Twenty minutes later, Tessa trundled across the low, metal bridge and swung into the Rishels’ lane. Richard’s moustache question bounced around her brain. Was their lack of facial hair genetic? No hair follicles under the nose? Or did they whip out straight blades and shave only that upper lip? Now that was a conversation for the ride: “So, you guys just can’t grow moustaches or what?”

Nora wasn’t present when she gave Jonas her design. Weird, but a stroke of luck. Managing Richard had been stressful enough. Would she be so lucky today?

The motor putt-putted as she rounded the bend to the farm. When she spotted Jonas alone on the front porch bench, she unclenched her fingers from the steering wheel. Nora wasn’t in sight.

Resting his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward and studied her sketch.

Her cheeks tingled as if he were reading her diary. He was, after all, about to build her dream.

Pulling a pencil from behind one ear, he made a swift mark and unfolded from the bench, stretching as he stood.

She swallowed hard again. Saliva. Nothing but saliva. Her mouth tasted of institutional coffee. One of these days, she’d remember to stick a tin of mints in her backpack. She shifted into Neutral and waved.

Lifting his chin in greeting, he grabbed the handle of a wooden box and descended the porch steps, crossing the yard in long, easy strides.

This guy, it seemed, never rushed. She extended a freckled arm, unlocked the passenger’s side, and flipped the latch.

The door careened open, and he pulled himself into the seat, knocking his boots against the wheel well before swinging them into the van.

“Your coach has arrived.” Your coach. Really good joke for a guy who rides around all day in a buggy. She closed her eyes and longed for a cosmic rewind button.

He snugged the toolbox under the dash. “Hello.”

A flicker of uncertainty played across his face. Was he nervous too? She gave a toothy grin she hoped was more welcoming than terrifying. “All set?”

“I think so.”

“Great.” Zipping down the lane, she hit every bump and dip like she aimed for them. For all its vintage character, the van was not a smooth ride. Then again, horse-drawn buggies didn’t have shock absorbers at all. Did they? Air-conditioning would have been nice, but the cooling system broke years ago. Shrugging away from the upholstery, she lifted her arms to catch a breeze and peeked at her passenger.

His hat in his hands, he gazed steadily out the window.

“Sorry the air conditioner doesn’t work.” She giggled, then choked back the laugh. What was so funny about stifling heat? “You can roll down the window if you want.”

He looked at the car door.

Did he know how to open the window? Asking would be rude, right?

The glass squeaked into the door.