But not back then. He remembered her tears as she told him it was over. Two days later, his father had surprised him in his sleep, coming at him with a baseball bat. Toby had managed to get in a couple of blows, enough to disorient the old man and allow Toby to escape. Faced with the reality that if he stuck around much longer, his father would kill him, he’d taken off with the idea that he would never come back. He’d been angry, hurt physically and emotionally, and brave in the stupid way of eighteen-year-olds who think they know everything.

Nearly twelve years later, here he was. Back where he’d started. Older, wiser and a whole lot clearer on what was important.

He glanced at the clock, then stood and stretched. Harrison was due to stop by the store on his way home, and Toby would take a few minutes to greet him, as he always did.

The corporate offices of Judy’s Hand Pies, Inc., were located just outside of Seattle. Toby drove over every three or four weeks to meet with his senior staff. The rest of the time, he worked remotely from Wishing Tree. His second-floor office was plenty big, and he liked being in the middle of town.

Downstairs was the Wishing Tree branch of Judy’s Hand Pies, complete with a small test kitchen and, in the summer, an outdoor eating area. He made his way to the main floor and entered through the kitchen. Shaye Harper was busy helping a customer.

“Hello, Mrs. LaBella,” Toby said when he caught sight of his former chemistry teacher. “How are you feeling today?”

“Excellent, as always, Toby. My daughter is bringing her family over for the weekend, and I want plenty of hand pies for them to snack on.”

Mrs. LaBella had never been a fan of his in high school. She’d rightly assumed he could do well in her class, if only he applied himself. He’d resisted anything that resembled studying and had only passed because Reggie had been disappointed by his string of D grades. Just to make her happy, he’d worked enough to get Cs in all his classes, except for advanced algebra, where he’d accidentally gotten a B.

One of the disadvantages of small-town living was knowing practically everyone by name. When he’d first returned, Mrs. LaBella had offered little beyond a stern greeting and a sniff, but over time, he’d won her over. Well, he hadn’t. Harrison had.

His former chemistry teacher took her box of pies and left. Shaye waited until the door closed behind her before saying, “I don’t get it. The seasonal turkey hand pies do really well. But it’s turkey, stuffing and vegetables, which is exactly what we’ll all be eating next week. Why are people buying them when they’ll have the same meal in a few days?”