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can’t get a date. Your house is full of guys every Friday night.”
    “Yeah, but it’s like a Roman senate. Purely platonic.” Sunny sat down on the metal stool beside the phone and poured herself a glass of white from an open bottle on the counter. She took a sip to see if it was still okay, then poured a glass for Rivka, who was busy wrapping up cheeses.
    “Not so platonic,” said Rivka. “I see the way Charlie looks at you. And Wade’s been in love with you for about a thousand years.”
    “That’s silly. Wade loves me, but like a friend.”
    Rivka snorted.
    “And Charlie’s cute but he’s just a whippersnapper,” said Sunny. “I couldn’t take myself seriously if I was dating somebody twenty-three.”
    The back door opened and Claire Baker shoved her way in, dragging a hand truck loaded with boxes of produce from Hansen Ranch, the organic farm that supplied most of the fruit, vegetables, and herbs for the restaurant.
    “Claire, tell Sunny it’s okay to date a younger guy.”
    Claire shoved the tower of boxes off the hand truck. Petite and athletic-looking, she wore her blond hair pulled back in a shiny ponytail. Her cheeks glowed with the work of hefting boxes and she puffed slightly as she arranged the paperwork on a clipboard and handed it to Sunny. She was dressed in a burgundy fleece pullover and jeans with hiking boots, her usual uniform for making deliveries. A little pink triangle of T-shirt showed at the open neck of the fleece. This sporty look was about as close as Claire ever came to looking like a farmer. She had two kids and she still did her nails and put on a skirt and blouse when she went to the post office. She said, “Who’s the guy?”
    “There’s no guy,” said Sunny, perusing the order.
    “Charlie Rhodes,” said Rivka.
    “The pest management guy?”
    “He’s an entomologist,” said Sunny.
    “Cute. But young. What is he, twenty-one, twenty-two?” asked Claire.
    “Twenty-three,” said Sunny.
    “Old enough,” said Claire, grinning.
    Sunny looked in one of the boxes, pulled out a bunch of arugula, and smelled it. She signed the sheet and handed the clipboard back to Claire. “Did that extra celery root make it in there?”
    “Ouch, I forgot. You know what, I can drop it off in about an hour. I have to swing back through here anyway. Will you still be around?”
    “If I’m not, I’ll leave the back door open.”
    “Perfect.”
    “It must be great being married,” said Rivka to Claire. “You don’t have to worry about going out on dates with random guys, and you always have Ben right there at home.”
    “Yep, I always have Ben right there at home,” said Claire with a mischievous smile. She hung the clipboard on the hand truck and wheeled it toward the door, turning to shove her way out and clanging it down the steps behind her.
    Rivka raised her eyebrows. “Sounds like somebody needs to get out of the house more often.”
    Sunny nodded but said nothing.
    She was working in her office an hour later when the back door swung open and Ben Baker shouldered his way in, carrying a box of celery root. He was tall and well-built, with the loping gait of the long-limbed, and thick, light-brown hair that curledin big, springy waves across his forehead and around his ears.
    “Hey, I thought Claire was going to drop that off,” called Sunny without getting up. “I hope it wasn’t any trouble.”
    “No trouble at all,” said Ben, setting the box down and poking his head into the office. “It’s Baker teamwork in action. Claire’s at home trying to figure out a way to stop the deer from eating her herb garden. Last night they ate a whole section of it right down to stubble. I’d hate to be a deer with basil on its breath right now.”
    “The deer around here will eat anything.”
    “Too bad they don’t eat glassy-winged sharpshooters,” he said, walking out the door.

4
    At eight o’clock sharp the doorbell rang. From the kitchen, Sunny yelled, “Come in.”