Chapter One
Warmed by the sunlight streaming through the window of the newly expanded noodle factory, Marietta Helfing stretched. She felt like a cat, limber and strong, soothed by the low rumble of the motors that ran the two cylindrical noodle presses. As she carefully arranged a thin length of pressed dough on her worktable, she caught her twin, Molly, gazing at her from beside the other table, where she was also preparing to cut a large rectangle of dough into long strips.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Molly remarked as she picked up her sharp knife. “And you look like you have a lot of them.”
Marietta smiled as she, too, began to cut her dough into long strips about four inches wide. “This time last year—the day after Thanksgiving—I was going in for my surgery, and I was frightened out of my mind,” she recalled as her knife moved deftly through the dough. “It’s such a blessing to be recovered and working at full steam again after all that time I was wiped out from chemo.”
“And I thank the Lord every day that you’re back to normal,” Molly put in as they worked. “I’m looking forward to a fine, fun Christmas, not like last year, when we had to spend so much time getting you to your treatments. Another gift is being able to work side by side now that we’ve doubled our work space and equipment,” she added with a lilt in her voice. “Mamm would be amazed at the way her little business has expanded.”
“Jah, she would.” Marietta got quiet, letting a wave of wistful nostalgia run its course. She missed their mother even more than she missed her breasts, but she was determined to forge ahead—to meet the demands of the eager customers who thronged their noodle shop each Saturday at The Marketplace, where Amish folks around Morning Star, Missouri, sold the items they’d made.
After today’s noodles were cut and drying on screens, she and Molly would bag and label the noodles they’d made earlier in the week so they could load the wagon this afternoon for the drive into town tomorrow morning. They kept a demanding schedule these days, yet Marietta felt good about paying down the bills she’d accrued following her bilateral mastectomy and chemo treatments. She and Molly would soon be banking enough income to support themselves well into their later years—an important advantage, considering that Marietta would never marry.
After all, what man could possibly want a woman who was flatter than a strip of noodle dough—“damaged goods,” as Marietta saw herself—and unable to bear him children?
When she glanced at her sister, who was placing the first strip of her noodle dough into the roller to flatten it again, Marietta noticed a rare frown on Molly’s face.
“Penny for your thoughts, sister,” Marietta said as she, too, began feeding a strip of noodle dough through her roller.
Molly shrugged, focusing on her dough. “Sure is quiet without Riley and Pete around.”
Marietta’s eyes widened at her sister’s wistful remark. For several months, Pete Shetler and his golden retriever, Riley, had rented one of their two dawdi hauses, where summer tourists often stayed, because Bishop Jeremiah Shetler had thought it would be an improvement over his nephew’s former living arrangements. During his stay, Pete had done some much-needed maintenance around their farm, as well as remodeling their noodle factory—while his active young dog had mostly dug up Mamm’s flower beds, chewed the belts on their noodle-making equipment, and found other trouble to get into.
Pete had moved into his uncle’s house, however, when Bishop Jeremiah had announced his engagement to Teacher Lydianne Christner. Both men had felt it would be more convenient for Pete to live at the Shetler farm during the winter while he did extensive remodeling on the bishop’s place. Although Marietta appreciated the return to a quieter routine without their renter, she sensed Molly had secretly adored the muscular blond carpenter and his rambunctious dog.
“Maybe you should pay Pete a visit,” she suggested. “I bet he’d be tickled if you took over a pan of noodle pudding—”
“Why would I do that?” Molly blurted. Her tone sounded playfully defiant, but her brow furrowed. “It’s not as though anything would come of a relationship—even if Pete took the hint and asked me out.”
“Why not?” Marietta paused, hoping to express her concerns carefully. “Just because I’ll never marry, that doesn’t mean you should forfeit a potential romance. Sure, Pete’s clueless most of the time, but he seems trainable. And he’s awfully cute.”
“Let’s not forget that Pete refuses to join the Amish church, so a romance would be pointless—if he even knew the meaning of the word,” Molly shot back. “Truth be told, I like Riley better than Pete anyway. I intend to remain here on the farm with you, sister, as we’ve always agreed,” she added quickly. “We’re turning thirty-five next month, so why would I want to change my life—and my attitude—to accommodate a husband?”
Although Marietta still suspected her sister had feelings for Pete, she was greatly relieved to hear Molly’s vehement insistence upon staying at the home place. The two of them had spent very little time apart, so how would she cope with life alone in their farmhouse if Molly married? She didn’t even want to think about such a solitary existence.
