Rebecca whined her protest, and Tessa’s heart went out to her. The transition to the mortal world was rough.

Settling the lantern atop a stump, he tickled the girl, urging her toward the door. “If you want cookies, go. Your mother will be home soon.”

Rebecca wiggled free and plucked a leaf from a nearby tree. “Tessa, did you know that if you crumple up a peach tree leaf it smells like grass?”

“Go.” With a nudge, he shooed her up the stairs.

“Goodnight.” The girl dashed into the pantry. The screen door creaked and thwacked behind her.

“Goodnight.” Standing at Jonas’s side, she watched the slight form disappear. “She’s a wonder.”

“She is headstrong.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He kicked at the grass with one leather boot. “So her mother thinks. I’m afraid I just encourage her.”

Creases cut deep shadows over his toes. Her giant feet looked almost petite in comparison. “She’s lucky to have you.”

“Maybe. I just hope I’m enough.”

Enough for what? His gaze met hers, and her belly heated as warm as the lamplight playing over his face.

He scrubbed a hand across his chin and took off around the house with long strides.

Free of pies, the crates were easy to wrangle, and after one trip, the van was empty. She stacked hers beside his on the counter and followed him into the night.

“Was your celebrity auction successful?” he asked.

She cast her mind back to the event—the lively tent bursting with music—the tables laden with so many things this Amish man would never in a million years want to have in his home. At least, she didn’t think so. “It was.”

“I’m glad.”

She ran her fingertip over the rough edge of the key. “Please tell your sister how grateful I am. Everyone loved the pies. I wouldn’t be surprised if she got a bunch more orders.”

“I will.”

The night softened into an impressionist landscape: cicada song…the evening breeze cool against the backs of her legs…a whiff of hay as he lifted the lamp and illuminated the van door.

“Thank you.” She climbed in and rolled down the window. “And thanks for your help.” She inserted the key but paused before turning it, loathe to shatter the stillness with that raucous, old motor—afraid if she left she might never come back.

“It was my pleasure.”

He took in a breath as though he had something more to say. The shadows on his face deepened. She waited…hoping for what? An acknowledgement? A revelation? An invitation to return next Monday night? His expression cleared, and he smiled.

“I’m glad to see you again. Goodnight.”

He thumped an open palm on the driver’s side door, almost as if her van was a horse. She tightened her grip on the key. “Goodnight.”