Bluegrass Blessings. Allie Pleiter

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      Lunch rush. The place was jam-packed. Cameron guessed this was the closest thing Middleburg saw to a crowd—which was only pleasantly bustling by Manhattan standards, to be sure. Aunt Sandy seemed to know everyone in the room and went from table to table introducing Cameron until he had so many names in his head that he wished he’d brought a pen and paper. Still, he recognized Howard holding court at the end of the counter and took the initiative to go say hello himself.

      “Cameron, m’boy, good to see you again. I’m delighted Middleburg’s caught the attention of a fine young entrepreneur such as yourself.” Howard said it loudly and over his shoulder, so that the remark was addressed more to the room than to Cameron. Everything Aunt Sandy had said was starting to make sense.

      “It’s exciting to be in a town with so much potential,” Cameron said, shaking Howard’s hand. “Good character, good government,” he leaned in and grinned, “good food, too.”

      “Sharp as a tack, Sandy,” Howard called to Cameron’s aunt as she came up behind him. “He’ll go far.”

      Cameron slipped into a booth just to the left of Howard’s crowd and eyed the menu. He must be as hungry as Sandy said; everything looked good. He ordered and tried to take mental notes as his aunt ticked down through the people in the room and how they’d eventually be connected to him through church, banking, real estate, even the library board, which she suggested Cameron get himself appointed to at the first opportunity.

      “The library board?” Cameron balked, thinking it sounded unexciting. “You know, I’m not really the PTA type, Aunt Sandy.”

      “Well, I doubt you’d care for the Ladies’ Mission Auxiliary. Library board’s the best place to start. And Howard’s chairman of the library board.” She leaned in and lowered her voice, “Actually, Howard’s chairman of everything. Just some of the other chairmen haven’t figured it out yet.” She emphasized her point by waving a breadstick, then caught sight of someone over Cameron’s shoulder. “Here’s another member of our library board now.”

      Cameron turned, expecting to find an unexciting librarian.

      Instead, he found a certain intriguing baker. “Explaining town politics to our new citizen, Sandy?”

      A shorter woman with honey-colored hair asked, “Is this your nephew?”

      “It most certainly is. Emily Montague, meet Cameron Rollings.”

      Emily extended a hand. “Rumor has it you negotiate a mean oven deal.”

      He smirked. “My reputation precedes me.”

      “Nope,” she replied, “Dinah just loves a good story. And she’s probably just really glad to have a working oven again.”

      “I am,” Dinah said. “Much as Old Ironsides lived a long and useful life, I’m glad to have an oven with a better sense of accuracy. There’ll be no stopping me now.”

      “There’d better be no stopping you, Dinah,” Howard cut in. “You’re making all those cookies for the fund-raiser. We don’t want to run out of Cookiegrams in our first year.”

      “Cookiegrams?” Cameron asked. It sounded too cute to be true.

      “Cookie telegrams,” Dinah explained. “To raise money for the Community Fund. It was Howard’s idea.”

      Howard nodded.

      “And you know, we need a few more bodies on the committee,” Aunt Sandy said. Dinah, do you think we could find a job for Cameron?”

      “We still need someone to get all the supplies donated,” offered Emily. “That sounds like a negotiation to me.”

      Negotiating cookie supplies? Hardly the social introduction Cameron had in mind. “I don’t know anyone in town yet.”

      “Nonsense,” Howard called out. “You know me. And Emily, and Dinah and Sandy. That’s all the start anyone needs.”