“And besides,” Molly continued as she fed another strip of her dough into the roller, “we maidels need to keep The Marketplace going, ain’t so? With Regina married now and Lydianne engaged to the bishop, it’ll soon be just us two and Jo running the place.”
Marietta nodded. Jo Fussner had been the driving force behind creating The Marketplace from a dilapidated old stable nearly six months ago, and she’d planned the business venture as a project for her four maidel friends to share with her.
“I really miss having Regina at the shops on Saturdays, and once Lydianne’s married to Bishop Jeremiah, she won’t be working away from home, either,” Marietta agreed. Once again she chose her words carefully, hoping Molly wouldn’t realize how worried she was about being alone. “Wouldn’t be fair to Jo if we married and left the management all on her shoulders. Her bakery keeps her so busy, I don’t see how she’d have time to take over all of the bookkeeping, as well.”
“I’m hoping Lydianne will keep doing our accounting at home after she marries,” Molly remarked as they both began cutting thin strips of dough for soup noodles. “It’s not even December yet and Drusilla’s already clucking about Jo’s extra baking for the Christmas season. Can you imagine how she’ll fuss if Jo were to spend even more time doing all the organizing and accounting? Bwahk, bwahk bwahhhhk!”
Marietta laughed out loud. Jo’s mamm was known for always seeing the proverbial glass as half empty rather than half full—and indeed, Drusilla Fussner often seemed to believe she had no glass at all. “We shopkeepers will all be busier than usual, starting this weekend when—”
The familiar rumble of a pickup truck made them look toward the window. Molly’s face lit up. She quickly shut off her roller and washed her hands, laughing at the sound of a golden retriever’s raucous bark. Out of habit, she opened the door just wide enough to slip outside, preventing Riley from entering the noodle factory—and spoiling their morning’s work, if he plunked his huge front paws on a worktable covered with dough strips.
“Shetler, we were just talking about you!” Molly called out.
“Were you talking trash about me, or saying how much you miss Riley and me causing you trouble?” Pete fired back.
Marietta shut off her roller, bracing herself against her worktable. Molly could deny it until the cows came home, but she was sweet on Pete Shetler, and he liked Molly more than he would admit, too. Their banter continued outside for a few moments, while Marietta tried to still the apprehensive fluttering of her heart.
This is all in Your hands, Lord, but You know how lonely I’d be if Molly married and left me here by myself—even if she deserves her happiness.
As the shop door opened, however, Marietta fixed a smile on her face. After all, if she’d conquered cancer, she could face whatever changes Pete Shetler might bring into their lives.
“Riley, sit,” the blond carpenter commanded as he stepped inside. “I’ll be right back.”
“Seems our bad penny has returned,” Marietta teased. “You’ve missed the way Molly and I bossed you around, ain’t so?”
Pete laughed, tucking his thumbs into the side loops of the faded jeans he wore without a belt. “Truth be told, when I left here to live at Uncle Jeremiah’s place, I was paid up for two more months of rent—and I want you girls to keep that money,” he replied. “I know you’re still paying medical bills—and you invested a chunk of change in expanding your noodle factory, too. Besides,” he added as he glanced around the room he’d recently renovated, “Riley and I caused more work for you while we were here, so you deserve that extra cash.”
Marietta’s eyes widened in surprise, and her sister’s jaw dropped. Who could ever have imagined freewheeling, irresponsible Pete Shetler saying such a thing? It occurred to her that their former tenant was letting them keep money his uncle had paid ahead, but she didn’t pick nits. Bishop Jeremiah had hoped Pete might become more responsible if he lived in their dawdi haus, so maybe the plan was working . . . a little.
“That—that’s very considerate of you,” Marietta stammered.
“You don’t have to do any such thing!” Molly protested. “I intended to refund that money, but we’ve been so busy making extra noodles for—”
Pete held up his hand for silence. As he stood with one hip cocked and his clean, blond hair brushing the collar of his plaid flannel shirt, he exuded a confidence that filled the noodle shop.
He was cute and he knew it. Yet Marietta couldn’t help liking Bishop Jeremiah’s restless, unpredictable nephew.
