You don't love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear.

-Author unknown RACHEL ROSE FROM her seat and walked up the aisle toward the driver to admit her mistake. "I think I boarded the wrong bus. I need to get back to West Astoria."

The driver turned around and gave her a big smile. "Happens every year. This is the Sturgeon bus," he said, pointing to the sign above his head. "The Dungeness bus is the one with the downtown route. On your way to the festival your driver should have made you memorize 'I am a crab.'"

"I didn't take the bus to the festival," Rachel replied, "but I am feeling crabby."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I was hoping maybe you took the wrong bus on purpose."

His voice was warm and friendly, his smile disarming. Even in the dim light she could see he was handsome. If she weren't so tired, he'd definitely be someone she'd flirt with.

Instead, she frowned. "Why would I do that?"

"To see me," he said with a grin.

Was he flirting with her? Well, in that case, maybe she wasn't as tired as she thought.

"If I'd known you were this good-looking, I would have sat up front," she teased.

"If you did, I would have been distracted with thoughts of our upcoming date."

Upcoming date? What date? Was this his way of asking her out? Or did she meet him at a party several weeks back and forget to write his name down on her calendar?

Rachel stared at him, taking in his husky build, dark hair, strong jaw, and dazzling smile. She never would have forgotten to write down a date with him. She'd made the mistake of boarding the wrong bus, but maybe he'd also made a mistake. Mistaken her for someone else? She wouldn't let that deter her. "I'd love to go on a date with you. But right now I need to get home. I live at-"

"Two-three-three Franklin Avenue," he finished for her.

Rachel stiffened, fearing she may be alone in the middle of nowhere on an empty bus with a stalker. "How did you know?"

"Maybe I read your mind. Some magicians are known to possess that talent."

"Mike?"

He nodded. "I wondered how long it would take you to recognize me."

Relief surged through every part of her body, and she shook her head. This was the second time she'd thought the worst of him, and he'd surprised her. "I thought you were a stalker. How am I supposed to recognize you without the mask?"

"My voice?"

"Your voice did sound familiar, but I'm really tired and had a terrible day."

"Why don't you sit up here and tell me about it while I drive? I have to take this bus back to the school parking lot, but after that we can get my car, and I can take you home."

"Will you take me home, too?" The question came from behind them.

Rachel and Mike both turned their heads. An elderly woman, her white hair pulled back into a bun, poked her head over Rachel's shoulder. Rachel hadn't noticed her when she'd hurried up the aisle to approach the driver. The woman must have been hunched down, asleep in her seat, from too much wine. She could smell liquor on the old woman's breath.

"I'll call you a cab," Mike a.s.sured her.

"I'm Bernice Richards," she told them and pointed a finger at Rachel. "I saw you at the festival. You sell cupcakes."

"Yes," Rachel replied. "We have a shop in town, Creative Cupcakes."

Bernice's eyes fluttered, and she leaned her head back against the seat. "Let me know when we get there."

Mike called the cab service on his cell phone, and when they arrived at the bus lot, the yellow transport was waiting. Mike took the elderly woman's arm and helped her down the school bus steps so she wouldn't fall. Then, pulling his wallet out of his pocket, he paid the cabbie.

"That was sweet of you," Rachel told him as the cab pulled away.

Mike grinned. "She reminds me of my grandma, sweet as can be, but always into the cups on the weekends."

"Don't you think it's odd she's alone?"

"Lots of women come to these events and meet up in a group once they arrive. It's getting home that's the tricky part." He gave her a direct look. "Isn't it?"

"I'm glad I found you," Rachel said. "How did you get roped into working at the festival?"

Mike shrugged. "I heard they needed bus drivers, and since I have the qualified license and I'm between jobs, I thought I'd help out for the weekend."

He led her to his car, a black Grand Cherokee Jeep, and opened the door for her to get in.

"First a magician, now a bus driver, and Andi says that you make miniature models for movie sets. Seems you're very versatile," she teased. "What don't you do, Mike?"

"I don't stalk beautiful young women who happen to get on the wrong bus at the end of the night."

"Beautiful?" Rachel smiled on hearing that.

"And distraught. Like you need a hug more than anyone else in the whole world right now."

Rachel stared at him and nodded. Coming from another man, it would sound like a cheesy pick-up line. But the way Mike looked at her, even in the dim light, made her believe his compa.s.sion was real.

In any case, she didn't protest when he wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. His chest was warm. He made her feel warm, coc.o.o.ned protectively in his embrace. And secure. Like her troubles didn't matter.

She wished he'd never let go, but a moment later he pulled back and started the car. She didn't usually show her emotions, but kept them hidden beneath her party girl smile. She must have slipped up tonight-maybe because she was so tired-for Mike to have seen through her.

He didn't ask what was wrong, but as Mike drove, Rachel found herself telling him anyway.

