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“Anyway!” Andi interrupts. “You need people for Casserole Crew. Got it. Maybe Lawson can leave her a note or something.”

I almost swallow my lemonade wrong. How ridiculous would that be? Lawson leaving me a note on his kitchen table telling me Nora was curious if I’d like to join the Casserole Crew?

“Daryl Higgins had gallbladder surgery about the same time those casseroles started showing up for Lawson. He could have used them,” Nora says. “He’s lost almost four pounds.”

“Daryl weighs nearly three hundred pounds,” Everly says around a bite of my casserole. “Damn, this is good,” she mutters. Then adds, “His gall bladder probably weighed four pounds alone.”

“Should he be eating cheesy casseroles right after having his gall bladder removed?” Astrid asks.

“Well, of course!” Nora exclaims. “He has to eat!”

“No, I don’t think you’re supposed to have cheese and stuff,” Andi says.

“So we should be taking him tofu casseroles?” Nora asks.

“I thought no one was taking him any casseroles,” Everly says. “I thought that was the whole problem.”

“I took him soup,” Nora says. “He just had surgery. He has to keep his strength up.”

“Yeah, how’s he supposed to yell at people to be quiet walking past his house on the sidewalk if he’s weak from hunger?” Quinn asks, laughing.

I have a flash—as I often do—of my future. All of us sitting around in fifty years, just like this, having these same kinds of conversations.

We look a lot like Patty and Muriel and their friends in these flash-forwards.

“The man just had surgery,” Nora repeats. “He’s probably cranky.”

“What was his excuse when I was in third grade and had to walk past his house to school every day?” Quinn asks, stabbing a strawberry. “Because we would freaking tip toe down that sidewalk.”

Nora sighs. “Okay, he’s been crabby for a long time. But still.”

“This casserole would definitely cheer him up,” Astrid says. “You should join the Casserole Brigade, Sutton.”

“He’s not supposed to have cheese,” Andi says. “I’m pretty freaking sure.”

I ignore Andi—cheese makes everything better—and focus on Astrid’s suggestion. She’s given me a way to join the Crew without revealing I’m the stalker. Bless her.

“I could,” I say. “You know I love to cook.”

“Great. Thank you,” Nora says. “But I want this woman. Too, I mean,” she adds quickly. “You’re great. I’d love to have you on the list.” She pats my hand. “But this woman is becoming a legend. We have to get her.”

This has to be a joke. Right? I look at Andi. She shakes her head. Telling me it’s not a joke? Or warning me not to say anything?

“I want to know too,” Astrid says. “I’d pay her to cook for us.”

“I could cook for you,” I offer. I look around, my eyes narrowing. “Maybe I should start a meal delivery business on the side if everyone in this town is suddenly so casserole crazy.”

Everly laughs. “I think they’re just mystery casserole crazy.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s the not knowing who this is. And maybe kind of the fun of not knowing what she’s bringing over next.” Everly shrugs.

“I could do that,” I say. “You sign up for my service, and I just bring whatever I want to. You never know what you’re going to get.”

I’m not going to do that. I have no desire to cook for the entire town. Unless everyone is going to rave about my creations. Publicly. Loudly. All the time…

Though I don’t think being praised for my cooking from Daryl will feel the same as it does from Lawson.