“Whydid you not text us this?” Ronni added.
Jenna grinned, satisfied to be the one in the trio with the fun news for a change. “You know, I’m kinda liking this not being the boring one thing.”
“You are definitelynotboring,” Ronni agreed.
“She bought a book from you?” Dakota asked. “A romance?”
“I mean, that’s all I sell, so…” Jenna shrugged.
“Wow,” Ronni said. “That’s a pretty good apology.”
Jenna agreed. “If she meant it. Sure.”
“You think she didn’t?” Dakota.
Another shrug from Jenna. “Seemed sincere. But I don’t know her. You know? Maybe she does this all the time.”
“Fake apologizes?” Ronni wrinkled her nose. “Do people do that?”
“And does it matter?” Dakota added. “Seems like she’s trying to keep the peace and be a decent neighbor. Maybe just take that?”
“I still think you should ask her out,” Ronni said, reaching for some cheese.
“And I think that is a terrible idea,” Jenna said with a laugh.
“Well, I stand by my assessment that she’s fucking hot.” Ronni finished her wine and refilled her glass, then topped off the others.
As they moved on to other topics, the thought of simply accepting Sawyer’s apology and letting the rest go stayed in the back of Jenna’s mind. Sawyer had taken steps to make their living situation a bit more comfortable. Maybe Dakota was right. Maybe she deserved credit for that, regardless.
Sawyer loved the public market but hated the crowds. That’s why going in the fall was preferable. True, there was less to choose from, as far as produce went—so much was no longer in season in the northeast—but part of going was simply the atmosphere. The ambiance. Wandering rows of vendor tables, sampling different foods, sometimes listening to live music. It was a feature of Northwood that she loved.
That Sunday morning, her mother was with her, and they strolled casually, lattes in hand, sampling different honeys at the table of a local beekeeper they’d come to know.
“Oh, this one’s a bit more…floral,” her mother said, and Beekeeper Ted smiled at her like she was his prize pupil. They each bought a jar.
They moved on down the row, sipping their lattes and carrying their honey. “How’s the new house?” her mom asked. “And when are you having us over for dinner?”
“As soon as I learn to cook,” Sawyer said with a grin.
“How about I bring over something on Monday night?” They stopped at a table featuring various cured meats and homemade pepperonis.
“Monday would work,” Sawyer said. “I didn’t know you could make pepperoni at home, did you?”
Her mother picked up a little paper tray with a bite of pepperoni on it. “You can make sausage, so I guess pepperoni isn’t all that different?”
Sawyer shrugged and popped her own sample into her mouth. “Holy crap,” she said immediately as her eyes started to water.
“What?” Her mother chewed, swallowed, and simply looked at her.
“Spicy,” Sawyer managed to say, trying to finish chewing and swallow while her mouth was on fire.
“Really? Mine wasn’t.”
“Mom. It’s the same pepperoni. Why am I the only one dying?”
“Because you’re a wimp?”
“Oh my God.” She rifled through her bag and came up with a tissue, pressed it to her eyes.
