Recoiling, she inched closer to the counter. The jam-packed market was a claustrophobic’s nightmare. Thank goodness she towered over eighty percent of the crowd. She could breathe, anyway. Heck, if she were so inclined, she could look over the sea of shoppers to the stalls at the end of the building. Say, just for the sake of argument, to Rishels’ Farm Stand.

She’d carried the gazebo drawing in her backpack for close to two weeks. Sure, she was with Richard. So what? This unexpected visit was the perfect opportunity to deliver her design to Jonas. Provided he was there too, of course.

She didn’t want to look.

She was dying to look.

Sliding the shades into her hair, she came up on tiptoes…and looked.

As Jonas was also uncommonly tall, she easily eyed him, ducking in through the door with a tray of pies. She spotted Rebecca, too, jumping up and down and flapping her hands like a wee birdie. No sign of Nora, but she knew with stone-cold certainty the woman was on the premises. Was that an icy breeze wafting from the whoopie pies? No way would Nora send Jonas to market alone.

Why did Jonas work at the market anyway? Didn’t he have fields to plow and hen houses to build? A few Amish men oversaw stands, but they were typically older men or boys. She gazed around the place. Not another thirty-something Amish guy in sight. Sure, Nora’s mobility was limited—she had that mysterious limp. But why wasn’t she accompanied by a cousin or a sister? Why Jonas?

Oily smoke rose in plumes from the grill. She felt like one of the sausages sizzling on its surface. Grabbing a wad of napkins, she blotted her forehead.

Jonas swiped his brow with the back of a hand.

He had to be boiling in heavy pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Unpleasant attire for current conditions. Fact: heat made people grumpy. Conclusion: she didn’t dare present him her crazy design. A gazebo wrapped around a tree? Ridiculous. He would laugh her out of town. Trees grow. Roots rise. Limbs fall to the ground in storms. Her idea would never work.

She unzipped her backpack and peeped at the drawing. Despite her limited artistic abilities, she put a lot of effort into the sketch, and it conveyed her idea well. The concept was unique. Perhaps even inspired? Maybe Jonas wouldn’t laugh. After all, the whimsical gate he built was almost out of place at the entrance to Nora’s utilitarian garden.

Except, of course, that it wasn’t out of place. It was perfect.

Richard plunked a jumbo container of fries on the counter. “I hope you got onions.”

With a smirk, she slid over his loaded hot dog.

“See, I don’t get angry when you make decisions for me,” he said.

“Not when they’re the right ones, anyway.” She passed him a soda.