For what seemed like the millionth time, Daisy stared at herself in the mirror and asked out loud, “What are you doing?”

In answer, the reflection of herself wearing the little black dress with the red embroidered roses along the hem and the clunky red beaded necklace looked down at her from the mountaintop and answered, “Going to dinner with the man of my dreams.”

As she turned away from the mirror, she picked up her black beaded clutch purse and slipped her cell phone and a tube of red lipstick inside it. “And, we know we’re pregnant. Yes. That has been established for a solid week now. But come on. It’s Ken Dixon. What will it hurt to go on one little date?”

Before she could answer herself and explain to her reflection exactly all the ways it could hurt—again—the doorbell rang. It pulled her out of the conversation and brought her back into a place of reality. Not only did the doorbell ring, but Ken Dixon stood on her front porch waiting to take her on a date. Giddy excited butterflies had sprung loose in her stomach. She could not even contain herself over the idea of this dream come true.

She soared over the peak of the mountain and opened the door. He stood there with his wavy brown hair, gray eyes that cut right through her, wearing a blue button-down shirt open at the collar, and a pair of gray slacks. “Hi,” she said on a breath. “Did you have any problem finding the place?”

She stepped back and gestured for him to come inside. He slipped his hands into his pockets and stepped across the threshold. “No. Actually think I used to own this building.”

Confused, she asked, “What?”

He looked at the ceiling and the hall closet door and nodded. “Pretty sure I built it and all these townhouses on the street. Don’t remember if we sold them or if we’re renting them out.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you rent, or do you own?”

She tilted her head to study his face. “I rent it.”

He pursed his lips and nodded. “Do you pay Mason-Dixon?”

“Mason-Dixon?”

“Mason-Dixon Realty management. That’s our branch of property leasing. My brothers and I build a lot of properties as investments. We either sell them immediately or hand them over to the rental division. I just can’t remember what we did with this building.”

“I don’t pay Mason-Dixon Realty.” This line of conversation confused her and threw her off her game. “Can I get you something to drink? Water? Soda?”

“No, thanks.” He glanced around her living room. She had wood floors stained black and accented them with a black rug covered in red, yellow, and turquoise flowers. Her television sat on a low bright pink table that ran the length of one wall. It matched her pink coffee table and brought out the pink flowers on the black throw pillows on her yellow couch. Through the doorway, he could see the turquoise wall of her dining room. “Good colors. Makes the room feel bigger. Brighter.”

It shouldn’t have pleased her so much to get his approval of her style. “Thank you. It’s a gradual work-in-progress. I tend to do most of my shopping at flea markets.”

He looked at his watch. “We have reservations at seven-thirty if you’re ready to go.”

She grabbed the red shawl she had tossed onto the back of her chair and said, “I’m ready.”

He led the way out of her house. She paused to lock the door, then followed him to his pickup truck. As he opened the door, he stopped her. “Sorry. I get a little too far inside my head sometimes. That wasn’t the best start of a date.”

This close to him, she could smell his aftershave, the spicy fragrance that brought images of cowboys and the wild west to her mind. It suited him. “I don’t think you should apologize. It’s kind of neat that I live in a house you built.”

His smile came quick and made her heart kick it up a notch. “Appreciate that.” He gestured to the interior of the truck. “Your carriage awaits.”

Using the step on the side of the truck, she climbed into the spotless cab. She could smell leather cleaner mixed with glass cleaner and felt a warm rush of emotion at the thought that he’d cleaned his truck before coming to get her.

As they drove into downtown Atlanta, they chatted about her brother. “Diego has his own church now down in Panama City.”

Ken nodded. “I know. When we went down to Florida after the hurricane a couple of years ago, we partnered with his church.”

“Oh, wow. I didn’t know that. He had so much going on at that time.”

“He fed about two hundred people a day. The storm leveled most of the city.” At a stoplight, he glanced over at her. “We stayed at his house. His wife was pregnant at the time.”

