When life serves you lemons, make Shaker lemon pie. The thought made her smile.

By the time she arrived at the coffee shop, her thoughts were less unsettled, her heart less erratic, her legs less heavy.

“How did the first date go?” Lillian asked.

“Fine,” she answered.

“Fine?”

“Yes, fine.” No need to argue about semantics. Lillian would label the event however she wanted. “We ate at the Chinese place, went to a movie, and had coffee at Dewey’s.”

Bryony put her purse under the counter, went to the back of the work area, and washed her hands. When she returned to the counter, she picked up a stack of napkins and headed out to check the tables.

“Will you stop?” Lillian intercepted and took the napkins from Bryony’s hands. “Talk to me, Bry. How did the date go?”

Bryony dropped her shoulders and tried to stare Lillian down. Stare downs had never worked in the past either. In one motion, Bryony pulled a chair away from the nearest table and plopped down. “It was wonderful,” she said. “Until it wasn’t.”

Lillian grabbed a chair and scooted in beside Bryony. “What happened?” Overhead lights glistened off tinted lips.

“What color is your gloss?” She pointed to Lillian’s lips. “It matches the purple in your shirt.”

“It’s not purple—it’s eggplant.” Lillian’s lips went pouty, and her nose wrinkled. “Don’t change the subject. Tell me about your date with Cal.”

Bryony laced her fingers and placed them in her lap. Her carefully constructed bravado slipped further. “I had so much fun getting dressed,” she started. “He picked me up and looked at me like I was beautiful.”

“Did you hold hands?”

With a heavy sigh, Bryony said, “No.” Painful to admit even to herself, she had wanted him to touch her, but she had been too shy to let him know. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She stretched her neck to one side, the other, down, and back.

“What happened?” Lillian asked, less insistent, tender now.

As little as Bryony wanted to relive the overall experience, to not tell Lillian would be worse. Lillian would not rest until she understood why there would be no further dates.

“We had a great time at dinner,” Bryony said. “He picked the movie and chose what he thought I would like.”

“The one starring Pierce and Sullivan?”

Bryony nodded.

“That was sweet of him,” Lillian said.

Sweet, yes, but that wasn’t the point. Bryony pressed on. “We went to Dewey’s after the movie, and everything was going well until the blonde snorkeler—I mean waitress—threw herself at him, and he asked about whether I ever considered retiring to a beach home. The whole mess with Nathan—and every failed relationship before that—came flooding back.” Bryony paused and smiled. “But I’m okay. I realized again this morning, I’m good alone.”

Lillian leaned in. “You do know that waitress is Mark and Sherry’s granddaughter. And I’m pretty sure she’s all invitation, no action. Sherry was the same way when she was young. Remember? All talk and bouncy walk.”

Now Bryony realized why the waitress seemed so familiar. Knowing she was Sherry’s granddaughter completely wiped out her resemblance to the snorkeling instructor. The waitress was her flirtatious grandmother reborn. And the truth was, Cal had not given the girl any indication of interest. If anything, he had looked a bit horrified.

But there was the invitation to think about retiring south. And if Cal was serious about Florida or becoming an expat, she might as well give up now. “There will be no happy ending for me.” Bryony reset her shoulders before declaring, “And I’ll be okay without one.”

“You do this every time,” Lillian said.

“Do what?”

“Run for the hills.”

“I’m not running anywhere,” Bryony said. “I’m sitting right here, right where I belong, not running.” At least for now, but would she run back to her old job? Falling back into her old life would be so easy, seductively comforting. She wasn’t ready to discuss that with Lil.

“How did the date end?” Lillian asked.

“I said I had a headache and asked him to take me home.”

“Maybe it wasn’t a total disaster.” Lillian leaned forward again and patted Bryony’s arm. “I have a feeling he won’t give up easy.”

Bryony picked up the napkins and stood to argue her point of view. “Last week he suggested I think about starting a pie business, and on Saturday night he asked if I was interested in retiring outside of Ohio. As if a person my age can start a business, close it or sell it in a few years, and start again somewhere else. Obviously he doesn’t take me seriously, just like Dad and Mitch.”

“Are you thinking about starting a pie business?” Lillian asked.

“It’s just an idea. I probably won’t. But that’s not the point. The point is, he didn’t take me seriously.”

“Hold on, Bry.” Lillian reached up and snatched the napkins, placing them on her lap. “He’s asking you about your future plans.” Bryony tried to retrieve the napkins. Lillian blocked the attempt with both hands and a half turn. “How do you know he’s interested in a beach house? Maybe he was making small talk. You watched a movie about a couple at the beach.”

“Can I get back to work?” Bryony asked, irritated with Lillian’s sensible analysis.

“Don’t take this wrong,” Lillian said. “But while I love every inch of you, you’re too hard on people, including yourself. You like this man, maybe more than you have liked any other man.”

“I know.” Bryony sat down again and buried her face in her hands. She did like Cal. She dropped her hands and looked at her friend, searching for support. “But why would I consider a serious relationship at this stage of life when I could start my own business.” Or work for Charity. Ugh. Too many options now.

“I love my coffee shop,” Lillian said. “But it’s no substitute for family.”

“Easy to say when you’re the woman who has it all.” Bryony put her elbow on the table and laid her temple on her hand, propping her head. “I don’t have a family. Maybe having my own business could be my comfort in old age.” Could working for Charity last into her post-retirements years? Maybe. Bryony knew a CPA who had continued to work into her early nineties.

“You can’t snuggle at night with fiduciary success.” Lillian stood, put the napkin stack on the table, and pushed her chair in. “But have it your way. Look at your dad. Maybe you’ll find an Alma, or an Elmer, when you’re old and gray.”

“I’m already gray, partially.” Bryony used her free hand to sweep her bangs to the side.

“And so incredibly cute and adorable!” Lillian pinched Bryony’s cheek as she walked back to the work area.

Her best friend ended all disagreements with a joke or a compliment. Bryony sighed, picked up the napkins, pushed herself out of the chair once again, and refilled the napkin holders. She wished she could be more like Lillian. Calm when calm counted. Feisty when a fight arose.

Never an obvious fighter, Bryony’s way of staying alive was slow and steady, the ability to thrive in unlikely places. She was the dandelion sprouting up between cracks in a sidewalk.

Her mood improved as the morning commenced. By the time the first rush ended and the fixtures settled into their spots, Bryony stopped worrying about Cal Forster and put herself back in the rhythm of the day, the tempo set by choosing a CD of background music featuring Lillian’s favorite female jazz singer.

As she returned to the work area after cleaning a few tables, Abby stopped her.

“Miss Green?” Abby said. “I almost forgot to ask. My grandmother lives where your dad lives, and she said you brought in a sugar cream pie.”

“You’re Alma’s granddaughter, right?” Bryony asked.