“Truce,” Hannah agreed with a smile, squelching the nasty little voice in her head that whispered, I wouldn’t take your advice about men on a bet, Mother. Just look where it got you with Winthrop!

Hannah had just filled her own plate and slid into a chair directly across from Mike and Norman when Michelle came rushing up. She was followed by a thirty-something guy with dark hair, and Hannah assumed he was one of the movie crew. He wasn’t leading-man handsome, but he was certainly good-looking in an intriguing way. His eyes were a bit too close together, but they were a brilliant blue that more than made up for the former defect. And they were framed with long, dark lashes that most women could achieve only with long minutes in front of the mirror and the very best lash-lengthening mascara. His mouth was generous, wide enough to match his nose, and his clean-shaven chin was strong. Definitely an attractive man, Hannah decided. Not really conventionally handsome, but eye-catching all the same.

Michelle arrived at Hannah’s side and turned back to face the man who was following her. “This is my sister, Hannah. She owns the cookie shop that Mitch couldn’t stop talking about. And Hannah?” Michelle swiveled to give her oldest sister a smile. “This is Mr. Barton, the writer–producer of Crisis in Cherrywood.”

Hannah gasped as the man smiled. He looked very different from the last time she’d seen him almost four years ago, but there was no mistaking the distinctive dimple in his left cheek. “Ross Bartonovich?”

“It’s Barton, now. Makes it easier for me to spell.” He swept Hannah up in his arms and whirled her around in a circle. “You look even better than you did back then.”

“I don’t,” Hannah quickly denied it, but she started to laugh as Ross lifted her in a giant bear hug and her feet came up off the floor. And she laughed harder still as she saw the expression of total disbelief on her sister’s face.

“You

you two know each other?” Michelle asked.

“We’re a blast from the past. Twenty-two forty-seven Muskrat Lane, second floor in the rear. Right, Hannah?”

“Right. And we should have knocked a hole in the wall because we were always together. Is Linda here?”

“She’s here, but it’s not Linda anymore. Now it’s Lynne, Lynne Larchmont.”

“Larchmont? But I thought you two were getting marri

” Hannah stopped speaking and the color crept up her cheeks. She’d never been very good at small talk, and she was especially handicapped now with her foot stuck firmly in her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said at last. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“That’s okay. It just didn’t work out, that’s all. A lot of things changed when you left school and we weren’t the Three Muskrateers anymore.”