“Oh, thank heavens. I don’t know what we’d do without you Meadows gals. Now the auction is a week from Saturday under the tent at the college. When you get there, just ask for the wonderful Claire MacMillan. She’ll tell you what to do.”

She replaced the phone in its wall-mounted cradle and trudged upstairs, glimpsing herself in the front hall mirror. Masses of hair flew in every direction, and green eyes sparkled beneath a dirt-smudged brow. Who was that young woman? Would she run for office some day? Write a best-selling novel? Or live in an attic with forty-nine cats? Would any man want to cover that face with kisses? Maybe a man with insanely blue eyes and biceps for days.

Well…probably not that man. He was married, after all. Did he have a brother? Statistically, the odds were good. She’d just have to find out.

This Wednesday. When she returned to Rishels’ Farm Stand and ordered a zillion delectable treats for the St. Luke’s Hospital Annual Celebrity Auction.

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Tessa downed a final marshmallowy bite and licked her lips. Yet another joy of adulthood: eating sugary cereal on the living room couch while binge-watching home and gardening shows. Buckle up, folks. Mrs. Diefenderfer had no idea what she did when she unleashed this sweet tooth upon the citizens of Green Ridge.

How many desserts would she need, anyway? Mrs. Diefenderfer omitted a few critical details in her call yesterday. She dumped blue-tinged milk into the sink and grabbed a hat. Not only had she changed out of pajamas, she even had the presence of mind to protect her fair skin from the sun. She couldn’t magically erase her freckles, but with a modicum of precaution, she could prevent them from multiplying.

Grabbing her supplies, she zipped to the new cutting garden to plant sunflower seeds she found on her mother’s potting bench. In a few short months, she’d have glorious, giant blossoms. This afternoon, she would call the hospital volunteer office and relay her plan to purchase enough homemade goodies from Rishels’ Farm Stand to overflow the auction table. Who could argue with supporting local business? Who didn’t like pie? Her plan was solid.

She never for a second considered baking the treats. She knew her limitations, and catering for a crowd was one of them. Catching a whiff of lilac, she resolved to arrange festive bouquets and leave the baking to the experts. At the end of the day, being Amish was far more marketable than being an English major. With any luck, Jonas Rishel would be at the market this Wednesday to take her order personally. Just because he was married didn’t mean she couldn’t admire him. From an appropriate distance, of course—like a painting or Michelangelo’s David.

She dropped a seed into the dirt and covered it. Wait a minute. This Wednesday at market?