She stepped off the plane, excited to share her first experience flying with Mom, but when she got into the terminal she was immediately overwhelmed by the size of the airport compared to their airport at home. People rushed by, and she got swept along as if she’d been caught in a riptide. She hoped the current was headed toward baggage claim.

In a panic, she pushed her way to the edge of the crowd and headed for help from a gate agent.

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” she said. “This is my first time flying, and I don’t know where to go to get my bag. Can you help me?”

“You’re here at the busiest time of the day. Don’t worry.” She motioned to someone dressed in all blue. “Can you put her on the next cart with our young flier?”

“Sure. Here’s the next one now. Follow me.”

Kelly raced alongside them toward an extra-long golf cart gizmo. The attendant and the boy she was escorting sat in the middle seat, leaving one open seat on the back for her next to a well-dressed older woman. She scooched over as Kelly sat down. “Hi.”

“Hello.” The lady’s bright red lipstick matched her nails. “Will you look at all these people rushing around? Do you hear a single excuse me or sorry?”

Kelly had to listen closely to understand her accent. Awl? All, she decided.

“No.” The woman shook her finger in the air. “No. You don’t. I’ve been sitting here watching them.” She swung her head around and locked eyes with Kelly. “Where are you from?”

“North Carolina,” Kelly said with a smile. “A small town. Bailey’s Fork. Not all too terribly far from Raleigh. It’s my first time to New York.” To anywhere.

“My Henry owns the best diner in Manhattan.” She rummaged in her purse coming up with a card and a tissue. “Tell him I said you have to try his cheesecake. It’s to die for.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. See, I’m just nice that way. Don’t let people tell you New Yorkers aren’t nice. That’s just a nasty rumor some southerner made up.” The woman shoved the card into her hand. “Seriously. Stop in. He’s always there. I might even be there. Are you married?”

“No, ma’am. Not yet. I own a business. It’s hard to fit in time for a relationship.”

The woman cast her a look of judgment. “What kind of business do you have, dear?”

“It’s called The Cake Factory.”

The woman slapped her big shiny purse. “Oh. My. Word. Not The Cake Factory with the dinosaur egg cupcakes?”

A nervous giggle escaped. “Yes. That’s me. You’ve heard of them?”