Summer on Blossom Street. Debbie Macomber

the time he returned to his office, Dave was fifteen minutes behind schedule. Gail Wendell, his personal assistant, relaxed her anxious face the moment he walked in the door. She stood as if expecting him to need something right away.

      “Mr. Williams is waiting in your office,” she told him.

      Hutch glanced at his watch. It was past one and he’d skipped breakfast and was feeling light-headed. Hardly surprising, considering all the blood Dave had taken earlier. “Can you order me lunch?”

      “Teriyaki chicken?” Gail asked.

      It was one of his favorites. High sodium, though. “Could you get me a salad with a side of cottage cheese?”

      She raised her eyebrows. “I thought you didn’t like cottage cheese.”

      “I don’t, but it’s supposed to be good for you. Doc said I need a more balanced diet.”

      “Okay, cottage cheese it is. Anything else?”

      Hutch nodded. “Find a gym close to my place and sign me up.”

      His assistant made a note on her pad.

      “And…” He hesitated, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I need a knitting class.”

      He watched, but Gail didn’t bat an eye.

      “See if you can find an evening class somewhere in the downtown Seattle area.” His condo was in a central location and he didn’t want to travel far for this craziness. Actually, he’d be astonished if Gail found such a class, which would be fine by him. He could tell Dave he’d tried and leave it at that.

      “I’ll look into it right away.”

      Dave reached inside his pocket for the prescription. “Would you please have this filled for me, too?”

      “Of course.”

      “Thanks, Gail, you’re the greatest.”

      She grinned. “Your father used to say the same thing.”

      She was a valuable asset to the company, and Hutch was grateful she’d stayed on through this lengthy transition period. He knew, however, that it wouldn’t be long before she retired. He hadn’t worked out what he’d do then. Thankfully, it wasn’t a question he needed to answer that minute.

      The remainder of his day was routine, with meetings stacked on meetings, and it was nearly seven o’clock when he left the office. Instead of driving to his condo, he stopped at his mother’s house in Bellevue. She’d tried to call him earlier in the afternoon but he’d been tied up in a meeting with the ad agency.

      Gloria Hutchinson’s face brightened the instant Hutch walked in the door. “I’m so glad you came by.”

      He made an effort to visit and update her on what was happening at the office at least once a week.

      “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

      “No, but I had a late lunch.”

      “It doesn’t matter. You should eat.” Hutch enjoyed the way she fussed over him and knew his mother needed to be needed. She’d adjusted to widowhood with difficulty. Fortunately his sister, Jessie, spent a lot of time with her, for which Hutch was grateful. The three of them had always been close and still were.

      “I called you this afternoon.”

      “I got the message,” he said as he followed her into the kitchen.

      Opening the refrigerator, his mother took out eggs and cheese and set them on the kitchen counter. “I called to see how your physical went.”

      “It was fine.” No reason to worry her.

      “How’s your cholesterol?”

      “Excellent.” That was true, anyway.

      “Oh, good.” The rest of his health was far from excellent, but he didn’t plan to mention that.

      “You’re too thin.”

      Hutch didn’t think so but he didn’t want to argue. “Yeah, I could put on a few pounds,” he said mildly.

      She added grated cheese to the eggs and whipped them together. Melting a pat of butter in the pan, she poured in the eggs and cheese and stirred.

      Without asking, Hutch slid two slices of bread—whole wheat, he told himself righteously—in the toaster.

      “I can’t tell you the number of nights I made your father eggs for dinner,” his mother went on to say. “The two of you are so much alike.” As if she suddenly realized what she’d said, Gloria paused. “Do take care of yourself, Hutch. You will, won’t you?” She turned to cast him a pleading look.

      “Don’t worry, Mom,” he said in a cheerful voice that took a bit of effort. “I’m fit as a fiddle.”

      Her eyes grew sad. “I thought your father was, too.”

      “I got a gym membership today.”

      “That’s wonderful.” She spooned the scrambled eggs onto a plate and set it on the breakfast bar.

      Hutch pulled up a stool. “I start an exercise program first thing in the morning.” He’d set his alarm an hour earlier and launch into his three-times-a-week regimen. The prospect of losing an hour’s sleep left him feeling vaguely depressed. But that was nothing compared to how he felt about the knitting class….

      The toast popped up; his mother buttered it and brought it to him. Hutch stood to get some of his favorite homemade raspberry jelly from the refrigerator.

      “What you really need is a wife.”

      This was a frequent topic of conversation initiated by his mother. The truth was, Hutch would’ve liked nothing better, but meeting the right woman wasn’t easy. Not with his busy schedule. He’d tried the Internet but that hadn’t worked out. It was too complicated, too time-consuming. Neither had the dating service he’d contacted. Whenever he’d met a woman, who, according to the professional matchmakers, was perfect for him, the spark just wasn’t there. It’d happened repeatedly until he’d finally given up.

      “Do you have a candidate in mind?” he asked.

      From her returning smile, he knew she did.

      “It’s a school friend of Jessie’s.”

      “Okay.” His sister had impeccable taste—in everything. “Divorced?”

      His mother nodded.

      “Kids?”

      “A boy and girl and they’re both darling.”

      “So you’ve met her?”

      His mother grinned sheepishly. “Yes, and I think she’s delightful. Would you like her phone number?”

      “Sure.” He had no idea when he’d be able to meet this “delightful” woman, but that was a minor detail. The least he could do was try.

      “Don’t tell the whole world, but I’m taking a knitting class.” He offered this tidbit because he thought it would please his mother—and to shift the conversation away from his marital status.

      Her eyes widened. “You?”

      “It’s supposed to help me relax and Dave said it might be good therapy for my thumb.”

      “Really.”

      “Yeah. It’s on Wednesday nights. First class is next week.”

      She blinked. “You aren’t pulling my leg, are you?”

      “Would I do that?”

      She laughed, then placed her hands on both sides of his face and affectionately kissed