“Okay, so the money was my uncle’s,” Pete finally admitted. “When he asked me to renovate his entire house, I went along with his suggestion about living there—even though I knew how much you girls would miss me. Uncle Jeremiah realizes what a pain Riley and I can be, so he’s agreed that you should keep that rent money. I wanted you to know all the details, straight from the horse’s mouth.”
Outside, Riley barked as though he were adding his two cents’ worth.
“Okay, so this part’s coming straight from the dog’s mouth,” Pete continued with a chuckle. “Riley says he misses living here, because Mammi really lays down the law.”
Marietta and Molly laughed. Bishop Jeremiah’s mother, Margaret, was a stickler for clean floors and an orderly home. Marietta suspected that Riley was far more exuberant than Margaret liked—but she would benefit from the extensive renovation her grandson was doing, so as long as Riley kept his paws off the kitchen table and didn’t run through the house barking, she probably wouldn’t complain too loudly.
For a moment, an expectant silence filled the factory. Did Marietta detect a hint of uncertainty as Pete glanced at the two worktables covered with long, thin strips of noodle dough?
“Everything going all right here in your new space?” he asked brightly. “Did I get all your new equipment hooked up right? Do you need me to move anything to a more convenient place while I’m here?”
“Everything’s great!” Molly assured him quickly. “We’ve doubled our noodle output—”
“And just in time, because we anticipate huge customer turnout every Saturday between now and Christmas,” Marietta finished with a nod.
Pete glanced at Molly and then looked around again. “Well, you’re busy, so I should let you get back to your work,” he said. “See you ’round—”
“Like a donut!” Molly chimed in on their old joke. “So long—”
“Like a banana!” Marietta finished.
As Pete stepped outside, she sensed he didn’t really want to leave but couldn’t find a reasonable excuse for hanging around—mostly to gaze at Molly whenever he thought Marietta wouldn’t notice. If her sister had found his reason for coming over a little lame, she didn’t say so.
But the bright smile on Molly’s face told Marietta more than words could ever say.
* * *
Pete cranked up his pickup, gunning the engine as he shot down the Helfings’ lane—and then he kicked himself. He was trying to act more mature, and driving like a clueless kid—the way he had when he’d lived in the twins’ dawdi haus—was not what he’d intended to do. But old habits died hard.
“Riley, we’ve gotta do better, boy,” he said as he slung his arm around the dog’s furry neck. “Keep reminding me that Molly won’t take me seriously unless I turn over a lot of new leaves, will ya?”
Riley licked Pete’s face exuberantly. The dog loved to ride in the pickup every chance he got, and he’d been excited about returning to the twins’ place.
Pete sighed as he checked the road for oncoming traffic. “Should’ve known I wouldn’t have any time alone with her, considering that she and her sister spend every waking moment together,” he remarked. “After all this time, I still want to rumple Molly’s short hair, you know?”
Riley woofed in agreement.
“Even though she and Marietta stick together like glue, I have to admire the way Molly’s supported her sister,” Pete continued as he drove toward town. “Not many Amish girls would’ve shaved their heads during a sister’s chemo, knowing how that goes directly against the Ordnung! I love that Molly broke the rules that way!”
When his dog’s eyes widened, Pete laughed.
“Uh-oh, I said that L word, didn’t I? Gotta watch that. Gotta toughen up my attitude,” he continued in a firmer voice. “It’s just as well we moved away from the Helfing place, Riley. Molly’s the bossiest girl I ever met—and there’s no prying those twins apart anyway. So why act like I’m interested, right? Gazing into her deep green eyes can only lead me where I really don’t want to go.”
Riley looked forward, gazing through the windshield as though he didn’t believe a word Pete had just said.
As always, the dog probably had it right.
Chapter Two
From her bakery at The Marketplace, Jo watched in amazement as Nelson Wengerd and his son, Michael, clambered up their tall stepladders carrying potted poinsettias. As they’d promised earlier, they were building a Christmas tree in the center of the commons area by strategically stacking the plants in rings that grew smaller as the “tree” got closer to the ceiling. The bright red flowers in pots covered with green foil made such a festive display that Jo and the other shopkeepers who’d been setting up watched in awe as Michael placed the final, single poinsettia on the top.
“And there you have it!” the slender young man proclaimed from high upon his ladder. “Let the Christmas season begin!”
Jo, the Helfing twins, and Gabe Flaud, who ran the furniture shop beside the bakery, broke into applause. “That looks fabulous, Michael!” Gabe called out. “Your poinsettia tower will be the star attraction at The Marketplace. You fellows outdid yourselves.”
