Page 16 of Baking Spirits Bright!

“Nobody. A guy came to tour the orchard while he’s in town, and Mama and Aunt Margaret met him.”

“A guy?” Brooke makes it sound way juicier than it should.

“Yes, as in not a female.”

“And he’s cute, and y’all’s age,” Aunt Margaret adds.

I wipe a hand down my face.

“What’s his name?” Nate asks.

“Ryan Lewis,” Mama answers.

“None of y’all know him. He’s here for a few days, then leaving.” I toss my hands in the air.

My phone buzzes, and I pull it from my jeans pocket. It’s Ryan. I texted him earlier with the details of the light tour.

I can pick you up at the orchard at dark if it will save you a trip to town.

Istare at the screen. I did tell him I’d be here most of the day, and it is convenient. Brooke looks over my shoulder. She’s short enough that I can shield the phone before she gets a peek.

“Why is my family so nosy?”

“Why are you smiling at your phone?” she asks.

My face heats up. I didn’t realize I was smiling. The cure for that is the instant mood killer in knowing I’m stuck with these goons for a little longer until Ryan shows up.

Maybe if we hurry and eat the pies, they’ll all leave before he comes.

Mama makes a big deal out of letting the pies cool as Aunt Margaret takes her time cutting them into precise pieces. All the while, they describe the differences in detail.

I take plenty of pictures of everyone, especially with food in their mouths as retaliation.

The pies are dwindling fast, and I’m ninety percent sold on the original apple cinnamon when the bell rings—as in the bell that notifies us someone is up front. We all exchange glances, since it’s uncommon for people to come unannounced after the bakery is closed.

“I’ll get it,” Timothy announces.

Brooke’s son rushes to the front before any of us can tell him otherwise. He’s pretty mature for his age, so it should be fine.

I peek out the window, but can’t see much since it’s almost dark. Ryan should’ve been here by now if we’re going to take the tour with the group.

As if right on cue, Timothy returns with Ryan behind him. Mama and Aunt Margaret rush to him like tweens spotting Taylor Swift. I moan as they crowd on either side of him and chat away.

“I guess this isthe guy.” Brooke smirks.

“Yep.”

“He’s cute.” She raises her brows at me.

“I know two who would agree with you.” I frown at our moms.

She giggles. “What about you?”

“Are you ready, Erica?” Ryan asks.

“Yes.”Please get me out of here!

I stuff my camera in my oversized purse and hurry toward the door. I don’t stop, walking right through the opening to the front of the bakery.

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