Harper hefted her tray. “I think you guys waited long enough. Don’t you?” She headed into the crowd and called over her shoulder. “I’ll send you his email address.”

Gloria couldn’t stop the smile that overtook her face. Aldo may have wanted to protect her, but she needed to get used to making her own decisions. And she decided that she and Aldo should keep in touch.

“Ah, excuse me, Gloria?” Bob of Bob’s Fine Furnishings fame stood before her. “Rumor has it you’re handling the Fourth festivities.”

Gloria blinked, realizing this was the first time in her entire life that a man had approached her in a bar. He was, of course, married to Becky, twenty years his junior. But she was still counting it.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” she said with more confidence than she felt.

Bob bobbed his head. “Great. I have a question about the vendor fees for the festival. As a sponsor of the 5k, am I getting the same discount on my hot dog stand that I got last year or have the discounts changed?”

Gloria was only about one-third of the way through the two dented cardboard boxes filled with papers that Merle’s granddaughter had dropped off about an hour after her ill-conceived volunteering.

“I’m going to have to get back to you on that,” she said. “Can I have your email address?”

While Bob rummaged for paper and a pen, Mrs. Valencio from the grocery store bellied up with her empty cigarette holder and raspberry red hair. “Got a question for you on parking and the parade.” She launched into a recounting of the last seven years of Fourth of Julys and their inconveniences.

Gloria felt her eyes glazing over. All of Benevolence seemed to have appeared in front of her with questions.

Sophie shot her a quick grin and topped off Gloria’s glass.

* * *

An hour later, Gloria had a list of twenty-two email addresses, fifty-odd questions that she’d “get back to them on,” and a splitting headache. She chugged the ice water Sophie had thoughtfully left next to her empty wine glass.

“How’s my favorite bartender?”

Gloria lifted her head from the bar at the rich baritone.

Sophie rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “I bet you say that to all the bartenders, Linc, including Titus.”

Lincoln Reed, fire chief, ladies’ man, all American hunk of man candy, gave Gloria an assessing look.

“Well, well, well,” he said.

Sophie raised a perfectly arched eyebrow in his direction. “Down, boy. She’s new to the single life.”

“I’d be happy to ease you into it,” Linc winked. He was a shameless flirt but in a friendly, habitual way that had Gloria smiling shyly.

“That’s very generous,” she said, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap.

The band kicked into a ballad. Linc held out his hand and gave a mock bow. “Care to dance, Ms. Parker?”