She was waving to everyone like a celebrity. Oh boy. She’ll be milking this for the next ten years.

“It’s a ceremonial bong, Roxie. I got it from Laos. Your uptight is showing,” she said, walking further into the diner and taking a good long look.

Something tightened in my stomach as she sized up the changes I’d made, no doubt weighing how quickly she could change them back.

Shaking my head, I sprang into action. Maxine and I set all the bags off to the side by the door, while my mother was greeting everyone as if she’d been gone for years.

Someone at the counter asked the million-dollar question. “So, did you guys win?”

Mom and Aunt Cheryl passed a look between themselves before shaking their heads. “Sorry, can’t say anything. Contractually bound to be silent,” Mom explained.

“Aunt Cheryl, are you okay? You look exhausted,” I said, pushing a stool behind her.

“I’ve never been so tired in my entire life.” She sank onto the stool gratefully, resting her head on the countertop.

She was half asleep by the time I looked around for my mother, who was making the rounds, greeting her regulars, making conversation. She grew up in this town, she knew everyone, and she was well liked by all. Her return provided some excitement for this sleepy town, and she was getting her moment’s worth. As she walked around she continued to check out the changes I’d made, but there were no comments or questions so far. If she was irked by the changes, she didn’t say anything. Maybe because we had an audience. Or, maybe because she was happy with it. Unlikely, but stranger things had happened.

As I continued with my side work, the restaurant started to clear out from the lunch rush. And as I cleaned, I kept waiting for the feeling of relief to wash over me. That she was back, that I’d done my time, and I could return to my life in California. And I kept on waiting for that feeling.

But it never came. Funny.

When the last of the lunch crowd left, Mom locked the door. Making her way over to me, she sat on the stool next to her snoring sister, laughing. “Should we let her sleep?”

“She seems pretty tired.” I chuckled. “I say let her sleep.”

“Speaking of sleep—”

I jumped. Who’d told her about Leo already?

“How have you been sleeping, with all this fresh country air?”

I breathed in relief. “Oh, um, I’ve been sleeping pretty good, actually.”

“And you look really good,” she said, examining me carefully. “You look rested. You skin is good, your eyes are bright, and your hair looks nice and strong.”

“Thanks, I eat a raw egg every day for a shiny coat. You want to check my teeth?”

“Don’t sass your mother, Roxie,” she said absently, still looking me over too carefully. Could she tell? Did she know? “Mmm-hmm,” she finally said.

I felt the same way I had when I was a kid and I tried to lie about whether or not I’d done my homework. She always knew.

“You’re free to go, Rox,” she said.

“Um, thanks, but I’ve still got ordering to finish up before I can leave today. I’ll see you back at the house. I’m sure Aunt Cheryl would prefer to nap on the couch rather than on the counter.” I smiled, and patted her on the hand. “Good to have you home, Mom.”

“I meant, you’re free to go back to California.”

I was halfway through the swinging door when I heard her words. I swooped back out to the diner.

“I’m home! You’re released!” she cried, making a grand gesture toward the front door. “I’m surprised you didn’t run for the hills the second we walked in.”

I sat down beside her, toying with a loose thread on my apron. The setting was much as it was when I was a little girl. Sitting side by side, not looking at each other, but at the yellow order tickets that flapped against the steel strip.

“I was thinking,” I finally said, spinning my phone on the counter as a distraction, “I sort of have to stay a bit longer. You see, you’re home sooner than I planned. I’m glad you’re home, but I’m not prepared yet. I um . . . still have cake orders to fill. I need to tell you about the cake orders I’ve been taking. And I’ve got these zombie classes I’m teaching. We’ve still got canning to learn, and I was hoping to get to pureeing and freezing before the last of the tomatoes go.”

Then my phone lit up with an incoming text. And on the screen was Leo’s name, and a picture that I’d taken the day he showed me his walnut . . . trees. He was grinning lazily, looking every inch the poster boy for Hot Farmer—it was my favorite picture of him. And though I quickly turned it over, I wasn’t quick enough.

My mother saw the picture. And she might have even seen the text. Oh man.

Her lips rolled in as she tried to hold back a grin. “I see.”

“You see nothing. This isn’t what it looks like.”

“I’d love to know what you think it looks like, when the most eligible bachelor in the state of New York is texting my daughter things like, ‘Hey Sugar Snap, last night was incredible and—’ ”

“Stop talking! Oh my God, make it stop!” I wailed, dropping my head onto the counter just like Aunt Cheryl.

“You’ve been making more than cakes this summer, Roxie Callahan!” My mother leaped up from her stool and ran behind the counter, grabbing two mugs and the coffee. Pouring us each a cup, she propped her chin up on her hands and arched her eyebrows. “Spill it.”