“Yeah. Little DJ. The light of our lives.” Instantly, she thought about her baby. Right now, the only other person on earth who knew about it had signed away his rights to it. What would her parents say? She remembered the elaborate announcement of Diego’s baby. The memory of the celebrations her family enjoyed filled her with sadness. What was she going to do? “How about your brothers? Any nieces or nephews?”

“Not yet. My parents are more than ready, though. Apparently, thirty-two is the age the parents quit being coy and start dropping actual hints.”

He pulled into the valet area of a building. She recognized the Viscolli hotel, the same place her grandparents had taken her when they offered her the job. After he stopped the truck, he sat for a moment, then turned to face her. “Out of curiosity, did you know I was coming to your office yesterday?”

“No.” She thought of the message she’d gotten about the meeting. “I just had a message that someone was coming to talk to me about the project. No specifics.”

His eyes darkened with intensity. He ignored the valet attendant who came to his door. “How did you recognize me?”

With a frown, she asked, “What? What do you mean?”

“When you saw me, you said, ‘Ken.’ You didn’t pause and wait for me to identify myself.”

Suddenly nervous, she licked her lips. “I’ve always been able to recognize you. You don’t remember that?”

He searched her face as if examining her, then finally relaxed and smiled. “I do now. I’m surprised you still could after all these years.” He opened his door and got out of the truck, handing the key fob to the attendant. Seconds later, he opened her door and held a hand out. His hand felt warm, the skin rough. “You know no one else can, right?”

Surprised, she asked, “Why?”

“Because, Daisy, we’re identical, my brothers and me. Only my parents and Brad’s wife can pick one from the other. Even Valerie stumbles over Jon and me.”

She shook her head. “I can tell Brad from Jon, but it takes one of them speaking. You, I could always pick you out.”

They walked into the hotel. Daisy looked all around, taking in the green marble floors, the elegant furniture, the giant vase of flowers in the middle of the lobby. Ken led the way to the bank of elevators and hit the call button for the top floor. “Best steak in Georgia,” he announced.

When the doors opened, they walked into the waiting area of the restaurant. The maître de greeted them with a smile. “Welcome to the Viscolli Grand. May I get the name on the reservation?”

“Dixon,” Ken said.

“Absolutely, Mr. Dixon. We are delighted you are here with us. Mrs. Westcott has instructed us to spoil you.”

Impressed, Daisy followed him to the table next to the window. The dim lighting and hushed tones, leather chairs, and candlelight all accentuated the establishment’s elegant feel. They looked out at the skyline of Atlanta. “Thank you,” she said as he handed her a menu.

“Will you be interested in our wine menu this evening?”

Ken glanced at her, and subtly, silently shook his head. Relieved, Daisy also shook her head. Ken said, “No, thank you.”

“No problem. Your server, Phil, will be with you momentarily.”

Daisy skimmed the entrees. She didn’t even know where to begin ordering. “So? Who’s Mrs. Westcott?”

Ken didn’t look up from his menu. “Madeline Viscolli Westcott. This is one of her hotels.”

“You know the owner?” She set aside the menu and sat back in the comfortable chair. “And why is she spoiling you?”

He shrugged. “I think it’s a standing order for our family. We built this place. Anyway, she and Brad became friends. I doubt anyone called her and told her I had a reservation or anything.” He turned his attention to the arriving waiter.

“Good evening. I have a list of recommendations from the chef, Mr. Dixon. He’d like permission to serve you, personally.”

Ken glanced her way. “That okay with you?”

She chuckled. “I was going to ask you to recommend something because the menu is so extravagant I don’t even know where to begin.”

Ken looked at Phil. “I want a steak. Medium rare. For everything else, please tell the chef to feel free to express himself.”

“Absolutely. And for the lady?”

They discussed specifics on the menu, Ken ordered them both water to drink, and then when the waiter left, he sat back in his chair. “I’ve been trying to put you in the place of the Daisy I remember, but it’s just not working. I remember you in a pink hoodie, with glasses and braces.”

