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too long. How is your mother?”
    “She’s well, Miss Rose. She’s still living in D.C. with my stepfather.”
    “Come inside, girls.”
    Behind Rose’s back, Jillian whispered, “Wilhelmina?”
    “My mother’s idea,” she mumbled.
    Jillian giggled, but as Wil’s expression hardened she choked her response off. “I’m sorry. It’s a wonderful name.”
    “But it doesn’t exactly fit me. Does it?” When Wil straightened, hooked her thumb through her belt loop, and thrust her shoulders back, Jillian was struck by the aggressive sexuality she exuded.
    “Not really.”
    Rose held the door open for them. “I made lemonade and sugar cookies.”
    “Miss Rose, how do you always manage to make me feel like I’m twelve years old again?” Wil climbed the steps to the porch.
    Jillian tried to imagine Wil as a twelve-year-old girl and immediately pictured a gangly tomboy in ripped jeans and an old T-shirt. Was Wil always tall, or did she have a growth spurt during her teenage years?
    “You spent as much time over here as you did at home that summer.”
    The front door opened into a small foyer and Rose led them to a spacious kitchen. The linoleum was yellowed and the white cabinets needed a coat of paint. Actually, they needed to be replaced, but Jillian wasn’t sure what Rose’s budget was. The appliances were outdated—in fact, she guessed the fridge was circa 1950—but she didn’t think replacing them would gain that much value for the house. Besides, vintage was in again.
    “Nancy and I were inseparable.” A smile softened by reminiscence touched Wil’s lips.
    “Nancy is my granddaughter,” Rose said to Jillian as she took three glasses from the cabinet. To Wil she said, “Get the pitcher from the refrigerator, dear.”
    “Then the next summer I started working for Dad.”
    Jillian watched as Wil’s face took on a stubborn sadness. “Wasn’t that also around the time your parents split up?”
    “Yeah.” Jillian thought she saw a look of understanding pass between them.
    After a sympathetic smile, Rose changed the subject. “It’s such a nice day. Let’s sit on the back porch.”
    Rose carried a plate of cookies and they followed with the lemonade and glasses.
    Behind the house a large oak tree cast shade over most of the moderately sized yard, which would provide space for children to play and would be a selling point for potential buyers. The surprisingly large porch held a cedar table and chairs. A flower box on the railing was overflowing with lush purple flowers that Jillian couldn’t identify.
    Wil pulled out a chair for her and, as she sat, Wil’s hands brushed across the top of her shoulders to tease the bare skin of her neck.
    “It’s good to see the two of you together,” Rose said.
    “We’re not—I mean—we didn’t. Wil is doing some work on Aunt Mary’s house for me.” Responding both to the ripple of pleasure along her spine at Wil’s touch and to something she thought she’d heard in Rose’s tone, Jillian rushed to explain her presence and felt Wil stiffen beside her.
    “Of course, dear. Thank you for bringing her along on your visit. I would have called her father after our meeting anyway,” Rose said calmly. If she noticed Jillian’s discomfort, she’d obviously chosen to ignore it.
    While Rose served the lemonade, Jillian outlined some of her suggestions. Rose once again offered compensation for her time, but since Jillian wasn’t licensed in Tennessee, she didn’t feel right accepting.
    “Well, then at least let me make you dinner tomorrow night.”
    Jillian held up a cookie. “If these are any indication of your culinary skills, I accept.”
    “I thought you might. You’ve been eating too many meals down at the diner. You need a good home-cooked meal.”
    She grinned. “I’m not really very good in the kitchen. And I enjoy the nightly walks through town to the diner.”
    Rose looked at Wil, who toyed with her half-empty glass, tracing her fingers