Jo caught Michael’s unpretentious smile before he focused on the potted plants below him. “Denki, Gabe. How’s it look from down there? Everything seem balanced from one side to the other?”
“Let’s adjust this third layer a bit,” Nelson replied, stepping down one rung to shift the pots in that row. “We’ll have a mess if any of these plants topple off and hit the floor. And if customers ask,” he added, glancing at his audience, “these plants are all for sale. We’ll dismantle the tower on the last Saturday before Christmas so folks who’ve ordered them can claim them.”
“And we have dozens more they can buy before that,” Michael put in.
Nelson laughed as he descended to the floor. “We have hundreds more, so encourage your friends to buy several! Our goal is to empty our Queen City greenhouses by the end of the shopping season.”
The ding of Jo’s oven timer warned her to take out the large pans of brownies she was baking. It was probably best that she step away from her door before Michael caught her watching the way he moved. He was such an agile man, tall and slim, with a graceful strength that caught her eye every time he was around. Jo knew her secret admiration for Michael would never come to anything, but it was fun to daydream about him while she was baking.
After she set the hot pans of brownies on the stainless steel countertop, Jo slipped two big pans of cinnamon rolls into the oven and reset the timer. The weekend after Thanksgiving was traditionally the time when English customers did much of their Christmas shopping, so she hoped she’d stocked her glass cases and shelves with enough breads and pastries to last through the day.
As Alice and Adeline Shetler bustled in, Jo smiled brightly. “Gut to see you girls,” she called out as she measured powdered sugar to make frosting. “Today, and for all the Saturdays in December, we’ll be selling spiced cider as well as coffee out in the commons. I put the new warming pot out for you, and the first batch of cider and spices is ready to pour into it,” she added, pointing toward the big jug on the floor.
“What with Rose Wagler’s bayberry candles and your brownies coming from the oven, The Marketplace smells heavenly,” Alice remarked as she tied her white apron behind her back.
Her twin nodded enthusiastically as she, too, donned her apron. “The aromas of the cider and coffee should sell a lot of goodies today. Plenty of husbands will be sitting at our tables while their wives finish shopping, so we’ll just keep passing our trays of treats they can’t resist!”
Jo laughed out loud. The redheaded Shetler twins were the perfect hostesses, and she was glad she’d hired them as her assistants. “I’m going to frost these brownies and sprinkle the tops with crushed peppermints. We’ll sell the first of our cutout Christmas cookies today, too,” she told them.
“When you’ve got the cider and coffee going out front, I’d like you to arrange some of those cookies on trays for me, please.”
“We’ll do it!” Adeline declared.
“Jah, working here for you got us out of scrubbing the house to prepare for church at our place tomorrow,” Alice said with a chuckle.
Jo’s eyebrows rose. Their stepmamm, Leah Shetler, who’d married their father about a year ago, had six-year-old Stevie, little adopted Betsy, and newborn Adah to tend, as well as the ducks, goats, and cattle she raised. “I hope I didn’t cause a problem, leaving Leah and Lenore shorthanded with their cleaning.”
“Oh, no, it’s not that way at all!” Alice insisted, sharing a grin with her sister. “Leah and Mammi Lenore would rather clean than cook, so we girls have already made up a big ham-and-hashbrown casserole and a cake for supper tonight—”
“And we’ll bake something for tomorrow’s after-church meal when we get home,” Adeline added without missing a beat. “Stevie went to the auction Dat’s calling this morning, so it’ll be a quiet day at home until we all get back. Just the way Leah and Mammi Lenore like it.”
As the mischievous twins hurried out to the commons, Jo chuckled. The two girls had been running the roads with English boyfriends and causing their dat, Jude Shetler, all manner of headaches when he and Leah had married about a year ago. She was glad Alice and Adeline had made their peace with their stepmother—and they adored Leah’s mamm, Lenore, who now lived with them. It was a blessing that they’d found special ways to be helpful in a household that bustled with three young children.
“I like that smile on your face, Jo. You’re happiest when you’re baking, ain’t so?”
Jo’s stomach fluttered when Michael stepped into her shop. The evergreen wreath in his hand suggested he had something other than flirtation in mind, and that was just as well, wasn’t it? She didn’t have the foggiest idea how to respond to his remark about her smile.
