“I s’pose y’all will be getting in late again tonight.” Disapproval dripped from Mama Ketty’s words.

He caught her about her thick waist as she tried to brush past him. “I’m terribly sorry, lovey. I know you worry.”

The muscles in her cheeks twitched as she tried to hold on to her scowl. “Don’t go tryin’ to butter me up. I told you when you first came here that I work better with a regular schedule. Now you got people coming and going at all hours….” She harrumphed, kissed the top of his head, and continued to the pantry.

“Sorry, what people coming and going?” He checked his watch. Six thirty. He needed to leave in a few minutes to meet Anne for breakfast—and coffee. He swirled the bit of black liquid still remaining in his cup and chuckled. He needed a cup of coffee to wake up enough to go to a coffee shop for breakfast. He really was getting old.

“Them movers that came yesterday after you left.”

Frowning, he followed her into the storage room. Fresh spices and dried herbs mingled with the odor of the onions and garlic cloves in the wire basket suspended by a long chain from the high ceiling. “What movers?”

Mama Ketty balanced near the top of the stepladder. She glanced over her shoulder and handed him a large sack of cornmeal. “They came to the service entrance and knocked. Said they had furniture for the upstairs that they was to deliver to Mr. George Laurence. I figured since you and Mr. B. weren’t here it was okay, so I let them in. I had Miss Courtney’s dinner just coming out of the oven, and I came back to the kitchen. But when I checked on them half an hour later, they weren’t moving any furniture, and one of them was coming out of the office. Said he was leaving you a note that they had the wrong furniture and had to go back to the store.”

“Oh, love a duck!” The pantry door slammed against the wall in response to George’s hasty retreat. Had they been reporters? Had they found anything? He hadn’t thought it would be necessary to lock the office when he was out of the house. He kept the file cabinets locked unless he needed something out of them.

The dark wood door swung open at his touch. Nothing appeared to be out of place.

The computer. He dropped the bag of cornmeal and turned the machine on. It didn’t require a password to get into the main operating system. Most of his files were encrypted, but what if they’d copied them and had a computer elsewhere that could get into them?

“What’s wrong?” Ketty wheezed, out of breath from running after him. “Did I do something I oughtn’t have?”

He stared at the blue Welcome screen. How difficult would it be for them to figure out his password for the confidential files was anne0608? The “anne” part they might figure out if the perpetrators knew Anne was planning the wedding. What they didn’t know was that he’d first met her on June 8.

The image of the Big Ben clock tower with a purple evening sky behind it replaced the start-up screen. A yellow bubble popped up in the right corner. YOU HAVE FILES WAITING TO BE WRITTEN TO THE CD. TO SEE THE FILES NOW, CLICK THIS BALLOON. His heart sank when the window opened and he saw the list. Five files. The RSVPs and travel arrangements for the engagement party. The guests for the wedding ceremony. The invite list for the reception. And the detailed questionnaire he’d filled out for Anne.

He hoped the thieves had been thwarted by the unreliable CD burner. But half the time when he used it, that message popped up even after the files had been successfully copied to a disc. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with the heels of his hands, hard enough to see stars.

The dulcet chime of his Westminster clock marked forty-five minutes past the hour. Mama Ketty’s warm hand rested on his shoulder, and she leaned over him to look at the screen. “What’s all that?”

He let out a defeated breath. “Confidential documents about the wedding. Those blokes weren’t movers.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I knew I should’ve called you when they showed up. But they knew your name. …” She squeezed his shoulder. “Do you s’pose they’re reporters?”

Nodding, he shut down the computer. “I’m certain of it.” He patted her hand. “Our saving grace is that Mr. Ballantine will make the announcement just a few hours from now. If they can get through my password and figure out what the files mean, we can only hope they try to keep the information for themselves. After the press conference this afternoon, everything will be public knowledge, and they’ll lose their exclusive story. Just pray they can’t break those passwords.”

* * *

Anne checked her watch again and flipped open her phone. She didn’t even have to look at the keypad as she punched in the code to speed-dial George. He was always on time. She hoped he hadn’t overslept. Too much still needed to be accomplished before the florist arrived at noon.