“Oh, goodness,” she exclaimed, putting her hands on her cheeks. “You had to go back to my awkward fourteen-year-old phase?”

“That’s where my mind stops. I mean, we were in your home weekly for years. But even last year when we were in Florida, Diego was talking about you and in my mind’s eye… pink hoodie.”

Why should she feel embarrassed about tween Daisy? But she did. “If you’d come to my Quinceañera, you’d have seen the whole blossoming into womanhood ceremony.”

“Quinceañera?” He raised his eyebrows.

“It’s where you become a woman. There’s even a ceremony where the dad removes the shoes of a little girl and replaces them with a woman’s shoes. I practiced how to walk in those high heels for weeks.”

His quick smile made her heart flutter. “I bet that’s a fun ceremony.”

“It was. Your mom let us have it in your house. It was such a beautiful setting. I was disappointed that you…” she hesitated and added, “… you all couldn’t stay. My parents limited it to kids my age. Most of Diego’s friends were seniors that year.”

“Well, it was for you and not Diego, right?”

She obviously couldn’t tell him she would have wanted him to attend as her guest, not Diego’s. Instead, she shrugged and said, “That’s right.”

The waiter arrived with two ceramic spoons on a tray. He set one in front of each one of them. “Chef Armand would like you to start with an amuse-bouche of fresh salmon and avocado with a hint of chili and lime.”

He disappeared as quickly as he had arrived. Daisy didn’t know what to do with the spoon in front of her until Ken picked it up and took a bite of the whole thing. She followed his lead. The flavors exploded on her tongue, and she closed her eyes as she relished the fresh taste and the kick of heat.

“Oh, my word. That is amazing.”

When she opened her eyes, he stared at her with such an intense look that she thought she had done something wrong. Then a slow smile spread across his face that warmed her from the inside out. “I like a woman who enjoys flavor.”

Suddenly self-conscious, she licked her lips and smiled, then took a sip of her water.

Intense morning sickness had not hit Daisy. She hoped it wouldn’t happen as she got further along in her pregnancy. But she did feel moderately queasy the moment she woke up and normally had to lay still in bed and let it pass.

This morning, she languished in the memories of last night. Every single part of the meal she shared with Ken tasted amazing. Beyond that, his presence, his personality, everything about him exceeded anything she could have imagined. That silly little schoolgirl crush she had on him as a teenager had matured into a full-blown grown woman attraction to the ninth degree.

Now she faced a brand-new problem. They had made plans to go out on Friday night. He would arrive at six to pick her up and had instructed her to dress casually. Daisy had no idea what that meant, but she knew one thing with absolute certainty.

Daisy Ruiz could never go out with Ken Dixon again.

She wanted to, of course. Dating Ken fulfilled all of her dreams. When he walked her to her door last night, the wild and crazy side of her wished he would kiss her good night—kiss her in a way she had dreamed of since her twelfth year on this earth.

Of course, he had simply brushed his lips over her cheek. She pressed her palm against said cheek as if she could still feel his lips. Oh, she’d definitely made a mistake in going on that date.

Even as her stomach settled, she didn’t immediately get up. Instead, she went back through every single word they had spoken, every flicker of his eyes in the candlelight from the table. In her memory, she listened to his voice, watched his mouth move, watched his hands as they helped him tell stories.

She was seriously in trouble here.

“Yep. I like you a lot, Ken. A lot a lot. A lot. There’s just this issue of another man’s child. You don’t mind, do you?”

Rolling her eyes at herself, she got out of bed and headed straight for the shower.

By the time she grabbed a banana and a bottle of water, she was five minutes behind schedule to get to her church. She led a Bible study on Thursday mornings and had the key to unlock the classroom door. Maybe everyone else would arrive late, and she wouldn’t find them waiting on her. Although she doubted it.

