlight of her day.