But the cherry bomb wasn’t the only metaphorical firework that afternoon. The backs of her hands tingled like she held a sparkler in each one. Lingering behind his house in the lamplight, she found talking to Jonas almost easy. Now, beneath harsh fluorescents, simply forming a sentence proved nearly impossible.

Nora hovered around the whoopie pies.

“What’s that now?” He crossed his arms and cocked his head.

Hello again, biceps. She sucked in a breath. “A gazebo. For my backyard. I figured since you do carpentry and all…” This encounter had gone much more smoothly in her head.

Beneath his wide brim, he slid Nora a glance.

Nora spun and, despite the catch in her step, stalked to the milk crate by the door.

Folding her hands in a manner that could only be described as prayerful, she lowered herself and radiated disapproval.

He ran a thick hand over the back of his neck and stared at the ceiling. “Well, most of the building I do is for…”

For the first time in her presence, he faltered.

“Well, for the family and for…other farmers.”

She tugged the suddenly too-tight waistband of her skirt. Of course. Jonas Rishel limited his carpentry to the Amish. “I see.”

“Now, you can buy a gazebo out Route 45 at King’s Farm. Lucas King sells all manner of garden things. He does fine work.”

She shook her head. “My gazebo has to be unique. It’s a gift for my parents for their thirtieth wedding anniversary. I want it to be special.”

Widening his eyes, he stepped closer. “Custom?”

A flicker of hope lit in her chest. She scooted to meet him, bumping her thighs against the stand and jiggling the pies. “Yes, custom.”

“In what way?”

She looped her thumbs through her backpack straps and tugged it tight to her shoulders. Closing her eyes, she tried to summon the gazebo from her dream, but she couldn’t. “I haven’t quite figured it out, but it needs to be one of a kind.”

“Doesn’t Lucas King sell gazebos to tourists?” Nora called from her roost.

She shot the woman a glare. “I was born here.”

Jonas’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I don’t know that King fills custom orders.”

The tingling in her hands surged up her arms and spread across her collarbones. “I just love your garden gate, and if you could build a gazebo like that—natural and whimsical—it would be the most perfect present ever.”

Nora hauled to her feet with an unintelligible grunt.

A smile tugged at one side of his mouth. “You liked that, did you?”