Steve mentally cussed himself out. In his haste to see Daisy he’d forgotten to remove the recorder. In some ways WZZZ was the last bastion of old-fashioned reporting. Most of the programming was done live, and because they had a newscar circling the city, they were often first on the scene of a fast-breaking story. Menken could reach the site of a plane crash or a Metro accident quickly, use the recorder for an on-scene interview, and broadcast the recorded interview from his car. But Menken was a seasoned reporter, as was the rush-hour team. Daisy Adams was not.

He searched for another purpose for the recorder. “You could use it to prerecord your one-minute slot, but I don’t think that will be necessary. Your reports later today sounded fine.” Actually, they were terrible, but he wasn’t completely stupid. He didn’t destroy a fledgling reporter’s confidence with harsh criticism, and he didn’t insult a woman with corn-flower eyes.

Daisy felt like giving a sigh of relief. She’d been afraid he’d taken her to dinner to fire her! And here he was telling her she was fine. She could hardly believe it. “Was I really fine? I was scared to death.”

“It was actually unique. It was the first time we’ve ever had a traffic reporter sign off the air with a recipe for meat loaf.”

“I thought people might be getting bored listening to the same old traffic stuff. And it was so depressing. There were accidents and jam-ups everywhere.”

He took a few deep breaths and told himself to remain calm. She obviously didn’t understand the concept of continuous traffic reporting. It was a natural mistake. He’d have to discuss it with her—sometime when there weren’t more pressing subjects of conversation. Sometime when he’d already learned about her favorite color and what kind of music she liked and whether she slept in the nude.

“To tell you the truth, the recipe came from my Bones for Bowser cookbook,” Daisy said. “Last week my brother accidentally ate some meat loaf I’d made for my neighbor’s dog, and he really liked it, so I figured it would be all right to pass along the recipe as people food. Ordinarily I don’t have time for cooking, but I cook and dog-test all my Bowser recipes.”

The waitress brought a soda for Daisy and a beer for Steve. It was the second time she’d made reference to her lack of time, Steve thought, sipping his beer. He hoped it wasn’t a boyfriend that was keeping her so busy. That would complicate his plans.

“I suppose graduate school is pretty demanding,” he said. “Doesn’t leave much time for cooking and socializing?” He congratulated himself on being so slick.

“I think I must not be very good at managing my time. I never seem to have enough of it.”