A home run, in other words.

Jane was unloading plants from the back of her truck. She stopped and waved as Faith approached. “Hello there!” she called, smiling. Attractive wrinkles creased her face, and she shoved a bit of curly blond hair behind her ear, leaving a streak of dirt. Totally Dad’s type. Bet she didn’t own an animal-print thong.

“Hi, Jane,” Faith said.

Dad was staring open-mouthed at the barn. “Sweetheart! This is amazing! It happened so fast!”

“I aim to please,” she said, her father’s pride warming her. “Jane, this is my father, John Holland. Dad, Jane Gooding, who owns Dundee Organic Gardens.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Dad said, shaking her hand. “You have a nice operation over there. I’ve driven past but never stopped in.”

“Well, we can’t have that!” Jane said. “Drop in next time you’re around. I’ll give you the tour.” She smiled at him, then turned to Faith. “It’s all here. You ready?”

“You bet. Dad, do you have time to help us out?”

“Sure, sweetpea. I just can’t get over this! Nice work, honey.”

Faith’s goal in the barn had been to make it look completely unlandscaped and artlessly natural. The beds around the building were bordered with deceptively sturdy, uneven rock walls. A rusty old wagon wheel, a relic from the barn, leaned against the base of a two-hundred-year-old maple tree, and six old milking containers lined the rock foundation. Seven different varieties of moss and ferns, all indigenous, sat in pots, waiting to be put in the soil. A thousand daffodil bulbs would be scattered in clusters along the foundation, which would make it flippin’ gorgeous next spring, and a fairly mature sweet wisteria was already planted by the sliding wooden door, which Samuel had rebuilt beautifully. Faith had painted it periwinkle blue yesterday.

Her little playhouse of old was glorious. She’d saved the barn from becoming just a pile of rocks, created this beautiful place where so many happy memories would be made. Still, a lump came into her throat at the memories of sitting on the moss, pretending to pour tea in acorn caps, trying to tame a chipmunk, leaving a ring of daisies as a gift for the fairies. Such happy times.

Well. Dad and Jane seemed to be getting on like a house on fire, Faith noted. Gardening. So much better than a singles event.

She got to work. Faith always felt like she was a midwife when she planted something, coaxing the plant out of its container, loosening the roots, gently placing it into the carefully dug hole, then filling in the gaps with soil. The dirt on her hands, the rich, dark smell of damp earth, and now, the satisfaction of seeing her design come to actual life... There was nothing like it. The sun beat on her hair, and sweat dampened her T-shirt despite the cool air, the sound of shovels and birdsong making the afternoon utterly perfect.

Three hours later, they were done.

“That went fast,” Dad said.

“Right,” Faith said, rolling her eyes at Jane, who smiled. “That’s because you missed us prepping the soil last week. That’s the hard part.”

“It’s so pretty, honey. Your grandparents will be amazed.”

“Wait till you see it at night, Dad. The lighting is the best part, maybe.”

“Well, I should go,” Jane said. “So nice meeting you, John! I’ll see you at the party, I imagine?”

“You sure will. Nice to meet you, too,” he said, blushing a little, but he shook her hand and waved when she started up her truck. “So, she’s coming?” he asked Faith.

“Sure. You always invite the people who worked on a project, Daddy. It’s classy.”

“Oh, so we’re classy now?”

“Yes. Which means I get to pick out your clothes for Saturday.”

The party had the potential to be fantastic, Faith thought as she tidied up a few things. Goggy and Pops would soften toward each other, remembering old feelings, perhaps. Dad would have an almost-date with a very nice woman. Honor would whisper conspiratorially about her new love. Maybe she could get Jack to dance with Colleen, though the odds were low on that. But since she’d clearly backed a winner with Jane, maybe her next project would be her brother.

And maybe Levi would dance with her. Her knees wobbled at the image, the memory of his hard muscles, his heat pressed against her. Probably not, but it sure was a nice thought.

She snapped out of her fog and put the shovel in the shed. Whatever the case, the anniversary party would be a special night. A magical night.

