Unaware she’d said anything amiss, Tiff continued, “In fact, we’ve been looking for an anchor event Ella could do to cap off her ‘PM to CC’ posts. Something significant but rich with country life. Ella and I were thinking she might do a booth at a local event or festival showcasing some of her signature desserts. She could do that in conjunction with an Ella Dove cooking demonstration, followed by a meet and greet. As you guys saw in my email, there are a lot of events coming up in the area, so we just need to pick one.” Tiff picked up a sheet of paper. “I was thinking the Sourwood Festival might work—Oh, wait. It was in August. How about—”
“The Apple Festival,” Grace said loudly.
Tiff blinked. “Who’s talking?”
Grace rose up on her elbows and said to the back of Ella’s laptop, “Hi! Grace Parker here! I’m the mayor of Dove Pond and we have a lovely, Southern-themed festival the first weekend in October, just two weeks away. We’d love to have Ella as the Apple Festival’s headliner.”
Ella had to fight to keep her happy social media expression in place as the dreaded Dove Pond expectation net began to tighten around her. Why, oh why, didn’t I go outside to take this call? “Grace, that’s very kind of you, but—”
“Hold on,” Tiff said. “An Apple Festival in October. That’s perfect.”
“Yes, but—”
“Think of all the apple desserts you could make!” Tiff’s voice rose with enthusiasm. “Ella, your ancestors founded Dove Pond, too. It’s a match made in heaven!”
Ella nodded, trying desperately to hang on to her smile. “Yes, but I won’t be here—”
“Ella.” Aunt Jo leaned over and said in a low voice, “You’ll be here. You’ve got things to get done, remember?”
Tiff’s smile faltered. “What—”
“Just a minute.” Ella put her computer on mute and then turned to Aunt Jo. “I’m hoping those things will be done by then.”
“I don’t know about that. Some things, and some people too, can be stubborn.”
Zoe rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “What things and what people are being stubborn?”
Ella’s face heated as she realized everyone at the table was listening. She waved her hand. “It’s nothing. Aunt Jo and I have been working on a tiny project. That’s all.”
“Excuse me!” Tiff piped up. “Ella, since there’s an apple theme, maybe you could make your caramel apple cake at the festival as a demo-type event. It always trends well on your sites, and I know it’s excellent, as I had it at your patisserie.”
Ella unmuted her computer. “I could do that, but—”
“No buts,” the preacher said, his voice rich and deep. “It’s a great idea.” He nodded at the computer. “May I?”
Great. Just great. Ella turned the computer screen his way.
“Hi, I’m Preacher Thompson of the First Baptist Church. This year, for the first time ever, our bake-off, a famous local cake competition, will be a part of the Apple Festival. I’d like to offer Ella the opportunity to judge for us.”
No, no, no! Ella looked at Aunt Jo, who beamed as if she’d thought of it first. And maybe she had.
Tiff clapped her hands. “This just keeps getting better and better!”
One of the reps chimed in, “If Ella’s judging, we’d love to sponsor a booth for her.”
“Hold on!” said another. “If you sponsor the booth, then we’ll sponsor the contest itself.”
Hidden from the camera, Zoe jumped in her seat and fist-pumped the air while Grace grinned, looking like the cat who got the cream.
Tiff chuckled. “There’s room for everyone. We can sort out the details in a bit.”
“Yes,” Ella said, trying not to sound as irked as she felt. “I hate to end this, but I really, really need to go.”
“Sure!” Tiff waved her hand. “I’ll call later and we’ll confirm the details. Oh, and can you ask—was it Grace who is the mayor?”
Grace said loudly, “I’ll call you before the day is out, Tiff. I’ll get your contact info from Ella.”
“Perfect! This is going to be epic! Bye!”
Ella waved weakly and hit the end-call button.
“The bake-off will be Insta-famous now.” Preacher Thompson took a satisfied sip of his coffee. “God has answered our prayers, and you, Ella Dove, will be a stellar judge.”
“No one would try to bribe a Dove,” Aunt Jo said. “It’s a foolproof plan. Plus, now I’m off the hook for judging.”
Ella didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The worst part was that she was now chained to Dove Pond for another two weeks.
That was bad. Two more weeks of her sisters hoping she’d find “happiness” and two more weeks of her trying to convince Angela she hadn’t stolen her family recipe book. Still, she had to admit it was starting to seem that perhaps—just perhaps—she was making a little progress with Angela. A very little, but still…
Plus, staying also meant two more weeks of Gray.
She dropped her gaze to where her hands rested on the tabletop. Maybe… maybe, this delay wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe she could use it to her advantage.
Aunt Jo bumped her shoulder against Ella’s. “Look who’s the new judge of the bake-off.”
Ella gave the older woman a sharp look. “You planned this.”
“You’re the one who kept announcing you couldn’t stay, and then kept doing just that.” Smiling, Aunt Jo took a sip of her Diet Coke. “Besides, the bake-off deserves a celebrity judge.”
“It’s a good move for our little contest,” Preacher Thompson said. His golden eyes were bright with amusement. “Ella, you have my undying gratitude.”
Aunt Jo added, “You’ve saved me from temptation, too. It was easy enough to pass on the oranges, but the bribes have gotten better, and you know I have a weak soul.”
Grace looked shocked. “What bribes?”
“So far, I’ve gotten a case of oranges, a ficus plant, a subscription to Old House Journal magazine, some chocolate-covered strawberries, and even an espresso machine.”
“Don’t worry,” the preacher told everyone at the table. “I took them all off her hands. The espresso machine fits perfectly on the credenza in the deacon’s meeting room, so the entire congregation can enjoy it. I take the purity of our bake-off to heart.” He lifted a brow Ella’s way. “Now that you’ll be judging it, I hope I can count on you eschewing those same bribes.”
“I’ve never taken a bribe in my life. I—sheesh, I can’t believe I’m doing this.” She pressed her hands to the sides of her head and sank a little farther into her seat. How had this happened?
She was still trying to figure it out when the door opened and Gray walked in.
He was wearing his running clothes, his shirt and hair damp from his efforts. Focused as ever, he didn’t look around, but went right to the counter, where he spoke to Marian, who was just taking her own lunch from the pass-through window. The waitress was all smiles as she talked to him. He said something that made her laugh and, still shaking her head, she went to fetch him a bottled water from the refrigerator case.