She could tell him about the pie shop right now and be done with it, but the idea was so new, so fragile, that she didn’t want him to burst the bubble with some ill-timed practical questions or concerns on how she’d manage to balance the workload.

Right now she just wanted to…well…want.

“Of course,” he agreed quickly.

Sadie climbed up the stairs, burrowed beneath her comforter, and took a deep breath, feeling calmer than she had in a long time. Before long she fell asleep with visions of sugarplum pies dancing in her head.

*  *  *

The next morning, at nine o’clock sharp, she knocked on Renee’s cheerful red door.

Eight o’clock was too desperate she had decided the night before. But if she waited until ten, Renee may already be out and about for the day.

“Good morning, Sadie. Hiya, Lincoln.” Renee had her hair tied into a French braid and a smudge of flour on her cheek. “What’s up?”

She shoved Grandma Hester’s recipe book into Renee’s hands. “Let’s do this.” She blew right past all the usual pleasantries. “I know the pie shop is a big leap, but I need it. Heck, we both need it.”

“You’re serious.” Renee’s head whipped back with shock. “Come on in and we’ll chat. I just pulled a batch of scones out of the oven and they need to be eaten.”

Relieved to be invited in and not laughed at for showing up and acting like a crazy woman on a mission, Sadie walked right in.

Renee’s cottage was the definition of adorable. While her own mom had an affinity for trendy, modern art and leather furniture, Renee’s decor had always been warm and sentimental. Every item in her house, from the mismatched plates to the upright piano, had a story.

“Smell good!” Lincoln cheered.

“It always smells yummy in here.” Sadie nuzzled Lincoln’s little nose with her own. “Miss Renee is a magical baker. Do you remember what a baker does?”

“Cuppy cake! Bread!”

“Coffee?” Renee held up a French press.

“Please, oh, please, oh, please. I’m allowed one cup a day and could use every ounce.”

Renee filled two ceramic mugs. She transferred the scones to a wicker basket lined with a tea towel that said “Sweet Dreams Are Made of Cheese” and placed it in the center of the kitchen table. She then spread a classic star-pattern quilt on the floor and handed Lincoln a few plastic bowls and measuring spoons to play with.

“You’re always so prepared.” Sadie sighed, both awed and defeated. Renee was the sort of wife and mother Ethan and Lincoln deserved. If he was smart, Ethan would take Lincoln and move into Renee’s cottage and never look back. “I’m always two steps behind.”