* * *

ON SATURDAY EVENING, Faith was resisting—barely—the urge to strangle her grandfather.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, dangling the suspicious food in front of his face.

“Just shut up and eat it,” commanded her grandmother. “It’s party food. Don’t be such a pain in the ass.”

Make that strangle both grandparents.

“You’re the pain in the ass,” Pops retorted. “You’ve been a pain in my ass for sixty-five years.”

“No fighting, kids,” Ned said. “This is your party. Don’t make us sign you into the home just yet. Pops, it’s a shrimp. It’s wrapped in prosciutto, that’s all.”

“What the hell’s prosciutto?” Pops asked.

“It’s like extra-fatty bacon,” Faith said. “You’ll love it.”

Okay, so the night was not exactly magical. Not yet, anyway. She could still pull it off...if she drugged Goggy and Pops.

The Holland family had come up to the barn for a special dinner before the big party, since only hors d’oeuvres would be served at the event, and God forbid her grands missed a solid meal. Or Prudence. Or Dad. Or Jack. Honor was here; her mystery man was not, and when Faith had asked about it, sotto voce, Honor gave her an icy look as an answer. Mrs. Johnson was also irritated with Faith, since Faith hadn’t asked her to prepare the dinner but to be a guest instead, which had somehow insulted her.

“You look really handsome tonight, Pops,” she said, smoothing some of the more fascinating eyebrow hairs away from his eyes.

“Thanks, sweetheart. Maybe I’ll get a dance with my special girl, what do you think?”

“If I’m the special girl in question, the answer is yes. But don’t forget,” she added, whispering, “you and Goggy have a dance first.”

Pops grimaced.

“You do,” she said firmly. “And you have your speech, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “That’s right here.” He tapped his jacket pocket.

“Hello, hello,” came a voice. It was Jane, the gardener, dressed in a long, shapeless, greenish-brown cotton dress. “Oh, dear,” she said. “Am I early?”

“Party starts at seven,” Pru said, her voice even louder than usual.

“No, it’s fine,” Faith said. “Come and join us.”

“I’ll come back later,” Jane said. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Not at all. We’d love to have you.” She introduced Jane to the family, earning suspicious looks from Goggy, who didn’t see anything wrong with her son staying a widower for a few more decades, as well as from Abby, who was sulking because she’d been made to change into something “less whorish,” according to Pru. Carl was also missing, though Faith had wised up and not asked why.

“Very nice to see you again,” Dad said with an adorably shy smile.

“You, too, John,” Jane said, tilting her head to smile back. Jane and John. So cute.

“Please, sit down,” Dad said, holding out a chair.

“Thank you.” She looked around. “Um, is this...all?” Jane asked, surveying the shrimp and pasta dish Faith had ordered from the caterers. “I’m sorry. I’m a vegan. A rawist, actually.”

Life without cheeseburgers? So sad. “Right. Um, I’ll find you something.” The caterers should have a veggie platter somewhere.

“And what is a rawist, my dear?” Pops said, turning on the charm (the better to irritate Goggy).

“I only eat raw food,” Jane answered.

“Why?” Mrs. Johnson asked. “Are you sick?”

“Oh, no, it’s by choice. For health reasons,” Jane said as Faith intercepted the vegetable tray from one of the servers. “Thanks, Faith. This’ll be perfect.” She took an impressive handful of baby carrots and began shoving them into her mouth like popcorn, crunching madly. And another handful. And some celery. Her mouth worked faster than a wood chipper, Faith thought.

“You eat raw meat? That can’t be good for you,” Goggy pronounced.

Jane paused in her crop decimation. “I don’t eat meat. Raw vegetables and fruits only.”

“What about bread?” Abby asked.

“Nope. Gluten is poison for me.” She picked up another handful of carrots and started chainsawing through them, little flecks of orange flying from her lips. “You should try it. I have literally no mucus issues anymore. And I’m never constipated.”

Dad had that hide me look on his face, and Ned was choking with laughter. Jane did have very strong-looking teeth, Faith noted. The veggie platter was supposed to serve twenty, but at the rate Jane was going, she’d polish that off, then start on the table, which was hopefully gluten-free.

