“You’re Flynn O’Riley, right?” The woman set the plate of onion rings in the middle of the table, passed the drinks around, and then pointed to the name tag on her shirt. “Remember me? I’m Tilly Waters. I thought I recognized you, but I didn’t want to interrupt when you were talking to the lawyer. He comes in here pretty often for a slice of pie. Haven’t seen you since we were in junior high school, and you used to come to church with your grandmother. Where have you been keeping yourself?”

Nessa bit back a giggle. The women couldn’t keep their eyes and, probably, most of the time, their hands off her cousin, even when he had onions on his breath. She’d always heard that women liked tall, dark, and handsome men, but evidently they didn’t mind if he was on the short side if he had the dark-and-handsome bit down pat.

“I’ve moved around a lot,” Flynn answered. “Houston, Galveston, El Paso.”

“Well, I’m divorced and have two kids, but I’m always up for a good time,” Tilly said with a broad wink. “You can call me here from noon until closing, six days a week, or . . .”—she lowered her voice—“I’ll put my cell phone number on the back of your ticket.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Flynn picked up an onion ring.

“Your orders will be out in about five minutes.” Tilly rushed off to wait on another customer.

“You going to call her?” April whispered.

“Hell, no!” Flynn snapped.

“Have you gotten religion like Uncle Isaac?” April picked up an onion ring and bit into it.

“Hell, no, again,” Flynn said.

“Then what’s the matter with you? Did you fall into bed with one too many women, and now you’ve got something wrong?” April whispered. “Are you sick? Good Lord, Flynn, do you have a sex-related disease? You do still chase every skirt that passes by you, don’t you, or have you reformed?”

“I’m not sick, but I need to get away from women for a while,” Flynn growled. “And I’m not talking about why. I’m here for a few weeks, and then I’ll probably be on my way. I’m not interested in dating while I’m here.”

“Are you dying?” Nessa asked.

“I told you, I’m not sick,” Flynn said.

April leaned forward and eyed him closely. “But are you telling us the truth? You and Uncle Matthew have never been able to resist a pretty woman, so something is definitely wrong.”

“I also told you that I’m not talking about it,” Flynn said. “We have to do this job of quilting together. It’s a joint effort, like the one we have with the house. If I’m not there to buffer, y’all will argue more than you’ll work. And Nanny Lucy has raised my curiosity about that hope chest. Is that the thing that sat at the end of her bed?”

“Yes,” Nessa answered. “Grandpa had their neighbor make it for her for their first-anniversary present. I’ve always thought that was the sweetest thing.”

“D. J. Devereaux made it? I never knew that.” April grabbed the last onion ring.

“I remember him,” Flynn said. “He used to come to Thanksgiving dinner at Nanny Lucy’s. I only got to be there a couple of times after my mother died and I went to live with Dad, but before that, Mama and I went to Nanny Lucy’s almost every year for that holiday. According to Mama, Nanny Lucy had high hopes that my dad would settle down when he got married and had a son, and she was so disappointed when he didn’t that she washed her hands of him. But she was always nice to Mama even if she was an ex-daughter-in-law.”

“I liked Aunt Gabby,” Nessa said. “She was always sweet to me.”

“Me too.” April nodded. “Is this the Jackson that’s keeping the hope chest hostage? I wonder what the D stands for.”

“D. J. died a while back,” Flynn said. “Nanny was all broken up about it when I called her to wish her a happy birthday. She said his nephew Jackson had taken over the custom furniture business. I suppose that’s the person with the hope chest and the key to open it.”

Nessa remembered her grandmother talking about Jackson coming to live with D. J. about five years before. Since she was never there except for a couple of days in the summer, she’d never met the nephew—or was he a great-nephew?

“His name was Dow Jackson Devereaux,” Nessa explained. “I asked Nanny Lucy about it when D. J. passed away. D. J. and his brother both started out in law and had a firm together in the beginning. But the business about drove D. J. crazy, so he left it and began to do woodwork. Jackson’s father is James Edward, and he named his son after his brother. So now we have the second Dow Jackson Devereaux. He got tired of lawyer stuff, too, and just like his uncle he turned to woodworking.”

“I remember D. J. being very quiet but having kind eyes,” April said. “So he was D. J., and the nephew is Jackson. I wonder if the brother, James, ever regrets naming his son after D. J. Kind of marked him, didn’t it?”

“Maybe so,” Nessa answered.

Things like that did happen. Her parents’ strictness had sure enough marked her, and now she was having trouble figuring out what was rebellion and what was just plain old Irish stubbornness.

“I remember D. J. being kind of odd,” Flynn added. “Nanny Lucy said he was a recluse. When I was a little boy, she told me not to go to his house and bother him. I didn’t know what a recluse was in those days, but the word kind of scared me. His family must have loved him a lot since his brother named one of his kids after the old guy. Either of y’all ever meet this Jackson guy?”

Nessa and April both shook their heads.

“Maybe he’s a recluse as well,” Nessa said.

“Lord knows that place out there is a good place for hermits,” April said. “Only two houses, and both of them are at dead-end roads.”

Tilly brought out their food and refilled their glasses. She laid the ticket on the table and said, “I’ll be looking for your call. We need to catch up, Flynn.”

“He’s going to be very busy for the next few weeks,” Nessa said. “We’ve got lots to do out at Nanny Lucy’s place.”

Tilly laid a hand on her heart. “I loved that woman. She was in the quilting club with my granny and in the garden club with my aunt. May her sweet soul be resting in peace. I know she’d be so happy that you kids have come back to Blossom to live.” The door opened and she dropped her hand. “I’ve got more customers. I’ll be looking forward to seeing y’all real often here at Weezy’s.”

“Can either of you cook?” Flynn asked when Tilly was out of hearing distance. “I hope you can because I don’t intend to spend much time here.”

“I can open soup and make a pretty mean sandwich.” April picked up a piece of fish with her fingers and took a bite.

“I’m a fair cook, nothing gourmet,” Nessa answered. “Nanny Lucy lived by the goose and gander law, if I remember right, so you should be able to make grilled cheese sandwiches and heat up canned soup, just like us.”

“I can do a little better than that.” He squirted ketchup on his fries. “We’ll work out the duty schedule when we get to the house, and I’m sure we’ll have to make a run up to Paris to the grocery store this evening.”