By early afternoon, Pleasant Beans smelled like heaven. Cinnamon, coffee, and a hint of nutmeg from the muffins Grandma brought, hung in the air. Lila finally had a lull between customers and took a moment to wipe down the counter. The morning rush had gone well, and if she was lucky, she might even sit down before the next one started.
The phone rang.
Polly, nearest the wall, set her knitting aside and picked it up. “Pleasant Beans, how can we… oh, Mrs. Jones! Well, isn’t that lovely. Yes, of course. … You’re…. sending pies with TJ?” She glanced at Lila and waggled her eyebrows. “That’s so kind of you! I’m sure everyone will love them.”
Lila’s jaw dropped and she froze mid-wipe. “Wait, what?”
Polly hung up, looking entirely too cheerful. “That was TJ’s mother. She’s sending pies to the shop, and TJ’s bringing them over.”
Lila’s stomach flipped. “Pies? As in homemade?”
“As in apple and berry,” Polly confirmed. “Mrs. Jones said to make sure everyone got a slice before they disappeared.”
Irene, who’d been sorting mugs, straightened like a hunting dog catching a scent. “Did she sayberry?”
“Uh-huh…” Polly hedged. She stiffened, as if bracing herself.
“Well,” Irene muttered, her eyes narrowing. “Berry’smyspecialty. Always has been. Everyone knows it. Remember how long it used to take to pick them?” She scrunched up her face and narrowed her eyes at the phone.
Paddy, who’d been standing next to the espresso machine, sighed. “Oh, mercy, here we go.”
“I’m just saying,” Irene went on, hands on hips. “There’s good pie, and then there’s mine. Folks around here know the difference.”
“Irene,” Lila began carefully. “Maybe we should just accept Mrs. Jones’s pies graciously. It’s a nice gesture.”
“Nice gesture my foot,” Irene declared. “This is achallenge!”
“It’s a donation,” Lila tried again. “And I don’t even know if we can serve them. If Mrs. Jones’s kitchen isn’t licensed for commercial food, technically we can’t…”
Irene’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, so the woman means well, but health codes or no, I’m not about to let anyone out-pie me.”
“Health codes exist for a reason!” Lila said, exasperated. “If someone from the health department walks in and sees we’re serving unlicensed pies…”
Paddy patted her arm. “Relax, lass. If they walk in, we’ll just tell them Irene’s running a taste test.”
“That’s not how that works!” Lila groaned. “The kitchen at the inn is licensed. Irene, Mary, and Grandma can makewhatever they want and bring it here to sell. But Mrs. Jones’s kitchen…”
Irene was already marching toward the refrigerator, muttering about pastry dough and honor. Polly followed before Lila could say a word.
“What are you doing, Irene?” Lila asked.
Paddy shook his head. “When Irene gets that gleam in her eye, best thing to do is step out of the way and hope for the best.”
“There are no ingredients for pie here, let alone an oven to bake one in.” Lila threw up her hands.
Five minutes later, Irene and Grandma were marching out the door. Irene barking out a list of ingredients like a general. “Grandma, we’re going to need more nutmeg! And Polly, don’t you dare skimp on the butter this time. We’ve got to get back here with pies to spare!”
Lila sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I just wanted one calm day.”
The bell over the door jingled.
She turned and nearly dropped her dish towel.
TJ stood there, arms full of pie boxes, cheeks pink from the cold. His smile faltered when he saw Irene giving him a death glare. “Uh… I brought pies?”
Before Lila could answer, Irene’s face flushed and her eyes narrowed. “Too late! We’re making our own!”
TJ blinked. “Should I… take these back home, then?”
