“Um, yeah.”
“I’m so sorry! We always have a booth. Just tell him we want the same spot near the main parking lot. That way folks will see us and grab a coffee to sip while they shop.”
“That makes sense. So, it’s open both days?”
“Yes. Friday and Saturday. Sorry again! That’s one reason I needed extra people to cover the shop while we’re gone.”
Lila fought a sigh. “It’ll be fine. We’ll handle it. Is he coming by Pleasant Beans?”
“Yes. He’s bringing a map of the booth layout so you can look it over. Hopefully, we can still get that same spot.”
“Yeah, let’s hope so. Okay, anything else?”
“Nope, that’s it! How’s everything going?”
Lila watched Irene carry another pie to the front case. “Great, couldn’t be better.”
“Fantastic! Have fun! I’ve gotta go, our snorkeling tour’s about to leave.”
“Okay, bye.” Lila hung up and nearly dropped her phone.
“Everything okay?” TJ asked.
“Yeah, just peachy.”
“Uh-oh. What’s wrong?” He leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “What did Tilly say?”
Lila heaved a sigh. “Apparently, we have to run a booth during the Harvest Festival this weekend.”
“Oh, is that all? That should be easy.” He waved a hand.
“Easy?” She glanced toward Grandma and Irene, chatting happily behind the counter. “I’m going to need two people to run the booth, and at least two or three here.”
TJ smiled. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help. I’m here for several weeks, and I like to keep busy.”
She gaped at him.
Grandma approached. “I think it’s a fine idea.” She slapped TJ on the back. “You two can take care of the booth at the festival, we’ll handle things here.”
Lila’s eyes widened. “Oh, but is that a good idea?”
“Come now, child,” Grandma said sweetly. “We’ve got the hang of things now. By the weekend, everything will be fine.”
Lila gave TJ the stink eye. “So, are you volunteering to get out of working your family’s ranch?”
He grinned. “I have no shame, I know.”
Grandma laughed. “Spoken like a true Jones.” She returned to the counter just as the door opened.
“Welcome to Pleasant Beans,” Lila called automatically, then froze. “Oh. Hi, Mr. Cooke.”
Grandma and Irene stilled and stared wide-eyed at the man.
“Cooke, you say?” Irene huffed.
“That’s what she said,” Grandma murmured, studying him. “And whom might you be, sir?”
He looked to be in his early seventies, with salt-and-pepper hair and bright blue eyes that crinkled when he smiled. “Titus Cooke, at your service.” He gave a slight bow, then squinted at them. “You two look familiar. Have we met?”
