Hannah giggled down the phone.
“Oh, and I’m thinking about entering a pastry competition. Winner gets a thousand bucks.”
“You’d kill it. Those poor, unsuspecting townsfolk wouldn’t know what hit them.”
“Only trouble is, gingerbread is the theme and that’s not exactly my strong suit.”
“Pfft,” she scoffed. “You can rock any pastry. I say go for it.”
“We’ll see. If the way this town decorates is any indication, I might be getting in over my head. Somehow, I don’t think a simple gingerbread man is going to cut it.”
More like the Terracotta Army of gingerbread.
“Okay, but here’s the really important question: What’s the forecast out there?” she demanded. “Hunky with a chance of flirting? I need the scoop.”
“The scoop is I’m here to work, not flirt.”
“Oh my God, that’s a yes,” she insisted.
“What? No, it isn’t.”
“Please. I know you. Who is he? Is he tall? Rich? More importantly, does he have a younger brother?”
Her powers of deduction were uncanny and a little annoying.
“If therewasa guy . . . we would just be friends.”
“Uh-huh,” she hummed. “So, you’re basically in love with him.”
“Well, now I’m hanging up,” I threatened.
“Wait! Before you go, I’m trying to talk my mom into taking us up there for Thanksgiving. It really doesn’t seem right celebrating here without you and I hate the idea of you up there all alone.”
My heart swelled at the thought. “Actually, that would be amazing. I’d love to see you both. And I know the perfect place for you to stay, if Megan thinks you can swing it.”
“I’ll let you know. But plan on it!”
After hitting up the wine shop and finding some excellent local olive oil, I drove over to the marketplace to make another pass at Mia’s produce and get her advice on some proteins. The sprawl of holiday decor had certainly made its way to the barn as well. Everywhere there were tufts of fake snow dotted with small Christmas trees, big blue and silver menorahs, giant inflatable turkeys and papier-mâché cornucopias overflowing with fake plastic vegetables. It was a little chaotic, but I appreciated their devotion to tradition.
When I approached Mia’s stall, she was cashing out a customer with a wagon full of canvas tote bags and a sleeping dachshund in a red knit sweater.
“See you for happy hour later?” the woman asked, taking her receipt.
“Race you there,” Mia told her as she noticed me and nodded hello.
The woman tugged her wagon as she walked away, the pup never stirring as they left to continue their shopping.
“Welcome back,” Mia greeted me, dusting off the front of her apron. “I see you survived your first week.”
“Guess you can’t get rid of me that easy.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said with an encouraging laugh. “What can I get you?”
“Load me up,” I said. “I really should get one of those wagons, come to think of it.”
“Grover’s Hardware.” Mia winked, tapping her nose.
“The one with the giant yeti out front?”
