After filling a bowl with cored and quartered slices, she mixed in lemon juice and flour and set the bowl aside. Next, she cut butter into flour mixed with sugar and cinnamon. Dutch apple pie with a crunchy covering of sugary spiciness reigned supreme as the bridge between emotional discomfort and satisfaction with the day at hand, between hopelessness and knowing she could make good things happen in the world.

Bryony stepped to the refrigerator, pulled out the chilled dough, placed it on her lightly floured giant wooden cutting board, and rolled it with clean, deft strokes. Next, she folded the dough into quarters, picked it up like a newborn infant, placed it in the pie pan, and unfolded it to shape, prick, and flute until the dough rose to an even crest around the rim,

After pre-baking the crust, Bryony stood back to take a breath. This moment was her favorite, when the fruit, or minced meat, or custard filling, stood ready to meet the embrace of that which would hold it together for its short, thrilling life. The crust appeared to be perfect, the fruit healthy and firm, the topping a dull version of what it would become, a crispy sweet crunch crowning a baked wonder.

The moment passed. Bryony poured, topped, and popped the pie into the oven.

She was in the middle of mopping the table with a damp rag when her cell phone rang. She picked it up with her cleanest fingertips, noted the unfamiliar number, and answered the call with an inquiring, “Hello?”

“Hello, Bryony? This is Cal.”

Bryony dropped the dough-splattered rag and watched it hit the toe of her shoe. “How did you get my number?”

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting. Lillian gave your number to me and suggested I call. She’s willing to think about having one of my students work in the coffee shop, but she wanted me to run the particulars by you, tonight if possible”—he took an audible breath—“because she said you would be the main trainer and supervisor. I thought she should talk to you first, but she insisted I call, said something about having to host a birthday party for her grandson tonight and wanting to move forward with my student as rapidly as possible. Am I calling at a bad time?”

He was a runaway train, but somehow Bryony kept up, excited and not scared, which terrified her. “Well, it’s not a great time. I’m baking a pie, but⁠—”

“Pie?” he interrupted. “Oh, I love pie. I hope it’s apple because I’ll eat any kind of pie, but apple is my favorite. You are going to offer me a piece? I can drop by any time, or we could meet somewhere. On second thought, if I’m being too forward, you don’t have to give me any pie, especially if you’ve made it for someone else, but I’m trying to be polite here because I could really use a slice of homemade pie tonight.”

She tried, but Bryony found herself unable to refuse. She found Cal attractive, charming, and a tad pathetic, which only made him more interesting, even if he did wholly intimidate her. “I suppose we could meet tonight⁠—”

“How about now?” he interrupted again. “I’ll bring over dinner, and we can have pie for dessert, if you’re willing to share. Or you’re welcome to come to my house. Or we could go neutral, meet at the library, a restaurant, a bar, but only a nice bar where you’d take a family because I’m not a fan of being in the vicinity of inebriated people who might pick a fight and force you to defend my honor.”

Bryony laughed in spite of herself. “Give me an hour. The library sounds fine.”

Sixty minutes later, Bryony entered the library and spotted Cal waiting in a corner in one of two low, cushioned chairs. He smiled and waved, his faded jeans and blue tucked-in T-shirt revealing a fit, toned physique. She didn’t like how her own body responded to the sight of him sitting there, his expression welcoming her.

“I think this area is designed for children,” she said when she was within whispering distance.

“I’m a kid at heart,” Cal said, beaming up at her.

She sank into the seat beside him, her knees peaking parallel to her naval. “Really glad I wore jeans.”

“This okay with you?” Cal sat lower than her, his knees up to the bottom of his rib cage.

“Is it for you?” she asked.

“I’m used to the children’s section. Lots of time with nieces, and then their little ones.”

So, he was close to his extended family. Bryony pushed past the thought. His personal life was no business of hers. “What do we need to talk about?” She’d tried to reach Lillian several times, but all of her calls went to voicemail. Maybe Lillian was too busy with a birthday party, but not likely. She had probably turned off her phone in anticipation of Bryony’s protest about meeting with the man now sitting next to her.

She caught his fresh-from-a-shower scent and focused on his worn leather loafers as he explained about arranging for one of his students to work in the coffee shop. He laid out the details, the advantages to Lillian, the benefit to the students, the reduction in wage costs due to a funding grant, the hours the student could work, and the expectations placed on the supervisor.

Bryony’s thoughts settled down as she listened to him, visualized his ideas, and—eventually letting her eyes drift upward—clarified her role in the overall plan.

“Essentially, according to Lillian, you’d be his teacher and supervisor,” Cal said. “You would train him, analyze his strengths, his challenges, update me on needs so little problems don’t grow into big problems, and write a brief report at the end of each semester. Nothing major, a paragraph or two. Hopefully, you’ll keep him on after he graduates, provided you’re both happy with the situation.”

“I’ll do it,” Bryony said.

“Lillian thought you would,” Cal said, and now Bryony felt embarrassed, on display and small, a pawn for Lillian’s matchmaking strategy, but he didn’t skip a beat. “Can I send him over Friday morning?”

“How about seven a.m.?” She picked up her purse, ready to cut and run.

“He said he’s an early riser.” Cal pushed himself out of the chair and stood.

Bryony rocked forward once and failed to escape the squishy clutch of the foam. “These were not designed for looking cool.” Also, not designed for a quick getaway.

“Kids don’t care about cool until they’re too cool to sit in this area.” He braced himself and stretched his hands toward her. “I’ll help.”

She tried again on her own and, failing, reached up. His palms were warm, soft, and his fingers gripped with assurance. As soon as she steadied herself on her feet, she withdrew her hands. He shoved his into his pockets.

They stood in awkward silence for a few moments, until Cal, with a mischievous glint in his eye, asked, “Where’s my pie?”

The mention of pie caused a discernible shift in Bryony’s sense of whether, or where, she belonged in the world. She had just spent a delicious evening reliving the sensation of how baking empowered her.

“In the car,” she answered.

“What?” He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and gave a manual stop sign. “I was kidding. You don’t have to give me a piece of pie.”

“Couldn’t bring it in the library.” She strode toward the front door. “No food allowed.”

“You don’t need to do this.” Cal’s voice trailed behind. “I was joking.”

“Mitch always says I can’t take a joke. You said you wanted pie. I brought pie.”

Cal followed on her heel as she led the way to her car. The evening air cooled her exposed skin. Autumn approached. She liked calling his bluff.

The remote chirped, and she opened the back door. A small plain brown box sat on the backseat. She picked it up and turned around to offer it to Cal. “I cut a large slice. Let me know what you think.”

Lifting the lid, Cal brought the open carton to his nose and inhaled. “Oh, my.”

He still stood in the parking lot, holding the pie, when she pulled out and drove toward her house.

Next time, she would make bumbleberry. A block from home, Bryony opened her cell phone and hit the top number in “recent calls,” knowing Lillian would answer this time.

“How did it go?” Lillian asked.

“You are not my matchmaker, Lil,” Bryony said.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I said yes.”

“Yes to the student, or yes to Cal?” Lillian asked.

“I think it’s a package deal,” Bryony said.