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“Your parents going to approve?”

She’d cocked her head, as if considering her answer. “Probably not, but they won’t say I can’t date you. They’ll tell me to be careful.” She started to turn away, only to face him again. “You’re going to come to the door to pick me up, and then you’ll come inside and meet my dad.” The smile returned. “He sounds a lot meaner than he is. Just be respectful. Tell him you won’t drink or speed, and that you’ll have me back five minutes before my curfew.”

“That’s a lot of rules. I’m not a guy who plays by the rules.”

The smile had never wavered. “You’re not as tough as you think, Toby Newkirk. You pretend not to do what’s expected because you’re bad, but the truth is, you’re waiting to find someone who cares enough to make you do the right thing. That would be me.”

She’d walked away then, just like she had earlier that day. He’d shown up when she’d said he would, had suffered through a fifteen-minute interrogation from her father, and had brought her safely home ten minutes before curfew.

And that had been it. For the next year, he and Reggie had been a couple. Attraction had grown into genuine love and through most of his senior year, she’d been the one he turned to when things got so bad at home he had to worry about hiding the bruises.

It had all come to an end the week after their senior prom, he thought now, knowing time had blunted the pain of the last time they’d spoken, but not his regret for his part in it. He’d hurt her, and in her mind, he’d betrayed her. That it hadn’t been on purpose hadn’t mattered. Not to her. He supposed now it was just old news to her.

But not back then. He remembered her tears as she told him it was over. Two days later, his father had surprised him in his sleep, coming at him with a baseball bat. Toby had managed to get in a couple of blows, enough to disorient the old man and allow Toby to escape. Faced with the reality that if he stuck around much longer, his father would kill him, he’d taken off with the idea that he would never come back. He’d been angry, hurt physically and emotionally, and brave in the stupid way of eighteen-year-olds who think they know everything.

Nearly twelve years later, here he was. Back where he’d started. Older, wiser and a whole lot clearer on what was important.

He glanced at the clock, then stood and stretched. Harrison was due to stop by the store on his way home, and Toby would take a few minutes to greet him, as he always did.

The corporate offices of Judy’s Hand Pies, Inc., were located just outside of Seattle. Toby drove over every three or four weeks to meet with his senior staff. The rest of the time, he worked remotely from Wishing Tree. His second-floor office was plenty big, and he liked being in the middle of town.

Downstairs was the Wishing Tree branch of Judy’s Hand Pies, complete with a small test kitchen and, in the summer, an outdoor eating area. He made his way to the main floor and entered through the kitchen. Shaye Harper was busy helping a customer.

“Hello, Mrs. LaBella,” Toby said when he caught sight of his former chemistry teacher. “How are you feeling today?”

“Excellent, as always, Toby. My daughter is bringing her family over for the weekend, and I want plenty of hand pies for them to snack on.”

Mrs. LaBella had never been a fan of his in high school. She’d rightly assumed he could do well in her class, if only he applied himself. He’d resisted anything that resembled studying and had only passed because Reggie had been disappointed by his string of D grades. Just to make her happy, he’d worked enough to get Cs in all his classes, except for advanced algebra, where he’d accidentally gotten a B.

One of the disadvantages of small-town living was knowing practically everyone by name. When he’d first returned, Mrs. LaBella had offered little beyond a stern greeting and a sniff, but over time, he’d won her over. Well, he hadn’t. Harrison had.

His former chemistry teacher took her box of pies and left. Shaye waited until the door closed behind her before saying, “I don’t get it. The seasonal turkey hand pies do really well. But it’s turkey, stuffing and vegetables, which is exactly what we’ll all be eating next week. Why are people buying them when they’ll have the same meal in a few days?”

He reached for one of the pies himself. “Anticipation. It helps set the mood for the holiday. We’ll sell them through Sunday, then pull them from the menu until two weeks before Christmas.”

“Retail is weird.”

“Retail is about managing inventory and fulfilling wants.”

Shaye, his newest hire and a recent resident of the town, grinned. “Are they going to be covering that in my marketing class next semester?”

“They are, but they’ll call it something different.”

He split the pie and handed her half. As she took it, her engagement ring caught the light. Shaye hadn’t just moved to town—she’d also found love with Lawson Easley, a returning soldier.

Shaye nibbled on the hand pie. “It’s really good, but I still don’t get why people want to eat turkey and stuffing a week before Thanksgiving.”

“And yet they do.”

“Based on your anticipation logic, then why not a hot dog hand pie right before Memorial Day?”

He chuckled. “We’ve tried, but we can’t get the flavors right.”

“You’re probably using the wrong relish.”

“Maybe.”

The door to the store opened and Harrison burst in, his great-grandmother at his heels. Harrison rushed over, dropped his backpack and hugged Toby.