Would her car ever cease to amuse the male inhabitants of Green Ridge? “Hey, don’t knock it. It’s my father’s pride and joy. I have it on loan, and it’s served me very well.”

He raised thick, groomed brows. “It has, huh?”

“Not that kind of well,” she shot back. Okay, time to get a ski mask. This blushing was out of control.

“Love the plaid interior. I wouldn’t have pegged you as a flower child.”

She stacked the front-most crates. “Actually, I’m not. My parents are totally straitlaced. My dad just likes camping, and my mom hates sleeping on wet ground.”

“You know, I read online this manufacturer is producing a new camper. It’s only available in Europe now, but they’re making headway back into the market.” He picked up a stack and started toward the tent.

“Yeah…my dad’s gonna drive this thing until the wheels fall off.”

Hefting her own pile of pie, she followed him past a shiny, black SUV sporting a Yale decal. She knew without asking it was his ride.

Twenty minutes later, her table was ready. She tucked empty crates and extra pie under the tablecloth and wiped her fingers on a napkin.

The band struck up a toe-tapping tune, and right on time, prospective bidders streamed into the tent.

To her credit, Nora put together a lovely assortment of strawberry, strawberry rhubarb, and her famous shoofly pie. Satisfied with the display, Tessa stepped back and rolled achy shoulders. She twisted her hair into a messy bun and pulled on her shades.

Richard sidled up to the table, tying a blue apron over crisp khakis and plaid shirt. “Hoping to stay incognito, huh?” He grabbed two lemonades from the adjacent beverage table and offered one.

“Thanks. Sometimes I’d kill for a shred of anonymity.” She took a sip and wrinkled her nose. Too sour.

He chuckled. “Tell me about it. Everyone in town knows old Doc Bruce’s boy.”

She laughed, but he spoke truth. She knew the elder Dr. Bruce, as well. He took care of her father when he had pneumonia some years ago.

“So, back in ‘the Ridge,’ huh?” Richard stirred his lemonade with a paper straw and took a long pull.

His comment went down as bitterly as the drink. She groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

An elderly couple approached and sauntered off with two pieces of shoofly. Each.

Doffing the shades, she cut four slices and filled the empty spots. “I hoped to be in New York City by now. My college roommate’s been living there for a couple years.”

“And?” He took a cell phone from his pocket and swiped the screen.

“Our plans have fallen through.” A sigh slipped from her lips. “For now.”

“So, here you are in the thriving metropolis of Green Ridge serving pie to senior citizens at”—he checked the device—“eleven fifteen in the a.m.”