As she walked down the hall of the church, she saw three women standing in the hallway. “Hola, sisters. I am so sorry I’m late.”

Mrs. Yancey stepped to the side as she pulled her key out of her pocket. “We just got here.”

Daisy’s father had worked as a youth pastor at churches throughout Atlanta her entire life. When she started college, he encouraged her to find a church connected to her college Christian fellowship group so she could grow her relationships inside the Christian world separate from his ministry. As a college student, she had aged out of his youth group. She had contemplated her grandparents’ church, but the drive would take her over an hour.

On her second Sunday of college, Daisy found this church, and when she walked through the doors, she felt like she had completely come home. She’d attended with two girls from her college group and discovered that many of the church’s leadership had worked with her father in various aspects over the years.

In her household, attending church meant volunteering at church. Before the end of her first semester of college, she taught a Sunday School class. Throughout her undergraduate years, she taught every Sunday, and by the time she started law school, she’d added the Thursday morning Bible study. Her job as executive director of the ministry gave her the freedom to continue to teach in the middle of a Thursday morning, providing a much-needed position in the church. When she first started teaching, older, retired women comprised most of the class. Over the years, a younger crowd had joined, giving a great dynamic to the group. One homeschool mom came every week, and her teenage daughter minded the younger children in the nursery. Daisy helped pitch in to pay her.

As the fluorescent lights flickered to life, she thought again of the candlelight last night. She should never have gone on that date. The idea that she would have to cancel a second date made her stomach hurt.

While they rearranged the tables and chairs to accommodate their class, she thought about how she would have to tell the women here about the baby. She had no idea how or when she would do that. What would they think about her then? How would they react?

Fifteen minutes later, thirteen women sat around the table with their Bibles and study guides open. “So, last week, we left off with session three. Who can tell me what words in verse six resonated with your heart and mind this week?”

As always, the discussion flowed well. She loved this group of women. She loved the range of ages and experiences, and she loved the way they wanted to dig deeper into God’s word the same way that she did. She never walked out of this class without something very profound coming clear to her. It amazed her because she had prepared the lessons every week herself instead of relying on publications.

After Bible study, she drove the three blocks to her office. Bev didn’t work today, and Irene worked from home on Thursdays, so she would have the place to herself. Which was good. Right now, she needed quiet so she could think.

When her grandfather set up the mission, he did it with the intent to provide groceries for families, pay medical bills, and provide rent assistance. In the last five years, a lot of his time and energy had gone into refurbishing homes to improve living conditions, then building new houses for families. He had arranged with a local bank to finance land at a low-interest rate, with the house serving as collateral. The bank set the condition that the family getting the loan didn’t have to have good credit, but they couldn’t be behind in any payments or have any old debt at collection agencies.

That generated a whole different level of help needed as they worked with potential families to remove debt in a culture where debt was normal. She established a relationship with a Christian organization that helped families with financial planning and signed up all of her potential families for that class. She made it a requirement before they could get a house.

The family receiving the house Labor Day weekend had worked for two years to meet all the qualifications. When Irene started the fundraising process, Jason had stepped forward and promised his firm’s commitment to supplying the bulk of the funding necessary. When she saw him last week, she had not thought about this project. Then a clerk in the accounting office of his firm emailed revoking the promise to pay. Irene went into a frenzy to come up with tens of thousands of dollars needed to build a home for a family of six.

Ken Dixon had come in and saved the day. Maybe she should have learned from her lesson and not put all of her eggs in one basket, but sitting out a little over two months from the day they broke ground with no funding made her rather desperate for help and thankful for his offer.

She walked through the office, past the cubicle areas where the volunteers worked, and into the very back office. Thinking of Jason pulling the funding made her think of the baby. It always sat right there at the forefront of her mind, springing forward without warning. She set her purse and keys on top of her desk and collapsed into her chair. With her hands pressed against her eyes, she said out loud, “Just stop thinking about it. Just work. You have to work.”