After one ring, he answered. “Good morning. Sorry I’m running behind schedule a bit.”

“I was starting to worry about you. What’s your ETA?”

“I’m turning onto Spring Street as we speak. As soon as I overtake this lorry that’s pootling down the lane, I should be within sight of the coffee shop.”

She laughed. “ Pootling? That’s a new one on me.” She craned her neck to see down the road. “Ah, there you are. See you in a bit.”

“Toodle-oo.”

Taking a deep breath to calm her racing pulse, Anne tucked the phone in her pocket. Would he regret his actions last night? They’d spent so much time trying to avoid the attraction between them, she didn’t know how easy showing affection for each other would come for either of them. Yet as she watched him unfold his lanky frame from the low-hung convertible, she wished he’d stop pootling and get over here and take her in his arms and—

She tried to control the size of her smile as he approached.

He clasped her hands and gave her a quick kiss on each cheek. “Good morning.”

Disappointment surged, but she tamped it down. Standing on the front porch of one of the most popular coffee shops in midtown probably wasn’t the best place for the kiss she’d hoped for. “Good morning. You look tired.”

“And you, m’lady, look fresh as if you’d just returned from a long holiday.” He tweaked her chin, then motioned her toward the door. “Shall we? I don’t know about you, but I could use a lot more coffee this morning.”

“More? As in, you’ve already had some?” Anne reached for the door handle, but George was faster. She loved being treated like a fine lady…especially by him. Her male cousins were all gentlemen, but sometimes they forgot to open doors or allow her to enter ahead of them. George never forgot. More often than not, he asked her to wait for him to perform his chivalrous duty.

He gave her half a grin. “I had to or I was afraid I might fall asleep driving here.”

“Good morning, Anne!”

She turned and greeted the three young women behind the counter, introducing George. While he read the menu board, one of the girls handed Anne her usual.

“That looks good.” George leaned over and took a whiff of the enormous muffin.

“This is a tall caramel vanilla latte with a splash of hazelnut and a glorious morning muffin, still warm from the oven.” Her stomach growled at the aroma of the dark bran pastry filled with raisins, grated carrots, walnuts, and dates, not to mention the cinnamon, nutmeg, brown sugar, and honey. She took a sip of her coffee and closed her eyes as she imagined the tingle of the caffeine rushing to every nerve in her body. She’d have to have at least one more of these before she’d have enough energy to get anything accomplished this morning.

The three baristas gave Anne a pitying look when George ordered a “large coffee, black.” She rather liked the fact he was a no-frills kind of guy. Forbes had probably given closing arguments in court that were shorter than the description of the specialty espresso he drank.

Melted cheddar cheese oozed from George’s croissant, and the salty fragrance of the ham made Anne wish she’d ordered that instead. Oh well. Maybe next time. She found an unoccupied table on the back deck that overlooked Schuyler Park and pulled out her list. Halfway through, though, George’s attention seemed to be elsewhere.

She set the notepad down on the table and pinched off a chunk of her muffin. “What’s going on, George?” She popped the bite in her mouth and savored the chewy sweetness.

The faraway glaze slowly left his eyes. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“Just trying to find out why you haven’t heard a word I’ve said since we sat down.” She really didn’t have time for him to be unfocused today.

He sipped his coffee and dabbed the corners of his mouth with the white paper napkin. “I do apologize. Pray, continue.”

She shook her head. Keeping secrets again? Or just fatigue? Maybe she was overreacting, but she couldn’t take that chance. Disheartened, she took a swig of her latte to try to wash down the lump in her throat. She didn’t know him well enough to discern if his blue funk was because of her or something else he didn’t want her to know about. Truth be told, she hardly knew anything personal about him. She wanted to remedy that, but when he wouldn’t open up to her…

Exhaustion pushed her emotions to their limit, and she blinked back sudden tears. She’d gone and done exactly what she’d feared— given in to her feelings and made herself vulnerable to him. Just like before, she’d end up with a broken heart after he’d gotten everything from her that he wanted. Just what did he want from her?

She jolted when his fingers touched hers. She pulled her hand away and rested it in her lap, focusing on the now unappetizing lump of muffin on her plate.