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“And what did young Conrad wish for back then, hmm?”
“The usual. Superpowers. And for no one, anywhere, to call me Connie. The name my brother used whenever he teased me.” Affection thickened his voice. “Did little Jane make any wishes?”
“She did indeed. More funerals. I loved helping Pops and Grandma Lily tend to the mourners and ensure each gravesite looked its best.”
He snickered. “That is the most Jane thing I’ve ever heard.”
They reached an open, moonlit stretch of grass, where another couple picnicked. Jane helped him spread a checkered red and white blanket, and they eased down, side by side.
The wicker creaked as he lifted the basket’s top. He pulled out a single lily, and Jane nearly teared up. A bloom meant to honor her grandmother?
“I got the food from Daisy’s,” he said, placing the flower on her lap. The backs of his knuckles grazed the bare skin above her knee, igniting a spear of fire.
Ignore your shivers. “I adore Daisy’s. There’s nothing her chicken noodle soup can’t cure.”
He winked at her. “So you’ve told me.”
Oh yes. Soon after they’d first met, Jane had contracted the world’s worst cold. In a medicated haze, she’d called the special agent dozens of times, saying the most humiliating things and begging for Daisy’s no-fail elixir.
Next, he withdrew two wrapped sandwiches. Daisy’s famous chicken salad on freshly baked sweet bread. Jane could almost taste the vine-ripened tomatoes. Wait. She sniffed the air. Did she detect the salty aroma of chips?
Her jaw dropped. “You didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?” he asked, puzzled.
“You snagged Daisy’s artisan potato chips? She handmakes those babies each morning. People stand in line to buy a bag. Which is why she’s always out by ten. I’ve only managed to score them on three occasions—days I still celebrate each year.”
He gifted her with his lopsided smile. Her favorite one. A real sense destroyer. “I may have Daisy’s private number and permission to call anytime I have an order.”
What! “How?” Jane demanded. No one had Daisy’s private number. Maybe not even Daisy herself!
“Dr. Hotchkins was her cousin, and she wanted to thank me for finding his killer.”
“Uh,Ifound the killer. And I live in town. We’re neighbors. Kind of.” But dang it! How could Jane have forgotten about the familial connection?
His smile widened, as if such a detail were unimportant. “When I called and explained I was planning a special date for the infamous Jane Ladling, she told me she’d handle it.”
Special date. With her. Warmth spread in her chest.
He finished off the meal prep by pouring peach tea into wine glasses that had been nestled in the lid of the picnic basket.
“Thank you. For everything,” she said. “This is truly wonderful.”
“I’m glad you like it.” He opened his bag of chips. “Gotta admit, I’m eager to try one of these now.”
“Prepare for transport to Heaven.” She stole one and popped it into her mouth before he could protest. Magnificent taste bombs burst on her tongue, and she moaned.
He watched her, his whisky eyes darkening. Then he sampled a chip—and shrugged. “Not bad.”
Not bad? Not bad! She snatched the bag from him. “You don’t deserve these!”
He snatched it back and mock growled, “Mine.”
“All right. Now that’s more like it.” And thank goodness. Otherwise she’d have to question his intelligence. But either way, this was already, hands down, the single best night of Jane’s entire life.
Oh no! That thought. Danger, danger!Won’t fall for him. Absolutely, positively will not.
“Um, you promised me some information,” she reminded him. Yes. Focus on the case rather than the delightful picnic he’d planned. “Which surprises me. I mean, I know you said your insistence that I keep my brilliance out of your work did you no good, but wow. Just wow.”
