“You think she’s still mad about that?” Sarah teased, following her gaze.
“Not unless she’s holding a fifteen-year grudge,” Mia replied, arranging a tray of mini quiches. “Although—” Her eyes narrowed at Dana’s new banner: same cream background, same elegant script, suspiciously similar to hers. “One would hope not. That was a lifetime ago.”
Sarah snorted. “Some people peak in high school.”
Mia turned her attention back to the table. A bell rang out.
“Showtime!” said Sarah.
A low hum of conversation and laughter took over the market as shoppers began to file in. In a small tent a couple of rows over, someone strummed a guitar. The air smelled of roasted coffee and fried dough, causing her stomach to grumble. She’d stop by one of the food trucks soon and get something for her and Sarah to eat.
The morning passed quickly. Mia refilled the trays as they emptied. Her feet ached, but it was a good kind of tired settling into her bones.
A woman in a floppy sunhat stopped by. “Oh, I’m drooling over those scones. Tell me about the tomato one?” She pointed to the rustic pie covered in cherry-red tomatoes glistening with olive oil.
“That’s a tomato-herb galette made with tomatoes and herbs from Sweet Water Organics.” Mia nodded toward Will’s table.
“Oh, I buy all my fresh produce from them.”
Sarah offered her a sample. The woman took a bite and closed her eyes. “Heaven. You don’t happen to cater weddings, do you?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Mia replied, her heart fluttering with hope.
She handed the woman a business card, watching as the woman tucked it into her purse.
“I’ll take a couple of the scones and one galette,” the woman said.
Across the way, Dana’s practiced laughter carried over the crowd. Mia glanced over just in time to see her offering a tray of puff pastries to a man in a crisp polo. Dana caught her eye and gave her a sly smile before turning back to the man.
Sarah leaned in close. “You’re totally upselling her.”
Mia chuckled. “Let’s not start a scoreboard.”
But she couldn’t help noticing the growing line forming at their booth and how Dana’s didn’t seem to have one.
“Spoilsport,” grumbled Sarah.
Mia just shook her head. “Bloodthirsty,” she countered.
“Damn straight.”
Her phone buzzed in her apron pocket. Mia wiped her hands and checked the message. It was an inquiry from a number she didn’t recognize, but the text was short and to the point.
Hi. Caroline Lane here. I’m coordinating a charity gala in two months at the Lakeshore Inn. Heard about you from Tessa Donnelly. Are you available to chat this coming week?
Mia’s pulse skipped a beat. A charity gala meant good exposure and an even better paycheck. “Oh wow,” she murmured.
Sarah leaned closer. “Something good?”
“I hope,” she replied. Maybe then she could finally afford to build the party barn, knowing she wouldn’t be stretched thin.
She tucked the phone away before the thought could run too far ahead of her.What would happen if it didn’t work?Would she be able to continue the way she was going?
By noon, the market was winding down. The sun burned high in the sky. Mia looked at her empty trays and smiled, sweaty, tired and oddly energized. Sarah was chatting with Isabelle and Felicia, a couple of booths down.
It felt good to see people enjoying what she had made. To feel like she belonged again.
“Sold out,” Sarah said, rejoining her with a grin. “First time ever.”
