It would feel fantastic, Livvy decided, absolutely fantastic. His dark brown eyes would gleam with suppressed passion, and he would murmur that he’d suddenly realized that he’d been looking for her all his life. That he couldn’t wait to—

“Are you coming down with something?” Shawna demanded impatiently.

No, but I’d sure like to, Livvy thought ruefully. Conal, to be specific. I’d like to pull him down into my bed and make mad, passionate love to him.

Livvy made a determined effort to get her wayward imagination under control. She most emphatically didn’t want Shawna to get the idea that she harbored any thoughts other than professional ones for Conal. The situation in their small office would become unbearable if Shawna were to decide to try to play matchmaker. Even worse, Conal might think that she’d put Shawna up to it. The appalling thought effectively squashed her ardor.

“What did Conal want?” Livvy asked.

Shawna shrugged. “I don’t know. Neither of you ever tell me anything. Shall I let him know you’re back?”

Livvy determinedly resisted the temptation. “No, first I’d better find out what’s bothering my mother. Would you get her on the phone for me?”

Livvy went into her office, poured herself the last of the coffee in the pot and wearily sank into the brown leather chair behind her cluttered desk. She took a reviving sip of the concentrated caffeine and tried to wiggle the tension out of her shoulders caused by spending her lunch hour competing with other equally harried shoppers.

When the phone rang, she put the coffee cup down on one of the reasonably level piles of paper and answered it.

“Livvy, the most awful thing has happened!” Her mother didn’t even bother with a perfunctory hello. “The restaurant I hired to cater the food for your grandparents’ fiftieth anniversary party had a kitchen fire and is out of business for the foreseeable future!” Marie’s voice rose to a wail. “What am I going to do?”

“Calm down for starters,” Livvy automatically slipped into her soothing-the-nervous-client mode. “I will admit it’s aggravating, but—”

“‘Aggravating’!” Marie squawked.

“Very aggravating,” Livvy amended, “but it’s nothing that can’t be overcome.”

“Every other caterer in Scranton is already booked for the weekend. And your Aunt Rose wasn’t the least bit of help. She just kept saying that because I was the oldest, I ought to do it.”

“Mmm,” Livvy murmured, realizing that her mother didn’t want advice, she wanted sympathy. Something Livvy was more than willing to provide. After all, her mother really did have a right to gripe about the way her sisters had dumped the organizing of their parents’ anniversary reunion entirely on her shoulders. Although if it were left up to her scatterbrained aunt Rose, the whole family would sit down to peanut butter sandwiches. Her grandparents deserved better than that. They merited the very best their family could arrange, Livvy thought on a wave of love.

“And the trouble I had finding a baker who was willing to copy the wedding cake Mom and Dad had. No one wants to tackle anything the least bit out of the ordinary these days,” Marie said, continuing her litany of woes. “The only thing I can think to do at this point is to have everyone pitch in and bring food. There are far too many people coming for one person to make everything.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Livvy responded, wondering what it would be like to have been married for that long. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she tried to imagine Conal as her husband of fifty years. She couldn’t because her mind was too busy envisioning him as a bridegroom. His dark brown hair would have a thin coating of silvery confetti from the wedding party, and his eyes would be aglow with passion. He would—Her imagination faltered under the strain of trying to picture Conal saying, “I do.” Not when he’d already been so vocal about the fact that he wouldn’t.

Livvy stifled a sigh. The only place Conal was likely to be a bridegroom was in her dreams.

“But I do have good news, too.”

Livvy’s finely honed sense of self-preservation kicked in at the nervous tremor in her mother’s voice.

“What’s that?” Livvy asked cautiously.

“I was talking to Teresa next door who said that her husband’s second cousin’s son is staying with them, and he doesn’t have anything planned for this weekend.”

“So?”

Marie gave a long suffering sigh as if she despaired of her daughter’s intelligence and said, “This weekend is your grandparents’ party.”

“I know that. I just spent my entire lunch hour and another hour besides finding the perfect gift for them.”

“It means that he can be your date for the weekend.” Marie refused to be sidetracked.

“No,” Livvy said flatly.

“He’s willing to do it,” Marie assured her. “Teresa asked him, and he said he didn’t have anything better to do.”

“He may be willing, but I’m not,” Livvy said, having had far too many visits home ruined by Marie’s unquenchable desire to see her youngest daughter married off.

“But, Livvy, if you don’t do it, I’ll have to listen to your grandma lecture me about what a disgrace it is that you’re almost thirty and still not married. And if your aunt May makes one more crack about how sad it is that with all the millions of men in New York City, not one of them is willing to marry you...” Marie’s voice trembled.

Livvy bit back an acid rejoinder about what her aunt May could do with her pseudo sympathy. She didn’t care what the family thought about her single state, but she knew her mother did. Marie cared very much.