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“Yes. Because the judges were wrong. Her pastry was not as golden as mine.” Gabe folded his arms. “But she still won by three points.”

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Wes slowly lifted his gaze. “You remember exactly how many?”

Isaac laughed into his coffee, but Gabe ignored him.

“Of course I remember. I was only three points away from winning,” Gabe said. He knew he was defending a ridiculous position, which did not make it any less true.

“Three points between you and the title of Pumpkin Pie King,” Evan said with a shake of his head as Nate nearly sprayed the last bite of his pastry across the table.

“Are you making fun of me?” Gabe asked.

“Never.” Evan held up his hands as he protested his innocence.

Joel shuffled his papers into a neater pile. “Well, if you want another shot at the title, you need to fill in the form.”

“I will.” Gabe picked up the form.

“And leave the judges alone,” Joel warned.

Gabe gave him a look. “I said I will.”

He turned back toward the counter, smiling despite himself. The whole thing was silly, and he knew it. But the Fall Festival baking contest had been part of his friendship with Karina for so long that he couldn’t remember when it had stopped being something they did as kids and become something they both took seriously.

They had competed as children, then teenagers, and carried it into adulthood when they each ended up with bakeries of their own. They argued about crusts, fillings, and whether changing a recipe counted as improving it or ruining it. They complained whenever the other won and remembered the margins long after everyone else had forgotten.

But if Gabe ran short of an ingredient in the middle of a busy morning, Karina was one of the first people he called, and she knew he would always help her out too. The rivalry had never mattered more than the friendship.

The bell above the bakery door chimed, and Frank stepped inside, rubbing his hands together against the morning chill. “Morning, Gabe.”

“Morning, Frank. The usual?” Gabe was already reaching for a paper cup.

“Please.” Frank wandered toward the pastry case while Gabe poured the coffee. “And one of those apple things for my wife. She told me not to come home without one.”

“The turnovers?”

“That’s them.”

Gabe slipped one into a paper bag and folded the top closed. “How is she?”

“Better. Still pretending she isn’t supposed to be resting.”

“She’s lucky to have you to remind her.” Gabe passed over the bag and coffee. “Tell her I said hello.”

“I will. Thanks, Gabe.”

As Frank headed for the door, the others were all getting ready to leave too.

Wes finished his coffee and pulled on his jacket. “I’d better get back to the orchard. I’ve got a delivery coming in before lunch.”

Joel looked up from his papers. “I’ll need to talk to you about the apple stall when I get that far.”

“That’s fine.” Wes tucked his chair back under the table. “Call me when you know what you need. And if Teresa remembers anything orchard-related, send that part to me. I can take care of it.”

“Thanks.” Joel gave a grateful smile.

Evan checked the time and stood. “I need to get moving too. I’ve got a wiring job on the other side of town this morning.”