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I covered the phone. “Grandpa’s favorite bakery closed. Patty needs a specific pecan pie for tomorrow.”

“What kind?”

“Old-fashioned recipe. No corn syrup. Brown sugar, cane syrup, stone-oven bakery.”

Sloane’s brows drew together. “I might have a recipe that would work,” she said.

I stared at her. “What?”

She looked suddenly self-conscious. “I own an antique Betty Crocker cookbook. One of the early editions. I bought it at an estate sale because the illustrations were beautiful.”

Of course she had purchased a cookbook because she liked the design.

“It has a pecan pie recipe from before corn syrup became common,” she continued. “Brown sugar, butter, eggs, and either cane syrup or maple. I can’t remember.”

I uncovered the phone. “Patty.”

“What?”

“Sloane has the recipe.”

Silence. Then Patty shouted, “Sloane, you’re a lifesaver!”

I held the phone away from my ear and turned the phone on speaker.

Sloane laughed. “I said I might have it.”

“That counts,” Patty said through the speaker. “Where are you? Can I get the book?”

“We’re at Riverside Park.”

“You’re still on your date?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“How do you know about the date?” Sloane asked.

“Trevor sent a picture of your Wall of Fame photo to the group chat.”

I closed my eyes.

“We’ve been on the wall for less than an hour,” Sloane said.

“Information moves.”

“Trevor wasn’t there,” Sloane said.

“Lucy is Mason’s girlfriend’s cousin,” Patty explained.

Of course she was.

Patty continued. “Can you send me a photo of the recipe when you get home?”

Sloane hesitated, then said, “You could meet us at my apartment. We’ll bake it tonight and make sure it works before tomorrow.”

My mind stopped at one section of that sentence.