“Bamboo,” Abby said.
“I love it.”
“I’d trade you an afghan for six pies,” Abby said. “I could give Grandma one pie a month for half the year.”
Imagining an afghan draped over the back of her couch in shades of green, a hint of pink, maybe a subtle yellow, Bryony said, “It’s a deal.”
“I’ll bring in yarn samples tomorrow,” Abby said.
“What can I trade for a pie?” Mr. Parker asked.
“How about cash?” The question came from the short-haired woman whose face, for once, was not buried behind her computer screen.
“I’d be happy to pay for a pie.” Mr. Parker looked back at Bryony. “You name the price.”
Bryony continued to look at Etta.
Etta shrugged her shoulders. “I heard you say you want to start a pie business.”
Bryony turned her attention back to Mr. Parker. “Showing up for trivia night will be worth a second pie.”
“I said I’d be there.” He looked back down at his puzzles.
Abby resumed hooking and pulling her yarn, but Etta continued to watch Bryony, her laptop abandoned for the time being. Bryony approached Etta’s table.
“Sit down for a minute,” Etta said.
Bryony sat, the damp cloth clutched in her right hand.
“I’m not a busybody,” Etta said. “But I can’t help but hear what goes on back there”—she pointed to the work area—“because I sit right here every day. I would sit farther from the counter, but the opening and closing of the door makes me cold!” She smiled, and little lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes. “I keep hearing tidbits of information about you wanting to start a pie business, and you don’t know me, but I think I can help you.”
“How?” Bryony asked.
“I help small, independent food producers,” Etta said. “I’m not saying you need my services at this point, but if you want to pick my brain, I’d be happy to give you information about how to sell your pies online, how to price them, and how to advertise them.”
“Sell pies online?” Bryony asked.
“You can sell almost anything online,” Etta said. “Here. Take a look.” She tapped her keyboard and turned her screen toward Bryony. “Look at this. These prices range from twenty-three to forty-five dollars a pie.”
“So much?” Bryony’s eyes widened.
“Lots of money out there,” Etta said. “Don’t sell yourself short. I don’t have time to talk right now, but like I said, if you want to talk some afternoon, I’m happy to help.”
“Yes! I need all the help I can get.” Forty-five dollars a pie? Unbelievable.
Etta smiled. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to the office.” She pointed to the computer screen.
Bryony eased out of the chair. “Thank you, Etta.” A giddy giggle tickled Bryony’s belly. She squelched it. Way too soon to start celebrating.
The rest of the day breezed by, all worries about Cal and the Hendersons submerged by the prospect of selling the one product Bryony loved producing.
At four o’clock Cal arrived and ordered a latte.
Still afloat from knowing pies could be marketable and profitable, Bryony greeted him with less concern about where they would end up. For Heaven’s sake, they had only been seeing each other a brief time. And he had said from the beginning he would leave at the end of the school year. Silly to allow her feelings to become so dramatic.
“Did you have a nice dinner?” she asked as she assembled the latte.
“Stimulating,” Cal answered. “I am more confident the funding for the program might come through. Charity’s friend, Susie Quatman, was there. Do you know her?”
“From school. She moved away after graduation.” Hearing that Susie had been there barely hurt. Knowing she had a future with or without him insulated Bryony from the harsh winds of days gone by. She had a life of her own. She glanced at Etta’s usual seat. What a difference a day can make.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Cal said. “I ran the idea of a pie business past them last night. I think if you wanted to reach out, Charity and Susie might have ideas about how to promote your business.”
Armor up, Bryony’s jaw set. Her shoulders tensed. “I’d appreciate you not talking about my idea with anyone. It’s too soon. I need time.” She needed trustworthy allies.
“Sure,” Cal said. “I didn’t tell them you were the pie maker, but they were excited. Chuck, too. I think discussing the idea revived him a bit. He said he’s a big pie lover.”
Bryony bit her lip.
“Make my latte to go,” Cal said. “Bailey’s in the car. We’re on our way to Cleveland.”
Bryony poured the drink into an insulated paper cup and snapped on a lid.
Cal handed over a credit card. “I look forward to seeing you Sunday night.”
Bryony slid his card through the reader.
“I’ll call later tonight,” he said.