"The booth at the festival cost $400 for the weekend, and we barely broke a hundred bucks. No one wants cupcakes. All the people are interested in is eating crab and filling their winegla.s.ses with samples from the local vendors. We need money, Mike. I need money. There are only two days left, and if I can't make a profit, Andi and Kim are going to hate me."

"Why would they hate you?"

"Because I'm the one who signed up for the festival, and instead of being Creative Cupcakes' 'stupendous' promotion manager, I'm feeling just plain stupid. Somehow I've got to come up with a way to sell more cupcakes."

"My brother has a booth at the festival this weekend, too. I used to work for him several years ago at his winery. He says first you need a good product."

Rachel nodded. "We have that. Our cupcakes are delicious."

"By themselves they might be delicious, but how do they taste after people have had several different gla.s.ses of wine?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I never thought about it."

"Certain flavors of wine bring out a better taste in certain foods. One wine might go better with chocolate, while another might go better with vanilla. The key is to have customers taste the right combination so they'll think it's delicious enough to buy."

"If we served wine with the cupcakes, we could control what the customers taste before they sample our cupcakes, but all we have is cake."

"If I talk to my brother, he might be willing to sell some of his wine at your booth. Then you would have the right flavors, and he would have wine to sell in two locations."

"It's all about creative networking," she said, her heart beating faster. "Maybe Creative Cupcakes has a chance after all."

Mike shot her a sideways glance. "How are you serving the cupcakes?"

"On a napkin or small paper plate."

"What if you served them on something else, something unique? Something that ties in with the festival?"

"Like a . . . a winegla.s.s?" As soon as the words left her mouth, Rachel sat up straighter and took a deep breath. "We could serve them in a winegla.s.s with a plastic spoon. But where would we get the gla.s.ses?"

"You could buy cheap plastic ones from the store, but a real gla.s.s would give the people a souvenir to take home, and they'd be willing to pay more for it. My brother and I used to buy from a gla.s.sblower on Commercial Street who sells winegla.s.ses. You could ask if she'd be willing to cut you a deal if you buy in bulk."

Rachel slumped. "Put out more money?"

"What if you bring back what you don't sell? The gla.s.s shop owner might even want to come to the festival with you. You could sell your cupcakes, and she could sell the gla.s.ses to put them in. Except I'm not sure if people would want to carry the gla.s.ses around all day. Do you have a bag or something they could use to carry the gla.s.s home?"

"I saw a couple of people wearing a triangular fabric winegla.s.s holder tied around their neck with a ribbon. The stem of the gla.s.s goes through a hole, and the cup part of the gla.s.s hangs in the material like a sling, allowing the customers to keep their hands free."

"Could you buy them from one of the other vendors?" he suggested.

"They are so simple that Andi, Kim, and I could make them."

"Do you know how to sew?"

Rachel laughed. "I do!"

She'd had to mend many of her own clothes in the past when her best outfits got a hole and she couldn't afford to buy new. Her mother had an old Singer sewing machine handed down to her from her mother.

"This is a great idea," Rachel said. "Thanks, Mike. You really are magnificent."

"You came up with most of the 'stupendous' ideas," he told her, his voice filled with amus.e.m.e.nt.

"But you helped me think."

"Sometimes two minds are better than one."

Or two hearts.

Mike parked his car in front of her house, turned off the engine, and opened his door to get out.

"What are you doing?" Rachel called over to him as she gathered her purse.

"Opening the door for you," he said coming around to her side, "and walking you up to the house."

No one had opened a car door for her in a long time. In fact, she couldn't ever remember a guy opening a car door for her. These days a gesture like that was seen only in movies.

He took her hand, and she smiled at him. "Thank you again for driving me home. I don't know what I would have done if the bus driver was a cranky old man who left me out at Fort Stevens overnight."

"You would have survived. It's very warm for the end of April, and I think you're a survivor, Rachel."

She stared into his eyes, stunned by his insight. She was a survivor. All her life she'd had to do what she needed to make ends meet, make friends, and continue on.

"I'll see you Wednesday night at six for our dinner date?" she asked.

His mouth curved into a grin. "What if I pick you up earlier, and we go back out toward Fort Stevens to spend the day at the beach?"

Rachel laughed. "Perfect. If we happen to get lost, at least I won't be alone."

Chapter Five.

Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much.

Helen Keller INSTEAD OF GOING to bed that night, Rachel searched for her mother's sewing machine.

"I think it's in the back of the hall closet," her mom said, tapping her ceramic tea mug with her finger. "There might be some leftover fabric in there, too. Do you remember the floral print I used to make your Easter dress a few years ago?"

"Yes," Rachel exclaimed, her excitement erasing the sluggishness from her tired head. "The one with the pink-and-purple grape leaf design? I loved that dress. I wish it hadn't faded."

"You got quite a bit of wear out of that one." A brief flicker of a smile lit her mother's face but disappeared with a quick glance at the clock. "Wish I could stay up and help you, but you know-"

"You have work tomorrow," Rachel finished. "I know."