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extremely popular and well-liked, and that he likely was not able to be present at the club as often as many of his cohorts.
    Cade bore the intrusion of one table guest after another with equanimity. Several of the men addressed him personally. For a child not yet old enough for school, his composure and patience were commendable.
    Not many boys of Bailey’s acquaintance would be able to tolerate an extended meal in public without raising a ruckus. She sneaked him a couple of extra French fries off her plate while Gil was otherwise occupied. “Is it always like this?” she asked.
    Cade nodded. “Yep. Everybody likes my dad.” The words were matter-of-fact, but Bailey heard the pride behind them.
    “So,” she whispered conspiratorially, “do you think we get dessert?”
    Cade wrinkled his nose. “If I eat most of my salad.” He stared dolefully at the small bowl, clearly not a fan of spinach mix.
    “I remember once when I was about your age, my mother made me eat black-eyed peas that I didn’t like. I broke out in a rash all over my whole body, and I never had to eat them again.”
    “Can you teach me how to do that?” Cade’s eyes widened with fascination.
    “Unfortunately, I think the rash happened because I was so upset. But you could always try using a red marker to put dots all over your skin. I’m kidding,” she said hastily, suddenly visualizing an awful scenario where Gil realized Bailey had been giving his son tips on how to bypass healthy eating.
    “I know that.” Cade rolled his eyes. “You’re funny, Miss Bailey.”
    Bailey had been called a lot of things in her life...responsible, hardworking, dedicated. But no one had ever called her funny. She kind of liked it. And she very much liked Gil’s precious son.
    Gil stood and touched Bailey’s shoulder. “If you two would excuse me for a few moments, I need to speak to a gentleman at that table in the corner. I won’t be long, I promise.”
    “Your food will get cold,” Cade said.
    “I bet the chef will warm it up for me. Love you, son. Back in a minute.” Gil kissed the top of Cade’s head and strode away.

Four
    B ailey looked for signs that Cade was leery of being left with a virtual stranger, but quite the contrary. With his dad out of the picture, Cade was free to resume his interrogation. “What kinds of things do you like to cook?” he asked, returning to the original topic.
    “Well, let’s see...” Bailey folded her fancy napkin and laid it beside her plate. The meal had been amazing. Tender beef medallions, fluffy mashed potatoes and sautéed asparagus. A hearty meal that men would enjoy. Not a ladies’ tearoom menu with tiny bowls of soup and miniature sandwiches.
    She grinned as Cade poked halfheartedly at his spinach. “I love to bake,” she said. “So I suppose I’m good at bread and pies and cakes.”
    Her companion’s eyes rounded. “Birthday cakes, too?”
    “I suppose.”
    “My birthday is comin’ up real soon, Miss Bailey. Do you think you could make me a birthday cake?”
    She hesitated, positive she was negotiating some kind of hidden minefield. “I’ll bet your dad wants to surprise you with a special cake.”
    Cade shook his head. “Our housekeeper will make it. But her cakes are awful and Dad says we can’t hurt her feelings.”
    Just like that, Bailey fell in love with Cade Addison. How many years had she come home from school on her birthday, hoping against hope that her father had remembered to stop by the corner grocery and pick up a store-bought cake.
    But he never did. Not once.
    By the time she was nine, Bailey had quit expecting cakes. Two years later, she quit thinking about her birthday at all. It was just another day.
    “I tell you what, Cade,” she said, wondering if she were making a huge mistake. “If I’m still here when your birthday rolls around, and if your father doesn’t mind, then yes...I’d be happy to make you a cake.”
    Cade whooped out loud and then clapped a hand