I save the study for last, settling in at Paul’s desk and digging through the drawers. I rearrange the pens, sort the paper clips and rubber bands, flip through a stack of unopened bills, Post-it notes and papers. I spread a pile of business cards across the desk, examine the names, put them back in the drawer with neat, exacting edges. He’s been gone too long. He could have made it around the lake three times by now.

Footsteps at the door snap me to attention. Chet wanders in, stirring in a mixing bowl with a wooden spoon. He’s in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, one sleeve dusted in a fine white powder. I mute the volume on the laptop.

“Hey, taste this, will you?” He scoops up a bite and holds the spoon across the desk, waving it in front of my nose. “Tell me if it needs anything.”

I wrinkle my nose at the wet blob of orange and pink. “It’s not pimento cheese, is it? I hate pimento cheese.”

“Nope. Let’s just say I took a few liberties.” He wags his brows and the spoon in the air. “Stop being a baby. Taste it.”

I sigh and take the spoon from his hand. Lick the blob with the very tip of my tongue. Frown, but only out of surprise. A pleasant surprise. I put the spoon in my mouth and it’s an explosion on my tongue, salty and sweet and...

“Is that nuts?”

“Nuts and cheese and some strawberry preserves, a little bit of powdered sugar. I thought we’d have it on some French toast tomorrow.” Chet grins, leaning back on his heels. “You really like it?”

“No—I love it.” I give the spoon one last good lick and hand it back. “Seriously, Chet. This tastes like candy. Where’d you learn this stuff?”

He lifts a shoulder, suddenly bashful. “Annalee was always watching those cooking shows. You know, the ones where they give you half a coconut and some peanuts and you have to use it to make a gourmet meal. I guess some of it rubbed off.”

“You’re really talented. If I owned a restaurant, I’d hire you in a second, and I’m not just saying that because I’m your sister.”

But because I’m his sister, I’m also counting the places in town that would be lucky to have him. The diner, Buck’s Bistro, even the pub puts on a decent Sunday brunch. Paul knows all the owners. When he’s back, I’ll ask him to put in a good word.

And just like that, my cheerfulness bursts like a soap bubble.