“That fresh wreath smells just like Christmas,” she said. “I suppose you and your dat make those at your Queen City greenhouse, jah?”
“We do—and we also plan to assemble them outside our shop on these Marketplace Saturdays, where folks can watch us,” Michael replied. “Meanwhile, we’ve brought enough of them to hang on everyone’s shop entry for the holiday season.”
Jo stopped stirring her frosting to gaze at him. “That’s very generous—very thoughtful,” she stammered. “You fellows have gone all out to decorate The Marketplace for us, and I really appreciate it. It’s been wonderful-gut to have you and your dat selling your produce and all the beautiful things you grow. They’ve been great additions to the products we other shopkeepers carry.”
The blush that tinted Michael’s cheeks told Jo that he felt every bit as shy around her as she was near him. She suspected that he hadn’t gone on any more dates than she had—but she’d never ask him about that, of course.
“It’s been a boon to our nursery business, selling our plants here,” he said with a smile that brought his dimples out. “But more than that, Dat and I, well—we’ve really enjoyed coming to Morning Star to spend time with you and your mamm, and we appreciate being able to rent your dawdi haus each weekend. And—and if you’re interested, my invitation to come to Queen City and see our greenhouses full of poinsettias still stands.”
Jo swallowed hard. How many times had she dreamed of taking Michael up on the offer he’d made a few weeks ago—even though her fussy mother had insisted she wanted nothing to do with such a visit or the two-hour buggy ride it entailed. “I—we’ll see,” she hedged. “Baking for the Christmas season is keeping me busier than usual this year—”
“But if you can spare a couple of weekdays in early December, the sight of all those bright red poinsettias will take your breath away,” Michael insisted. His blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “We also grow Christmas cacti and amaryllis, so the nursery shop is alive with color, as well. It would be a way for you to see our home, and for us to return some of your hospitality, too, Jo.”
Jo’s heart was pounding so hard that Michael could probably hear it. What a joy it would be to see the Wengerds’ home—not to mention those greenhouses filled with such vibrant Christmas flowers.
As she once again noticed how slim and attractive he was, however, Jo was even more aware that she probably outweighed him by thirty pounds. A guy like Michael would never look past her unbecoming height and heftiness—and even though he’d never met her deceased dat, there was no getting around the fact that Jo had been created in Big Joe Fussner’s image.
She focused on her pans of brownies. “It sounds like a wonderful time, but I doubt if Mamm would go, so—”
“Maybe we can work around that,” Michael put in quickly. “But I understand. Your mamm has said at various times that she doesn’t like long buggy rides—nor does she like it when her routine is disrupted.”
“You’ve got her pegged, Michael.” Jo fought a sudden wave of impatient sadness, wishing her mamm could be more open to change and new experiences. “Denki for asking, though. We’ll see how things go.”
Michael’s brow furrowed with disappointment, but he nodded. “Better hang these wreaths before we open the outer doors for our customers. Have a gut day, Jo.”
“You as well,” she called after him.
Why did she feel her hopes and dreams walking away with Michael? She could only pray that he would, by some miracle, look beyond her appearance to give her another chance—on a day when Mamm was in a cooperative mood.
Or on a day when you follow your heart instead of letting your mother’s narrow vision limit your life forever.
* * *
Glenn Detweiler dropped into one of his handmade slatted birch rocking chairs. He was exhausted from keeping up the appearance that he was caught up in the Christmas spirit, as his customers and fellow shopkeepers were. His wood shop in The Marketplace, where he sold his handmade toys and chairs, had seen a steady stream of shoppers all morning; now he craved the peace and quiet a lull in the traffic allowed him.
Peace had eluded him since he’d lost his beloved Dorcas a few months ago. The recent, unexpected passing of his mamm had thrown his life into even more turmoil, what with raising seven-year-old Billy Jay and baby Levi—and now keeping closer track of his aging dat, as well.
And quiet was a concept his boisterous son struggled with—not to mention the way his newborn wailed in the night because he, too, missed his mother and grandmother something fierce.
Glenn sighed. What had he done to deserve so much heartache? During his grief counseling sessions, Bishop Jeremiah assured him that God loved him—yet Glenn wondered about that. Wouldn’t a loving God have healed Dorcas’s severe anemia? If God truly cared about him and his family, why had He allowed Glenn’s mamm to pass from overexertion and the complications of her diabetes?
