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Mara lifted her cup. “What are we drinking to?”

“Working ovens,” Karina said, looking over the pastries.

Matilda made a face. “That’s not nearly sentimental enough.”

Mara nodded at the apple hand pies. “How about making it work anyway?”

“I’ll drink to that.” Gabe lifted his cup toward hers.

They touched cups as the first cars began turning into the parking area beside the field.

By midmorning, Gabe had stopped wondering whether they would actually sell all the apple hand pies. The tables stayed busy with families, older couples, people stopping on their way somewhere else, and plenty who seemed to have come simply because the Community Kitchen needed help. Children carried cider between the stalls, and every few minutes somebody arrived with another box of something homemade.

Mara was drawn into the middle of it without anyone formally asking her. One minute she was beside Gabe explaining which hand pies were apple and which were pear and ginger; the next Matilda handed her a stack of paper bags and disappeared to find more change.

When Gabe looked again, Mara was serving a woman from the library.

“They were an emergency replacement. Although you’d never tell,” she said of the apple hand pies. “They are delicious, made with apples freshly picked from Russet Hill Orchard.”

“They look wonderful for an emergency replacement.” The woman laughed and bought four.

Gabe was still smiling when Mara dropped the money into the cash box. She caught him watching her. “What?”

“I was wondering how long it takes before you’re officially working here.”

“I’m still on vacation. Technically.” Mara tucked the paper money beneath the clip in the box.

“Your vacation has turned into a baking apprenticeship.”

“You say that as though I planned any of this.”

Gabe leaned a little closer. “I don’t think anybody could have planned the last few days.”

Fate, his bear murmured but didn’t open his eyes.

Her eyes met his, and the smile they shared belonged entirely to them.

The morning passed quickly. The cinnamon bears dwindled, and the apple hand pies disappeared even faster. Someone Gabe knew from town pressed a fresh cup of cider into Mara’s hands because she looked cold and kept walking before she could do more than thank him.

Mara watched the man disappear into the crowd, the warm cup between her hands.

Gabe touched her arm. “Come with me for a minute.”

He paid for two pastries, putting far too much in the cash box, and led her behind the supply marquee, where stacked crates and folded tables screened them from most of the field. The noise of the sale dropped to a murmur.

For a few moments they ate without talking.

“We actually did it.” Mara glanced toward the edge of the marquee. “A couple of nights ago Karina was standing in a bakery with two dead ovens, and I honestly couldn’t see how all of this was going to happen.”

“I had doubts,” Gabe admitted.

“You hid them well.”

“I’m known for my stoicism.”

Mara gave him a tired smile. “You were swearing at apple filling late last night.”

“I didn’t say I had perfected it.”