The Single Dad Finds a Wife by Felicia Mason Page A

“All right, then. You have yourself a good rest of the day.”
    â€œYou, too, Doc.”
    * * *
    Sweet Willie was still on her mind when she arrived at Summer’s. She parked on the street in front of the house rather than block Winter in the driveway.
    At the door, she girded herself for the happy discussion that would take place inside. The thought of it gave her a pang, and she almost turned around to head back downtown where she knew she could sit in companionable silence with Sweet Willie.
    â€œStop being ridiculous, Spring,” she said.
    â€œWho are you talking to?”
    She hadn’t even heard the door open, yet there stood Summer in shorts and a scoop-neck top looking like a model for a designer’s casual-elegant line of sportswear, while Spring thought she herself looked positively matronly in the plain wrap dress she’d worn to work that morning in anticipation of the afternoon meeting at city hall. The shoes were the only concession she’d made, but they had remained in the car until she’d arrived at city hall, where she’d met up with her mother and Mrs. Lundsford.
    Spring shook her head. “Just muttering to myself,” she said, entering. She kicked off her shoes in the foyer and dropped her handbag on a table just inside the door.
    Summer trailed behind her toward the parlor where they usually gathered.
    â€œIt took you long enough,” Winter said. “I had to fight them off to save a slice for you.”
    â€œAfter the day I’ve had, I think I need more than a single slice of cheesecake,” Spring said.
    Winter handed over the plate, and Summer chuckled. “I guess that’s my cue to make espresso.”
    â€œMake it a double shot,” Spring said.
    â€œHow can you sleep with that stuff in your system?”
    â€œI built up an immunity while doing my residency. It’s never worn off,” Spring said, sinking her fork into the tip of the slice of cheesecake. “What’s up with this?” she said lifting the plate.
    They all knew that Summer only baked when she was stressed out.
    Winter leaned back to make sure their younger sister was out of earshot.
    â€œThe wedding,” Winter reported. “Summer wants a small affair, just family and close friends.”
    â€œAnd Cameron wants a royal to-do?”
    Winter shook her head. “He wants whatever will make Summer happy and would just as soon have Reverend Graham marry them right here in the kitchen with the mailman and the trash collector as witnesses than go through with a big wedding that’s starting to make her miserable.”
    â€œSo, what’s the problem?”
    â€œYour mother and his mother,” Summer said, reentering the parlor. “I knew you’d blab just as soon as my back was turned,” she told Winter.
    For her part, Winter didn’t look repentant. “It wasn’t blabbing. It was keeping Spring informed.”
    Summer handed Spring the little espresso cup and a coaster, then plopped into the chair facing the sofa where her sisters sat.
    â€œWhat about me?” Winter complained.
    â€œBlabbers can make their own coffee,” Summer intoned.
    Shaking her head, Winter rose. “I get no respect.”
    â€œAnd deserve none,” Summer shot back.
    Spring smiled at the bantering. Some things never changed no matter how old they were.
    â€œWhere’s our merry fourth?” she asked of their youngest sister.
    â€œAutumn has a game at the rec center tonight,” Summer said. “Don’t ask me which sweaty sport it is because I have not the first idea.”
    â€œIt’s a soccer clinic,” Winter hollered from the kitchen, from where there suddenly came sounds of much clanging and swooshing.
    â€œHow can she hear over all that racket?” Summer whispered to Spring.
    â€œI heard that!” came from the voice from the kitchen.
    Summer’s blue eyes widened, and she cast a glance