“Actually, I can. That’s how it works, Clay. When one person wants something, and the other doesn’t, it doesn’t happen.” Daphne uncurled his hand from her arm and held it tight. “You are a great guy—”
“But—”
“Whatever you envisioned happening this weekend isn’t going to.” Daphne walked away, hurrying through the arch that framed the opening to the restaurant. She didn’t have time to deal with Clay or the mistake she’d made with him, so she hoped her words were enough to drive him to climb back into his big pickup truck and head east.
Daphne was so flustered that she didn’t pay attention to where she was heading and ended up in the wrong wing of the bed and breakfast. Of course, she didn’t realize this until she’d reached the last bedroom at the end of the hall and discovered it was room number three and not room number six. She did an about-face and ran straight into someone standing behind her.
“Whoa, hey,” the man said, gripping her upper arms and steadying her.
Daphne brushed the hair out of her eyes and glanced up.
Whiskey. His eyes were the exact color of the nightcap Rex had poured himself each night. A mellow amber with marigold bursts, those eyes dared a person to get lost in their intoxicating depths. Or maybe she’d turned into too much of a writer and needed to rein in her need to embellish brown eyes.
“I’m sorry. Wrong way,” she said with a self-deprecating shrug.
“Daphne?”
She paused. “Yes?”
“It’s Evan,” he said, tapping a hand against his chest.
Evan. The owner of the vineyard. She’d seen a picture of him in one of the brochures that Madison had forwarded to her over a week ago. In the brochure, he wore a cowboy hat that covered his high forehead. He was taller than Rex, maybe six foot two or so. His hair was a thick reddish brown almost exactly the color of her own. Of course, she now got her color from a box, but she’d matched it to the shade her hair had always been. “Evan McCallum. Of course.”
She felt the full measure of the smile he delivered, and her first impression was utter warmth. “I’m so glad you’re here at the vineyard. What do you think so far?”
“Oh, it’s lovely. I haven’t been out to the actual vineyard or tasting room, of course, but I love my room.”
“Yes, the Jonquil Room’s the best. Nothing like hot tubbin’ in a vineyard, right?”
Daphne smiled. “I haven’t tried that yet, either, but I love how I feel like I’m in California. Or even Italy. If you look out the window, you can’t imagine you’re in Texas. Outside of the place having a friendly Texas feel.”
“I knew you’d like it,” he said, turning as if he would walk with her.
The hall was narrow, which meant his shoulder brushed hers occasionally as they walked toward the open area that held the registration desk, small bar, and opening to the restaurant. His overly familiar manner felt odd, but maybe that was part of the charm. Flowers, a personalized note, and treating guests as if they were long-lost family.
They emerged into the foyer, and Evan stopped, nodding at the young woman who worked the desk.
“Well, it was lovely to actually meet you,” Daphne said, extending a hand. “Oh, and the flowers this morning. My favorite. I have no idea how you found peonies, but what a lovely touch.”
He chuckled. “Well, I’m trying my best to—”
“Daddy!” a little girl interrupted, slipping out from what looked to be the door of an office.
Daphne grinned at the redheaded little girl, who looked about six or seven. “This must be Poppy.”
Evan caught the hand of the little girl as she grabbed his and executed a perfect twirl. She crashed against his leg and looked up at Daphne with brilliant-blue eyes. “Hi.”
“Yep, this is my Poppy girl. Do you recognize this lady, Pop?”
The little girl narrowed her eyes, and then they widened. Finally, she squinched her eyes at Daphne. “Where’s your hat?”
“I didn’t wear it this weekend. No pearls or white gloves, either. Just me.”
“Where’s Dixie? And Mahalia?” the girl asked, her gaze roaming around the foyer. She looked concerned.
Daphne glanced up at the child’s father. His eyes laughed at her.
“Well, Dixie is home with my friend Tippy Lou. She’s working on a new case, you know. Someone stole Mr. Izuzu’s suitcase, and she and Mahalia are on the trail of the culprit.” Daphne touched one