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sparkling with mischief. “And what of you, my dearest friend? When shall you find the one with whom you are meant to spend eternity?”
    I groaned and melodramatically rolled my eyes, as was my typical response. “Eternity?” I repeated. “I’d settle for Saturday night!”
    I was gratified to hear my friend’s rich laughter but was more than a little surprised when her question brought to mind the image of a certain homicide detective whose dark eyes still haunted me hours later when I finally drifted to sleep.

Chapter 5
     
    I awoke the next day to the wonderful aroma of cinnamon rolls and bacon—and nearly hurled. Wine and I as a rule don’t mix so well, but I can never turn it down when it comes as a token of Eliza’s hospitality. Maybe one day I’ll figure out how to tell her I prefer a good Irish stout or a shot of Goose to the fruit of the vine. In the meantime, my stomach and I were going to have a serious conversation about the evils of fermented grapes from Burgundy.
    “Red? Red, my darling?”
    I cautiously opened one eye just enough to see the still-stunning silver-haired woman standing in my doorway, then closed it again. On a good day, my eyes were robin’s egg blue, but considering the way my head was pounding, I was guessing they were pretty shot with red today. With a groan, I rolled over so that my back was to her cheerful smile. “Go away,” I grumbled. “It’s too early.”
    “Pish posh.” Gran laughed, gliding into my room and leaving an aromatic trail of jasmine in her wake, which in combination with the cinnamon rolls and bacon brought a whole new level to my agony. “It’s already half past seven, my dear.”
    “Seven?” I mumbled into my pillow. “I’ve only been asleep for four hours.”
    Gran gave my rump a swat as she strolled by on her way to my bedroom window. With a quick swish she pulled open the curtains, letting the early morning sun assault me. “Rise and shine!”
    “Oh, come on!” I protested, burying my face in my pillow.
    I heard Gran’s exasperated sigh, then her jaunty steps as she exited the room. The smell of jasmine began to dissipate, so I risked lifting my head only to see her standing in the doorway once more, arms crossed, her brows raised expectantly.
    I let my head drop back down for a moment but then forced myself into a sitting position. Guess it was time to get up whether I liked it or not. I ran my hands through my tousled hair and blinked several times, trying to get my bearings. “Don’t you need to be at work?”
    Gran’s lips parted in an affectionately amused smile. “Don’t you?”
    I glowered at her. “No.”
    Gran laughed. “Well, now that you’re awake you might as well get moving.”
    I looked at her with one eye—the other had managed to close again on the sly—and realized she was already in her best suit and makeup, ready to head in to the office. “Who are your guests today?” I asked, hoping that trying to carry on a conversation would force my brain into activity.
    Gran’s eyes lit up. “Pete and Wendy Panella! Can you believe it?”
    My brows shot up. “Seriously?”
    Even though I was still half asleep, the magnitude of such famous guests on Gran’s television show didn’t slip by me. Matilda “Gran” Stuart was something of a celebrity in her own right among the Tales. After we came over, she’d discovered a whole new side to herself, a creativity and sense of unique style that soon made her a highly regarded expert in all things domestic.
    Her skills in the kitchen became legendary and eventually branched off into a very successful series of cookbooks, a line of cookware, a home decor business, and now her own talk show, which, in addition to giving tips on how to create the perfect flan or Christmas wreath, featured Tale celebrity guests. Gran was a natural when it came to hosting her own show—there were days when she had the entire studio audience in tears as they listened to some poor character’s