A laugh burst out of Evie, the sound escaping as a snort. Charlie caught her eye. A slow smile began, his eyes crinkled at the corners in amusement, and for an instant, she felt oneof those jolts of electricity run between them. A spark. Then it was gone. Or maybe she imagined it.
Probably.
Charlie sat at the table and watched Fern and Evie work together in the kitchen, his eyes wide as if the whole concept of making dinner was a revelation. Fern sat down at the table and tucked her chin. Evie shot a side glance at Charlie, wondering how he would handle the moment of offering a silent grace. It was a habit of Plain life, one that Evie was familiar with. Was he?
To her surprise, his head was already bent in silent prayer. Evie followed suit, thanking God for this moment, for Fern’s boldness, for Charlie being here.Oh!And for the food.
And then Fern’s head lifted and she picked up the platter of chicken and potatoes to pass the food around. Evie had made a salad with freshly picked greens and cucumbers from Fern’s garden. Charlie chewed and swallowed with such enthusiasm, like he’d forgotten the delight of a home-cooked meal. He helped himself to seconds, wolfing an entire plate of food down in, like, thirty seconds.
“This is incredible,” he kept saying between bites, his eyes lighting up with every forkful. “Absolutely amazing.”
Evie couldn’t help but smile at Charlie’s delight. She’d never seen anyone so genuinely excited about dinner.
Even Fern seemed pleased. “You should start showing up at suppertime. Consider it an even swap for the farm chores you’ve been doing. You’ve been a big help to me.”
Charlie’s eyes went wide. “Don’t tell me you eat like this every day?”
Fern tried to hold back a grin, waving her hand dismissively. “This is nothing special.”
“You’re pulling my leg,” Charlie said, turning to Evie. “Isn’t she?”
“She’s not,” Evie said, laughing. “Fern is a wonder.” For so many reasons.
Fern left the table and returned with a tin of thick, chewy cookies, dotted with M&M’s.
Charlie’s eyes grew even bigger. “Are those...?”
“Monster cookies,” Fern said with a smile.
Charlie dramatically covered his heart with his hands. “Fern Lapp, you’re never going to get rid of me.”
If Evie wasn’t mistaken, she heard a giggle slip out of Fern.
And it wasn’t just good food that fascinated Charlie. After supper, he asked her for a garden tour and took quite an interest in it, wandering through the rows of vegetables and fruits. A late afternoon storm had blown through Stoney Ridge, cooling off the air and chasing away the humidity. The large garden looked especially green and lush and inviting. “What’s this?” Charlie’d ask, pointing to a squash or a pepper bush, genuinely curious about everything he saw. He offered to help stake some tomato plants. Fern hurried off and returned with a hammer and stakes and twine, handing them to him.
How could anyone resist him? Charlie was helpful, eager, grateful—and just plain fun to be around. Convivial Charlie. By the end of the garden tour, even Fern seemed a little smitten.
Annie was halfway through setting the dinner table when she spotted Gus in his buggy, trotting up the driveway. Why was he here? What did he want? She quickly assessed her chances of slipping out the side door unnoticed.
Too late. Her mother had already spotted him. Sally Fisher, crossing the yard from the barn, practically sprinted to greet him. She adored Gus—mostly because she could pepper him with questions about her latest imagined ailments. And Gus, with extreme patience, would humor her every time, gentlyexplaining how none of her carefully curated symptoms fit the profile of any disease. Medicine, he’d say in that calm, level tone of his, was like detective work. Symptoms were clues, pieces of a puzzle. Sally’s clues, however, never quite belonged to any known puzzle. Not even close.
Gus was a saint.
As her mom bustled into the house with Gus in tow, she shot Annie an eyebrow-wiggling grin. “Look who the cat dragged in for supper!” she said with an exaggerated wink that made Annie cringe.
“Hi, Annie,” Gus said, lifting a brown paper bag slightly, his tone a little uncertain. “I was passing by and thought I’d bring some books that might help with your studies.”
“Thanks.” It came out sounding awkward and shy. Annie never felt that way around Gus. Only around everyone else.
Both her parents seemed oblivious to the odd tension between Annie and Gus. Dad never said much, anyway. He left the talking to his wife. Tonight, throughout supper, Annie didn’t mind how much her mother talked—she was grateful, actually. Anything to keep the conversation far away from the EMT class, the upcoming final exam, or the dreaded ride-along in the ambulance. She couldn’t commit to it until she could figure out how to stop her motion sickness.
As supper ended, her mom announced she was heading over to Windmill Farm to pick up some extra canning jar lids from Fern, and before Annie could even blink, Gus jumped in. “Annie and I can go for you, Sally,” he said.
Her mother shot her a wink, and Annie winced.Perfect.
As they walked toward the buggy, the awkwardness trailed along behind them like an unwanted shadow. Not a word was spoken. Gus opened the buggy door for her with a polite nod, then paused. “Let’s walk instead,” he said, as if the thought just struck him. “It’ll give us more time together without—” He stopped mid-sentence, catching himself.
“My mother,” Annie finished for him, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself.
