shocked to learn the elegant furniture had been made by Devlin’s cousin Sam. Not so much that he’d mastered woodworking but that he’d painted such delicate scenes. A rugged man of few words, he hadn’t struck her as the artistic type. Learning he belonged to Cupcake Lovers was a double whammy. If Daisy hadn’t told her he was a widower and the father of two, she would’ve jumped to an obvious assumption.
Focusing on the moment, she cracked open the door and smiled at her boss. “Wow. Gloves and everything.” Everything included a pink pillbox hat that matched her two-inch patent-leather pumps, and short-sleeved silk shantung A-line-style dress. Chloe had studied fashion design for six months, and that part of her brain revved as she assessed Daisy’s retro ensemble. Nineteen-sixties. A cross between Jackie Kennedy and Audrey Hepburn. Trendy chic.
“My Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes.” Daisy sniffed and tugged at the ruffled hems of her dainty gloves. “One old habit I’ve yet to shake.”
She sounded downright miserable, yet Chloe thought she looked fantastic. “Why shed perfection?”
“Keep saying nice things like that and I might start feeling bad about talking you into accompanying me to church.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I don’t believe you, but I’m not going to let you off the hook. I’d appreciate your company.”
“I’ll be down in five minutes.”
“I’ll be waiting in the car.”
She spun away and Chloe held her breath listening to those high heels clattering down the stairs. “Please don’t trip or fall.” Not that Daisy was sickly or fragile, but when her mind wandered, and it did that a lot, mishaps occurred. Last night while helping Chloe clear the dinner table (and pondering a radical change in hair color) Daisy had put the sugar bowl in the fridge and the leftover roasted asparagus in the pantry. Earlier that day, she’d nearly pruned her rosebushes to death while having an imaginary bitch fest with Tasha-the-Pinhead Burke, a woman Chloe had no interest in meeting anytime soon for fear of giving her an earful. She’d called Daisy’s recipe ordinary. Honestly? Chloe had thought the apple brandy drizzle inspired.
Not hearing any shrieks or thuds, she assumed her boss had descended safely. Chloe scrambled to her dresser, desperate to spruce up her daffodil-yellow shift. She pulled on a three-quarters-sleeved black cashmere shrug and accentuated it with a lime-green flower pin, then swept her hair off her face with a matching lime-green headband. Last, she traded her ballet flats for black pointy-toed pumps. She studied her reflection in a full-length mirror and declared herself more Sunday-go-to-meeting suitable.
Still … her stomach fluttered with dread. She hadn’t been to church in a long time. She wasn’t all that crazy about attending now. It conjured memories of her mom and dad and the way things used to be. Sunday had always been their special day. Family day. Church. Dinner. Snacking on bowls of buttered popcorn while watching their favorite TV shows.
Chloe used to love Sundays. But then her mom had died and everything, everything, had changed.
Squashing down morbid thoughts, Chloe hurried downstairs. When she reached the garage, Daisy was sitting in the driver’s seat.
Crap.
Rolling back her shoulders, Chloe opened the driver’s door and jerked her thumb. “You know the deal, Daisy.”
The old woman bolstered her own shoulders. “Deal, schmeal.”
“You cannot drive to church,” Chloe said reasonably. “You told me yourself a good portion of your friends and family attend. If you drive and anyone sees you…” She narrowed her eyes. “Do you want me to get grief?”
“We’re not going to church.”
“We’re not?” She nearly wilted with relief. “Then where are we going?”
“A Sunday drive,” Daisy said with a smile. “Usually I save that for after. But I’ve decided to buck tradition.”
“What about Sunday
Focusing on the moment, she cracked open the door and smiled at her boss. “Wow. Gloves and everything.” Everything included a pink pillbox hat that matched her two-inch patent-leather pumps, and short-sleeved silk shantung A-line-style dress. Chloe had studied fashion design for six months, and that part of her brain revved as she assessed Daisy’s retro ensemble. Nineteen-sixties. A cross between Jackie Kennedy and Audrey Hepburn. Trendy chic.
“My Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes.” Daisy sniffed and tugged at the ruffled hems of her dainty gloves. “One old habit I’ve yet to shake.”
She sounded downright miserable, yet Chloe thought she looked fantastic. “Why shed perfection?”
“Keep saying nice things like that and I might start feeling bad about talking you into accompanying me to church.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I don’t believe you, but I’m not going to let you off the hook. I’d appreciate your company.”
“I’ll be down in five minutes.”
“I’ll be waiting in the car.”
She spun away and Chloe held her breath listening to those high heels clattering down the stairs. “Please don’t trip or fall.” Not that Daisy was sickly or fragile, but when her mind wandered, and it did that a lot, mishaps occurred. Last night while helping Chloe clear the dinner table (and pondering a radical change in hair color) Daisy had put the sugar bowl in the fridge and the leftover roasted asparagus in the pantry. Earlier that day, she’d nearly pruned her rosebushes to death while having an imaginary bitch fest with Tasha-the-Pinhead Burke, a woman Chloe had no interest in meeting anytime soon for fear of giving her an earful. She’d called Daisy’s recipe ordinary. Honestly? Chloe had thought the apple brandy drizzle inspired.
Not hearing any shrieks or thuds, she assumed her boss had descended safely. Chloe scrambled to her dresser, desperate to spruce up her daffodil-yellow shift. She pulled on a three-quarters-sleeved black cashmere shrug and accentuated it with a lime-green flower pin, then swept her hair off her face with a matching lime-green headband. Last, she traded her ballet flats for black pointy-toed pumps. She studied her reflection in a full-length mirror and declared herself more Sunday-go-to-meeting suitable.
Still … her stomach fluttered with dread. She hadn’t been to church in a long time. She wasn’t all that crazy about attending now. It conjured memories of her mom and dad and the way things used to be. Sunday had always been their special day. Family day. Church. Dinner. Snacking on bowls of buttered popcorn while watching their favorite TV shows.
Chloe used to love Sundays. But then her mom had died and everything, everything, had changed.
Squashing down morbid thoughts, Chloe hurried downstairs. When she reached the garage, Daisy was sitting in the driver’s seat.
Crap.
Rolling back her shoulders, Chloe opened the driver’s door and jerked her thumb. “You know the deal, Daisy.”
The old woman bolstered her own shoulders. “Deal, schmeal.”
“You cannot drive to church,” Chloe said reasonably. “You told me yourself a good portion of your friends and family attend. If you drive and anyone sees you…” She narrowed her eyes. “Do you want me to get grief?”
“We’re not going to church.”
“We’re not?” She nearly wilted with relief. “Then where are we going?”
“A Sunday drive,” Daisy said with a smile. “Usually I save that for after. But I’ve decided to buck tradition.”
“What about Sunday
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