Page 20 of Baking Spirits Bright!

“Interesting.”

“Yeah, add that to your small-town research,” I joke.

The front door swings open to Woody holding his chihuahuas. One snips at me.

“Oh goodness.”

“Sorry about that. She’s pregnant and ornery as an old wet hen.” He leans against the storm door, holding it open for us to enter.

For the second time tonight, everyone stares at us. Lacie Sanderson—I can’t recall her married name—waves at me from the couch. I wave back. She was at Wisteria High when I was in school at Apple Cart.

G-Maw shuffles toward us. She’s a tiny lady with the same short curly gray hair that ninety percent of people over seventy-five wear around here.

“Hi, welcome. It’s real informal around here. After Earl prays, get you a plate and go through the line in the kitchen.” She fans her hand toward the kitchen opening.

“Yes, ma’am.” I smile.

“Thanks for the invite,” Ryan adds.

“Thanks for finally coming over.” G-Maw pats him on the arm.

“Let us pray.” Earl puts his cap across his heart and closes his eyes.

We bow our heads. He thanks God for everything from pistols to pie before saying “amen.”

Everyone crowds in the small opening between the kitchen and living room. We hang back from the masses, and Lacie finds me.

“Hey, how have you been?”

“Good.” I smile at the baby in her arms. “Is he yours?”

“Yes.”

The baby coos.

“He’s almost a year.” She kisses his cheek and smiles at me.

“And you’re still in Atlanta?”

She nods. “Yeah. My parents actually come visit me now that they have a grandchild there.” She laughs. “We’re in the suburbs now, so it’s a good place to raise this little bundle.” The last few words come out in a baby voice.

“Y’all better get some food.” G-Maw steps between us and hands out Styrofoam plates big enough to hold a whole turkey.

We both take a plate. The baby whines and spits up on Lacie. She winces.

“I better go take care of this first.” She clenches her teeth. “It was good seeing you, Erica. You two make a cute couple.”

I follow her nod to Ryan, who smiles at me from across the room. I turn to correct her, but she’s already rushing away with the baby.

Ryan walks toward me and holds up his own plate. “Looks like the line has died down if you’re hungry.”

We get behind Earl Ed, who’s still wearing the pants from his Santa costume. He and Ryan fall into a conversation that lets me know they’ve met. Ryan includes me in their talk about baking.

I’m with a family I casually know from across the county and a guy I met a few days earlier, about to eat what smells likefresh vegetables and cornbread. This should feel weird, but Ryan somehow makes it feel natural.

Earl Ed talks about entering the contest, as does G-Maw. She compliments our apples, saying she plans to use them in her dessert. My stomach churns, as I’d hoped we’d be the only apple dessert. But you can’t deny an older woman her recipe.

We laugh and talk for well over an hour before Woody and G-Maw stand on the porch to wave us good night. Ryan drives me to the orchard and parks.

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