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A vehicle was pulling away from the front of the house when we came around the corner. Our dinner waited in two large paper bags on the porch, sheltered from the wind beside the door.

I collected them while Goldie opened the screen door for me. Inside, the familiar warmth of the house met us along with the faint scent of the cinnamon air freshener Sienna had insisted we buy the previous weekend.

Goldie followed me into the kitchen, where I set the bags on the counter and put the parts cases safely out of the way.

The kitchen was large enough for the two of us to move around without crowding each other. Dark cabinets lined one wall, and a broad island separated the cooking area from the table overlooking the backyard. Sienna’s school calendar hung on the refrigerator beneath a collection of magnets, with a grocery list tucked beside it.

Goldie looked around while I washed my hands.

“You have a nice kitchen.”

“Thank you. I don’t take full credit for its appearance. Sienna has strong opinions about what belongs on the counters.”

Goldie smiled at the ceramic pumpkin near the window.

“I noticed. I’m guessing that one was her choice?”

“She informed me the kitchen looked depressing without it. Apparently a man can live for thirty-eight years without recognizing the emotional needs of a countertop.”

She laughed as she carried the food to the island.

I found plates and glasses while she unpacked two turkey melts, a generous container of fries, and a brownie large enough to make me question whether she’d intended us to share it. There was also a little covered container of maple caramel sauce.

Goldie noticed me looking at it.

“Nell said the brownie was better with that warmed up. I asked her to pack it separately.”

“You went back to The Copper Kettle?”

“I called in the order. Nell recognized my name, which surprised me until I remembered she introduced me to half the diner yesterday. I’m beginning to understand how quickly people get to know one another around here.”

“Nell’s particularly good at it. She remembers what people order even if they haven’t been in for months.”

“I like her. And I like your town.”

I set our plates on the island and poured water into two glasses.

“Maple Lane Falls can be a good place to live,” I said. “Especially if you don’t mind people knowing when you buy a new truck before you’ve even driven it home.”

“I’ve worked events where people paid a fortune to create the kind of atmosphere this town seems to have naturally. Everybody wants something welcoming and personal, but you can’t manufacture that with a lighting package and a few pumpkins.”

“You can apparently manufacture people with enough plywood and rubber.”

Goldie grinned. “That’s a different department.”

We settled at the island and ate while talking through the final opening schedule. Goldie had arranged enough spacing between arriving groups to keep the performers from rushing their resets, and she’d assigned someone to watch the line whenever the first room slowed down.

I went over which mechanisms needed a final test and which should be left alone once the doors opened.

The conversation was useful, but it was also comfortable. We’d spent so much of Friday surrounded by crew members, construction noise, performers, and Sienna’s excited questions that I’d barely had a chance to sit across from Goldie without somebody needing an answer. Now I could watch her enjoy her dinner, tease her about taking the last particularly crisp fry, and listen while she told me about an outdoor corporate event she’d managed during a Chicago rainstorm.

“By the time we realized the tent company had delivered the wrong sidewalls, the wind was blowing straight through the dining area,” she explained. “We ended up moving the entire cocktail reception into a covered loading bay while the crew fixed it.”

“That sounds miserable.”

“It was miserable for about twenty minutes. Then we brought in extra heaters, moved the lighting, and made it look intentional. The client ended up loving it.”

“You must’ve been relieved.”