The Cook's Secret Ingredient. Meg Maxwell

have some kind of gift to restore through food.

      Except maybe when it came to this man.

      “What can I get you?” she asked. “Special today is pulled pork. I have six kinds of sauces. And the cannoli of the day is the peanut-butter cream.”

      “I actually came to tell you that I made a decision about my father and the prediction. My dad has business he can’t just blow off this week. Which is crazy because when I was growing up, I would have loved for him to put his personal life before work. Now here I am, insisting he honor his commitments. I’m going to track down his Sarah for him.”

      Olivia froze. “You are? I thought the last thing you wanted was for him to find this mystery woman.”

      “I’m going to find her for him because I can do it quickly—it’s my job to find people. And when I do find her and he feels absolutely nothing for her, I can prove once and for all that the fortune is a bunch of hooey. We can both get on with our lives.”

      Well, that sounded cynical, but everything inside her lit up at the idea of reuniting with her aunt. “So you’ve started the search?” she asked.

      “No. I’ll do some research tonight and hit the road tomorrow. I need to make this quick. I have a pending case and people counting on me.”

      “I’ll help,” she said. “And come with you to find her.”

      “What? Why would you want to do that?”

      Olivia took a deep breath. She had to tell him. “Because this green-eyed hairstylist named Sarah with the brush-and-blow-dryer tattoo sounds exactly like my estranged aunt.”

      The hazel-green eyes narrowed.

      * * *

      Disappointment conked him over the head, then fury punched him in the stomach so hard he almost staggered backward.

      He stared at Olivia and then turned and stalked away.

      “Carson, wait!” she called.

      He kept walking, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the lying, swindling Mack women as possible. A daughter, a mother, an aunt. All in cahoots.

      “Carson!” she called and he could hear her chasing after him. “Please hear me out!”

      He noticed some people stopping on the sidewalks, pausing in their window shopping. Busybodies.

      He kept walking. He would not hear her out. There was nothing to hear. Of course she’d said she’d help him find “Sarah.” He had no doubt Olivia Mack knew exactly where her aunt was. This was all probably one great big ruse to make this air of mystery around Sarah’s whereabouts so that his father was pulled in even more. No one wanted what came easily. Damn, they were good at being lying swindlers. They reeled in Edmund Ford and now were playing the game, putting the aunt out of his reach just until the fantasy would take over any issues with reality. At this point, his father was in love with the fantasy. She was his predicted second great love, and that’s all he’d need to know.

      “Carson, please!” she called.

      He kept walking, the cool February air refreshing against the hot anger spiraling inside him. He’d parked his car on a side street, and when he reached it, he got in and sped off toward Oak Creek.

      When he opened the front door of his house, he could smell apple pie in the air. Danny’s sitter had made two pies with her little helper, and he was now napping. He let the sitter know he would be doing some research, then tiptoed into Danny’s room. He watched his son’s chest rise and fall, his own tense shoulders relaxing. Watching his son sleep never failed to relax him.

      In his office, he sat down on the brown leather couch and pulled out his cell phone to call his dad and tell him this Sarah person was just Olivia’s aunt and the fortune-teller’s sister. And what a nice parting gift to hook up the family with a wealthy widower.

      Cheap shot, Ford, he chastised himself.

      He punched in his dad’s cell number.

      “Edmund Ford speaking.”

      “Dad, I just found out this supposed second great love of yours is the fortune-teller’s sister. Clearly, you’ve been set up.”

      “Her sister?” Edmund said.

      “Olivia told me the person Madam Miranda described sounds a lot like her estranged aunt. Down to the name, the job, the eye color and the tattoo.”

      Silence. His father was a smart man. Clearly he now knew this was a ruse and he probably felt exactly like Carson had on the street—sucker punched upside the head and in the gut.

      “That’s great!” Edmund said. “That means we have a last name! Maybe even a Social Security number to help track her down. And a physical description beyond eye color. This is great news.”