gazing at the view from the balcony. The sun had sunk behind the building and the lights of the surrounding community were beginning to glow.
“I love this time of day,” she murmured. “It’s an in-between moment, where maybe you can...”
She stopped and Livvie looked intrigued. “Do what?”
Rachel waved her hand. “Just a fancy of mine. It’s silly. What’s your favorite part of the day?”
As his daughter chattered about mornings and her daily activities, Simon focused on her face, rather than the lake and sparkling lights. Twilight wasn’t his favorite time; it signaled the beginning of evening, a period that reminded him of his loss.
Olivia had worked hard, trying to build her clothing design business into something the world would notice. He’d worked equally hard, but they had set the evening aside for family. And once Livvie had gone to bed, they’d focused on each other.
Well, it had been that way a good deal of the time.
When Olivia had got an idea for a design, she’d wanted to capture it right away. Otherwise, she had explained, she risked losing the nuances. On those evenings, she had quietly disappeared into her work.
Their marriage hadn’t been perfect, but it had been good. Since her death, he’d wondered if she had guessed her life would be short and whether that explained how determined and driven she’d been.
RACHEL SAW A faraway look on Simon’s face and wondered what it might mean. Not that she needed to know. The Kesslers were merely neighbors, and based on her contacts with Simon, she’d rather not get closely acquainted. The only reason she’d offered the dinner invitation was for Livvie’s sake.
“The part I don’t like about mornings is when Daddy leaves,” Livvie finally said.
Simon brushed a crumb from his daughter’s cheek. “Sorry, Livi-kin-kinnie, but that’s what daddies do.”
Livvie let out a huge breath of air. “I know. When I grow up I’m going to work at Mama’s place.”
“Your mama’s place?” Rachel asked.
“She made dresses and things. Daddy, you ’splain it.” Looking sad, Livvie slipped off her chair and wandered to the end of the balcony to stare at the lake.
Rachel glanced at Simon and saw his expression had gone tighter than usual. “My wife, Olivia, designed a line of clothing. When she... Well, she left the business to Livvie and I’ve been trying to run it the best I can.”
“Was it based in New York?”
“No, in Seattle.”
Rachel straightened in her chair. “Good grief, are you talking about Liv’ing Creations?”
His eyebrow shot upward. “Yes. You sound familiar with the label.”
“I should hope so. I know my agency used to provide models for their shows and catalogs. I’ve also enjoyed their clothes and have several items in my closet. Older ones, that is, not...” She stopped, aware she might be treading on sensitive ground.
“You mean nothing from the more current lines, not since Olivia’s last designs were released,” he said in a low, flat tone, possibly to keep his daughter from hearing.
“Basically.” Rachel kept her volume equally low. “The line has radically changed direction over the past few seasons. It no longer has the vitality and style that originally caught my attention. In particular, the rich colors have become muted.”
From the little she could read in Simon’s expression, she didn’t think he’d enjoyed hearing her opinion, even if he knew—or suspected—something was wrong with his wife’s company.
“Maybe it appeals to other people, just not to me,” Rachel added awkwardly.
“I hired Janine Jenkins, a clothing designer from New York, to keep things going. Sales have been indifferent,” he said, “but the manager of Liv’ing Creations feels it’s because consumers know Olivia is gone and are avoiding the label for that reason. She and the designer are convinced another season or two should turn things around.”
“I see,” Rachel said carefully, not sure how else to respond.
She hadn’t been aware of Olivia Kessler’s death; she’d simply lost interest when the designs no longer showed the unique flair she had first appreciated. It seemed unlikely that the original buyers would return if the current designer stayed in her conservative mode, though interest might pick up in a new market. The designs weren’t awful, but they felt like something you’d find in any nice department store.
As Simon started to say something else, Rachel saw Livvie heading back to the table.
“Hey, Livvie, does your daddy allow you to have dessert?” she called in case he hadn’t heard the soft footsteps.
Livvie brightened. “If I eat a good dinner. I ate a good dinner, didn’t I, Daddy?”
“That’s right, honey.”
Rachel was relieved to be talking about something else. “In that case, I have strawberry sorbet, along with cookies that a friend made.”
“Yum!”
Rachel began clearing the table and Simon got up to help, despite her urging to stay put and relax.
“Should I put these in the dishwasher?” he asked, carrying the tray into the kitchen.
“Just leave everything on the counter and I’ll clean up in the morning. Would you like coffee? I got decaf at the Java Train Stop.”
“Sounds good.”
She filled two cups from the insulated carton and offered cream and sugar, but Simon declined.
“Is that homemade?” he asked as she served the sorbet.
“Yes. I made it for a gathering a couple weeks ago. As promised, tonight’s dinner is all about leftovers.”
“Everything was excellent.”
They carried the coffee and dessert to the balcony.
Livvie tasted the sorbet and grinned. “Double yum.”
“Rachel made it,” Simon told her.
The child’s eyes opened wide. “I didn’t know you could make ice cream stuff at home.”
“You can make most things if you know how and have the right tools.”
While they ate, the pink glow in the sky faded entirely and the lights from homes and streetlamps shone in the blackness.
When the dessert and coffee were finished, Simon smiled politely. “Rachel, thanks for a pleasant evening, but we’d better get going.”
“I’m glad you could come.”
“I like eggplant,”
