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the Amish, you must know that the notion of the Amish intentionally making a mistake in their quilts as a nod to God’s perfection is a myth. Other cultures might do that, but not the Amish. The price tag simply reflects the quality work and attention to detail they put into their quilts. And that’s it.” She heard the rise to her voice, knew it was something she should try to rein in, but she couldn’t.
    Wiping the back of his shirt sleeve across his chin, Arnie flashed a smile in her direction. “Gotcha.”
    She stared at the man, all anger temporarily suspended in favor of confusion. “Excuse me?”
    He tossed the core toward the trash container at the base of the counter and missed. “I was just checking to see how much you knew about the Amish goods you sold, that’s all.” Then, turning on his bare feet, he headed toward the main part of the house only to stop just before he reached thedoorway. “If I were you, I’d talk to that Amish guy from the bake shop. His constant mooning over Esther is making her uncomfortable.”
    “Amish guy—you mean, Eli?”
    He waved away the name. “Yeah. How can she do her job if he’s continually bothering her?”
    She cracked her first smile in the man’s presence. “Trust me, Mr. Streen. Eli doesn’t bother Esther.” Rising to her feet, she plucked a napkin from the holder and crossed to the abandoned apple core. With a pointed look in Arnie’s direction, she picked it up and tossed it into the trash.
    The man’s jaw tightened with visible discomfort.
    Point made, she switched topics, her mouth putting words to a question that appeared out of nowhere. “Hey. Did you happen to notice anything funny when you stopped to interview Esther this morning?”
    “We didn’t get a chance to talk.”
    “Oh. I thought—”
    “Claire? Claire, are you here?” Diane breezed into the room in a soft pink aproned dress, her smile remaining steady despite nearly being knocked to the floor as Arnie headed back toward his thesis. “Oh good, there you are. You have a visitor.”
    “
I
have a visitor?” she asked.
    The woman beamed and whispered conspiratorially. “He’s really grown into a handsome man.”
    And then she knew.
    Or, rather, the contingent of long-dormant butterflies in her stomach knew.
    She stepped to the side of the sink and peered into the mirror, her fingers gliding their way through her growing hair only to stop as they reached the ends. “I wonder if he’s here because Esther and Martha went to Jakob on their own.”
    “There are no circumstances under which Martha would ever seek out her brother, nor allow Esther to do so, either.” A momentary hint of sadness skittered across Diane’s face only to disappear just as quickly. “But that isn’t for you to worry about, dear. Jakob is here to see you and he seems quite anxious to do so.” Grabbing hold of Claire’s upper arm, the woman tugged, then pushed her niece toward the front room. “Off with you.”
    Slowly but surely she made her way through the parlor and into the entryway, an odd mixture of apprehension and anticipation brewing in her chest as she closed in on the man carefully studying her aunt’s framed pictures.
    He turned at the sound of her footsteps. “Claire.”
    “Detective Fisher.”
    He closed the gap she left between them and encased her right hand between both of his. “Jakob, please.”
    She tried to ignore the tingle that shot up her arm, tried to focus on something else. Something mundane. But it was difficult. “What can I do for you, Jakob?”
    With a trace of reluctance, he released her hand, his dimpled smile taking over in the warmth department. “I’ve come to right a misconception.”
    “Oh?”
    “You’re actually quite good at picking a housewarming gift for a man.”
    She felt her mouth gape ever so slightly and worked to keep it shut.
    He glanced down at the ground as a twinge of crimson rose in his cheeks. “Well, at least for this man.” Two beats