If all things were possible in God, why couldn’t Glenn crawl out from under his heavy burden of grief? And why did his father grow more forgetful by the day?
And why did Lydianne pick the bishop to marry instead of me?
Catching sight of the pretty blond schoolteacher who assisted all the shopkeepers—and who floated on a cloud now that she was engaged to Jeremiah Shetler—took Glenn’s mood down even further. Lydianne’s glow announced that she was the happiest woman on earth with everything to look forward to—
“Shall I bring you some of Jo’s spiced cider, Glenn? Can I help you in any way today?” The lovely blonde of his fantasies paused in the shop entry, her blue eyes alight with concern for him.
It was all he could do not to tell Lydianne Christner to get lost and never darken his doorway again. Her expression was so earnest and compassionate, Glenn wanted to spit nails. He sighed loudly to defuse his black emotions, however.
“Nah. I’m fine,” he groused. “If I want cider, I’ll get my own.”
Her startled expression gave Glenn a little hit of satisfaction, even as he knew he’d been unreasonably rude to her. After all, Teacher Lydianne had been Billy Jay’s salvation after Dorcas had died, and she was paying even more attention to him at school now that his mammi was gone, as well. Thanks to her, Billy Jay was showing signs of recovery and an interest in his schoolwork again.
Lydianne was a wonderful, beautiful woman. But she would never be his. He was relieved when she turned and left his shop.
Glenn rose from the rocking chair, disgusted with himself and with life in general. Maybe a cup of that warm spiced cider would perk him up, because once again he’d neglected to bring anything for his lunch—and the thought of joining Gabe Flaud and his dat, Martin, for a quick meal was yet another way to torture himself: being a newlywed, Gabe radiated happiness like the sun itself. Flaud was his best friend, and he meant well, but Glenn could barely stand to be around him since he’d married Regina Miller.
As he crossed the commons to help himself to cider, Glenn knew he needed to stop blaming his friends for his black cloud of unhappiness. They were going about their everyday lives exactly as they should, being especially caring toward him and his dat. But their kindness only rubbed salt in his emotional wounds.
Glenn gulped a cup of the cider, grateful for its sweet, spicy warmth, and then poured himself some more. When one of the redheaded Shetler twins came up with a tray of decorated cookies and bars, he reached for his wallet.
“No need for your money,” she assured him breezily. “Jo’s happy to let our shopkeepers enjoy complimentary refreshments, because without our crafters, The Marketplace wouldn’t be here.”
Glenn wasn’t sure whether he was speaking to Alice or Adeline, but he put a couple of bucks on her tray despite what she’d said. “Only fair to pay Jo for the gut stuff she bakes,” he snapped as he chose a chocolate-frosted long john. “The Marketplace wouldn’t be up and running if she hadn’t gotten the original idea for it, after all.”
With a wary nod, the girl took off to offer the tray to other folks seated at the square wooden tables in the commons area.
Glenn sighed loudly. He’d scared Jude’s daughter with his gruff tone.
Jeremiah’s right. You need to count your blessings instead of focusing on all the things that are wrong with your life right now.
Startled by the voice in his head, which had sounded very much like his beloved Dorcas, Glenn noticed that Marietta Helfing had stepped outside the noodle shop for a breather. She and her sister were enjoying nonstop traffic in their store these days—yet he caught a hint of exhaustion on Marietta’s pale, pinched face. She was recovering nicely from her cancer surgery and treatments, but she was still too thin by twenty pounds. In profile, as she leaned against the entry post, she resembled a stick figure.
And she’ll remain flat-chested forever, even after she’s regained her full strength.
Glenn focused on his pastry before Marietta caught him staring at her from across the commons. He couldn’t imagine how bereft she must feel after sacrificing part of her body to such a cruel disease. And even though she’d undergone chemo, would she always live in fear that the cancer might come back?
It was a sobering thought. And it was the kick in the rear Glenn needed—at least for the moment. As he devoured the long john in three fast bites, he reminded himself that he wasn’t the only person whose life had been irrevocably altered this past year. He saw that a few customers had gone into his wood shop, so he wiped his sticky fingers on his pants and pasted a smile on his face.
The expression was fake—his cheerfulness felt a couple of sizes too small. But he had a store to tend and handmade wooden toys that folks wanted to give their kids for Christmas, so at least until closing time, Glenn had a reason for being.