“Faith,” Pru said, draining her wine, “where’s Colleen and the hard stuff? You did say we were having an open bar, right?”

Yes, where were Connor and Colleen? Faith checked her phone. No messages. She sent a quick text, asking if they needed help. It was getting to be crunch time. She excused herself and started putting the centerpieces on the tables, which had been covered with pale blue tablecloths.

Prudence approached, a shrimp in each hand. “The place looks beautiful,” she said. She was wearing dress pants and work boots, as well as a low-cut white sweater. An impressive purple hickey stood out on her throat.

“Thanks,” Faith said. “So things are good with Carl?”

Pru shrugged. “Yes and no. I kicked him out.”

“What? Why?”

“We did it the other night, right? Good old married sex, nothing fancy. Finally, right? Then he says he wants to film us—”

“What?”

“Right. So he’s staying at his mother’s. Figured it’ll shake him up a little.”

Faith nodded as if she understood. “Um...you have a big hickey, you know.”

“Really? Damn it. Should’ve looked in the mirror, I guess. Anyway, nice job here!” She poured herself another glass of wine and drank it like it was water.

The DJ asked where he should set up, and Faith directed him to one corner. Then, after two more questions from the caterer had been answered, Faith adjusted the light under the maple tree, fixed the door, which was sticking, and found Pops’s lower denture plate in a gooey nut cookie. She worked the teeth free as Goggy had a fit that Pops was eating nuts when his gastroenterologist specifically said not to. As Jane was eating half her body weight in roughage, Faith asked Mrs. Johnson if she might have any more vegetables, earning a glare from the housekeeper and some dark mutterings about people having evolved enough to cook their food. Faith took that as a yes, ran down to the New House, raided the fridge, cut up red peppers, carrots and broccoli, then cleaned the kitchen at lightning speed, because Mrs. Johnson hated anyone to leave a mess in her workspace. Then she power-walked back up the Hill, in heels, managing not to drop a single pepper slice.

Magical. Yeah, right. She was sweating, how magical was that? And the guests were just starting to trickle in.

Honor appeared at Faith’s side. “Lorena’s here,” she growled. “I thought you took care of that.”

“I didn’t invite her. I guess Dad did.”

“Check out that dress, Faith.”

Lorena was currently kissing Pops on the cheek, bending over the old man, who clearly didn’t mind. And the thing was, Lorena’s dress...the woman had to weigh somewhere around two hundred pounds and was sixty years old if she was a day but, for some reason that went against nature and God’s law, had chosen to wear a skin-tight rubbery black dress. No back. White granny panties, though, clearly visible.

Faith’s breath left her in a rush. “That’s—I...gotta give her points for, um, confidence. Maybe Dad should pay for that boob job. Wow.”

Honor was not amused. “You said you could find him someone, Faith. That other woman, the gardener, is talking about how often she poops, and here’s Lorena, dressed like Lady Gaga. Can’t you do better?” Before Faith could answer, Honor walked away.

With a sigh, Faith went over to say hello to Lorena. “Hello, sweetie!” Lorena boomed. “And just who do we have here?” She was glaring at Jane, who sat next to Dad.

Jane paused in her chewing. “I’m a friend,” she said, looking Lorena up and down.

“A friend? A friend of who?” Lorena asked, her expression lowering.

“A friend of whom? Is that what you mean?” Jane smiled tightly and took another celery stick.

“Cat fight,” Ned murmured as he walked past Faith, phone in his hand.

Next time Faith felt the urge to throw a party, she’d ask Pru to duct tape her into a chair.

And things hadn’t even started.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

LEVI PULLED ON HIS suit jacket, the one usually saved for weddings or funerals. The whole town had been invited to old Mr. and Mrs. Holland’s anniversary party, the police chief included. He hadn’t seen Faith much since the night he’d kissed her. Last weekend had been Columbus Day, and what with Sarah home and all the tourists, the biplane show out on the lake, the wine tasting on the green, the wooden boat parade, he hadn’t had a free minute. Not that he knew what he’d do with it, to be honest.