A Time for Us - By Amy Knupp Page 0,6

got Tim Bowman?”

“She did mention that.” Several times in her attempts to sway Rachel.

Tim Bowman was the local boy turned rock star. He was a few years younger than Rachel, but San Amaro was a small place so she’d known of him vaguely before he’d hit it big. She had to admit it was a genius idea for a fundraiser.

As Cale continued on about all the details, Rachel only heard a fraction of what he said. She was too busy reassuring herself to concentrate on the conversation.

She’d only been in her job for a week. She’d taken on an extra shift already and planned to take as many more as she could get approved for. Her goal had always been to position herself well so that at the end of her three years at STGH, her résumé and her reputation would stand out. That was a tall order, but she specialized in tall orders. Always had.

She was legitimately too busy to become involved in a huge volunteer event. Even if it was to memorialize her twin sister.

She’d support it by going, but that was all she could give right now.

As she pushed away her half-eaten breakfast, she forced herself to tune back into what Cale was saying. When he’d finished everything on his plate—and hers, after she’d offered it—she threw enough cash on the table to cover both their meals and a tip. And then she wasted no time getting out of there, away from Cale’s penetrating eyes.

CHAPTER THREE

RACHEL HAD BEEN back on San Amaro Island for just over a week, and already she was getting tired of waking up with Yoda staring her in the face instead of in her own bed. Especially considering the way-too-realistic figurine, and the headboard of the captain-style bed it was perched on, belonged to her thirty-six-year-old surgeon brother, Sawyer. Granted, he hadn’t lived here in their mom’s house since he’d gone off to college, but would it be so hard to pack away the decor? At least the pieces with eyeballs? Her mom hadn’t touched the bedroom Rachel and Noelle had shared, but that was different. Rachel wasn’t about to tackle that project, either. Which was why she started each day with the Wise Green One staring her in the face.

The next thing she became aware of was an aroma teasing her nostrils. Food. Really good-smelling food. Her stomach rumbled automatically and she registered that it was empty. The Belgian waffle from this morning, with Cale, was history. How the heck long had she been sleeping? She drowsily checked her watch then sprang upright. Double-checking the digital clock on the headboard shelf, just inches from Yoda himself, she verified it was after 6:00 p.m. She’d collapsed in bed at 9:47 a.m. and had been asleep moments later. Eight hours straight of sleep? She wasn’t even sure she’d moved at all during that time.

Unheard of. And, in her mind, unforgivable. Who had time to lie around all day?

She had reading she wanted to catch up on, and she needed to check in to see how one of her patients from last night had fared. But first...food.

Who the heck was cooking? Nowadays in the Culver house, waking up to a home-cooked meal was like waking up on a different planet. Noelle had been the cook in the family—the only one. Rachel’s sister had taught herself the skill when they were twelve, probably out of self-preservation. Prior to that, fried chicken from a box and bright orange mac and cheese had been status quo. Since Noelle’s death, as far as Rachel knew, the kitchen had been rarely used.

She ignored the pang in her chest at the thought of her sister, the feeling that she should be able to walk down the stairs to the kitchen and see her twin slaving over the stove as she hummed an off-key tune.

She frowned when she did, in fact, enter the kitchen to find her mother clearing the counter of what appeared to be a full meal—some kind of pork chop dish with onion slices on top, broccoli with cheese sauce and a potato casserole.

“You’re up,” Jackie Culver said with a smile. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I meant to be up hours ago. What’s going on here?” Rachel indicated the kitchen with a sweeping gesture.

“I’ve kept some warm for you, sweetie.” Her mom opened the microwave and took out a plate of food.

“Where’d it come from?”

“What do you mean where did it come from?”

“It’s... You don’t cook.”

Her mom laughed