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He started to play the song. When he started singing, a few of the students joined in. Sally glared, but Tim was an enthusiastic participant. When he’d finished, Micah showed them all a few basic chords and how putting them together in a different way created different songs they knew, and then his time was up.

Dena asked everyone to clap for their guests. Sally left quickly, but Tim hung around for a few minutes before heading out. Micah answered some questions while packing up his guitar. He was about to duck out when a bell rang and all the students jumped to their feet.

Dena looked fondly at them as she opened the door. “Stay in line. I’ll see you in a bit.”

In a matter of seconds, the room was empty.

“Recess,” she said by way of explanation. “Their chance to burn off energy in the middle of the afternoon.” She smiled. “Thanks for coming. You did great, and the kids really loved—”

She went completely white and pressed her lips together even as she started frantically looking around the room. Micah had a feeling her morning sickness had just made an afternoon appearance. He rushed toward her, grabbed her arm, then applied pressure on her wrist.

“Take a breath and hold it for a count of four, then exhale slowly,” he told her.

Her eyes widened slightly, but she did as he requested, repeating the breathing cycle. About a minute later, he felt her relax and he released her wrist.

She stared at him. “What did you do?”

“Applied pressure to your pressure point. I’m not sure what it does—maybe triggers some nerves that calm your stomach. It can be effective.”

Question filled her brown eyes. “You saved me. I was about to throw up, and given what I had for lunch, that would not have been pretty.”

“You should be fine for the next few hours.”

“Pressure points, huh? I’ll have to check them out.”

“I can show you the most likely spots, if you want.”

An offer he meant in the spirit of one human helping another, he thought, noting how she took what he would guess was an involuntary step back.

“Thank you. I would appreciate any help with my morning sickness.”

The words and the body language didn’t line up, so which was one telling the truth? He told himself it didn’t matter—that Dena was simply his landlord for the month he was in town. Still, he found himself wanting to help her feel better. He liked being around her—there was something calming about her normally high-energy state. Inexplicable, but still true.

“You know where to find me,” he said, picking up his guitar.

She walked him to the door and thanked him for helping with her students. He nodded and left, his mind suddenly captured by the hint of a melody and the faint whisper of I thought I’d be by myself again. Words that made no sense, but might, someday, become a part of something.

Toby studied the data his sales manager had sent him. Nate Martz was determined to expand Judy’s Hand Pies into grocery stores around the country—a huge step that required a drastic change in their business model. The pies would have to be shipped frozen and then cooked by the consumer.

Toby had resisted the idea for nearly two years, but Nate had started to wear him down. To that end, he sent monthly reports with sales projections. The numbers were impressive, but Toby wasn’t convinced. Not only was the grocery store frozen market tough to break into, but he also wasn’t willing to compromise on quality.

Currently the pies were made in several processing plants across the western half of the US. They were shipped to local stores and baked on-site. The food trucks also baked their pies in specially designed ovens, which meant the inventory was always fresh and hot. Ceding control to a consumer who might or might not bake the pie correctly didn’t sit well with him, although he’d agreed to an experiment. Currently there were several hundred pies sitting in a freezer in Seattle. Every few weeks, a couple of dozen were baked and eaten by volunteers to determine if they still tasted as fresh.

His cell phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and saw he had a message from Shaye.

Mrs. Somerville is here and would like to speak with you.

Toby grinned. Mrs. Somerville? Shaye was mistaken. The only one of the Somerville women who would stop by to see him was Reggie.

He’d enjoyed running into her yesterday, even if they hadn’t had much of a chance to catch up. Her bolting had been his fault—he couldn’t help but tease her about the rumors he’d heard of them dating.

He didn’t know how the talk had started, but Wishing Tree was the kind of place where people loved to share gossip. No doubt much like every other small town. Sunday, while he was in the park playing catch with Harrison, two older women had asked him about his relationship with Reggie. They’d explained that they’d judged him too harshly when he’d been a teenager and were happy to give him a second chance now. The taller of the two had winked at him and said Reggie looked like the kind of girl who would have pretty babies.

Earlier that morning, Shaye had asked about when he’d been in high school and dating Reggie, leading him to believe that the rumor mills were working overtime. Now Reggie was here.

He picked up his phone. Be right down.

As he stood and started for the stairs outside his office, he wondered what she wanted. Dena had mentioned she would be in charge of the charity project. She could be stopping by to talk about that. Or she could be using it as a pretext for them to hang out.