of tense these days in the house on Baruch Street, and all because of the Kismet renovation. Dash had managed to sweet-talk Zeph Gibbs into working on the historic woodwork in the Kismet’s lobby, and Zeph was doing an amazing job. But JBR Contractors were not, and that resulted in almost constant bickering between Savannah and her kissing cousin. The disagreements over the theater renovation masked the real truth. Savannah had developed a first-class crush on Dash. It was probably inevitable, given the fact that he was such a good dancer. But still, having a crush on Dash was stupid and dumb. He didn’t love her back. He had a thing for Hettie. And everyone in town knew it.
So she went out of her way to avoid him. And when she couldn’t avoid him she picked fights with him that he seemed to enjoy.
The truth was that Savannah kind of enjoyed the fights, too. At least when they were fighting, they weren’t trying to ignore each other.
Molly gave her a short lesson that she finally understood, and then Savannah started ripping out stitches while the knitters around her gossiped.
“So, anyway,” Kenzie was saying, “I saw Bill’s car parked in Hettie’s driveway again. Last night.”
“Uh-huh, Violet Easley was saying at church just yesterday that she’s cooking more now than she ever did when Mr. Marshall was alive,” Lola May said. “Violet says Reverend Bill is particularly fond of her key lime pie. I swear that man has a serious sweet tooth.”
Savannah was sorry she’d tuned back in to the conversation. Meanwhile her sweater unraveled, row-by-row.
“Violet is too old for Bill,” Pat said.
“Not to mention the fact that she’s a member of the AME church and black,” Molly added.
“I don’t think Bill would turn down a soulmate based on the color of her skin,” Lola May said, “but Violet must be pushing sixty. I think the minister wants a family.”
Savannah’s sweater continued to shrink as she wound the yarn into a ball. She wondered why the women never considered the possibility that Bill was over at Hettie’s house because of Hettie.
Once again, she got that odd-twitchy feeling deep in her gut—half tingle, half itch.
She looked up, right into the eyes of her great aunt. Miriam was smiling at her. Her big brown eyes, the very same big brown eyes that Savannah had inherited, were twinkling behind her trifocals.
Miriam leaned over and put one of her gnarled hands on Savannah’s knee. “It’s kind of uncomfortable, isn’t it?” she whispered. “When that feeling comes over you, it’s like an itch that you can’t scratch. And then you just know.”
Savannah looked around at the other women in the knitting circle. She leaned in toward her aunt. “Why don’t they see it?”
Miriam shrugged. “Sometimes folks don’t see the most obvious things.” She grinned at this. Miriam didn’t look very senile or demented, even if she did look kind of old and frail.
“What did you tell Hettie?” Savannah whispered as Kenzie and Lola May continued to speculate about the various cooks of Allenberg County and their suitability as potential mates for the unmarried minister.
“I never told Hettie anything worth saying,” Miriam said. “I gave her my standard advice to be looking for a man with good values and a strong desire for family.” She grinned.
“But what about Bill?”
“You think it through, Savannah, and you’ll figure it out. It’s never a good idea to just come right out with it, you know. People will rebel, and they’ll make mistakes. You have to lead them to the decision.”
A sudden flash of heat flamed through Savannah. “You never meant Bill for me, did you? Hettie is good with bookkeeping. It’s always been about the bookkeeping and money management, not the cooking.”
Miriam nodded ever so slightly.
“But you invited him to dinner every other day.”
She shrugged. “A matchmaker has to use all of her wiles sometimes. Especially when the people involved are hardheaded, confused, and just a little bit willful. I figured Hettie would see you as a threat.”
“But what if I’d said yes to Bill’s proposal?”
Miriam snorted. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh, my God, you knew he would propose, and you knew I would…”
Aunt Miriam turned back to her magazine. She flipped a few pages then looked up. “Maybe. There is so much I’ve got to teach you before it’s my time to go, sugar.”
“Teach me? About what?”
“About the thing God put you here to do.”
Savannah stared down at her knitting. “Obviously it’s not to knit you a sweater.”
“Obviously,” Miriam said. “But