“Somehow we pulled that off, Fletcher,” Dot said.
“More than that. We crushed it!” He reached out his arms to hug her. When she wrapped her arms around his neck, he lifted her up and twirled her around. She let herself feel a little thrill of excitement about how well the day had ended, in the face of all the challenges.
He set her down gently and she tilted her head up to see his face.
“We make a great team, Dot.”
“We do.”
“See you tomorrow,” he said. “Oh, and... keep an eye on Mary. She’s wild!”
Dot laughed and glanced at her friends, who were waiting for her under the awning of the Democratic office on Main Street.
“She is. In all the best ways.”
She waved goodbye to Fletcher. He’d really grown on her. He was good lookinganda good time.
“Let’s go home, girls,” Dot said, turning to The Crew.
“So, Dot, is there something you want to tell us about Fletcher?” Harper asked.
“What about him?”
“You two looked pretty cozy together,” Mary said as their shoes crunched on the light ice that had frozen on the sidewalk, and they noticed the frost on the Jeep’s windshield had been cleared.
“Wow, that was nice of someone,” Dot said, changing the subject away from Fletcher. She didn’t feel like analyzing their relationship. They didn’t evenhavea relationship. But could they? Stop it, she told herself.
As they climbed into the Jeep, Mary saw a piece of paper under the windshield wiper.
“What the heck?” she said. “A ticket. For what?!” She looked around to see if there was a no parking sign she’d missed. She got back out of the Jeep, resentful for having to get back into the chilly air if even for a moment.
She used a gloved hand to pull the ticket out from under the wiper. A box that said “warning” was checked. No fine.
She turned the ticket over.
“Strike two, New York” was scrawled on the back.
Chapter 23
Mary wondered what Dot had gotten them into.
“What are we supposed to wear to dinner on a farm?” she yelled down the hall from her room.
“I don’t know. I’ve never been to dinner on a farm!” Dot was looking in her closet, too.
“Do you think I should wear something plaid?” Harper joined in. “I think farmers wear a lot of plaid.”
“I think as long as our clothes are clean, we’ll be fine,” Dot called out. “Now let’s go. I don’t want to be late.”
Earlier that week, on a cold, windy day, Dot had bumped into Grace Taylor on Main Street outside of Flour Power. It was now March, and she hadn’t seen her since their first encounter at the Reader Falls Bookshop.
“Hi, Dot! Glad I ran into you. I’ve been meaning to invite you and your girlfriends to one of our Sunday suppers. My mother used to host but I’ve taken over and everyone comes. Family attendance is mandatory, and we love having guests.”
“That sounds like a great tradition and a lovely invitation. We’d love to come some time.”
“Would this weekend work for you?”
“Let me see.” Dot pulled out her phone and pretended to check her calendar. “As expected, no plans! We don’t have the most active social lives here like we did in the city.”