Clover waved at John, the man staring in through the front window. He had on a pair of severely wrinkled cargo pants and a dingy tank top, his chest hair poking straight out of the neckline. His bald head was covered with a red baseball hat. He lifted a couple fingers in response. She motioned for him to come inside. There was a box of granola bars in the back, and he looked like he could use a snack.

John shook his head sadly and turned to leave. Clover’s heart ached on his behalf. He’d obviously come for a reason, and now he was leaving because the camera crew was here. Too many people inside who might make big circles as they walked by and refuse to look him in the eye.

Clover dashed to the door and ran down the sidewalk to stop him. He had a habit of disappearing into thin air for weeks at a time. His sunken cheeks said that he didn’t have weeks to wait for a good meal. “John!”

He jerked his chin over his shoulder and tensed at the sound of his name. When he saw Clover, he relaxed, and his worn shoes came to a halt. He ducked his head, waiting for her to talk first.

“John.” She lightly touched his sleeve. “It’s so good to see you. Would you like to come in?”

He worked his mouth for a minute. “Looks crowded.”

Clover silently cursed the need for private sponsors and their personal agendas. “Only for today,” she assured him. If he took The Pantry off his list of stops, he could be in big trouble. “Why don’t you go around back, and you can sit in the kitchen with me where it’s quiet. I made stew today.”

John finally took his eyes off the ground and looked at the front door. “It’s just today?”

“Yes, sir.” Clover beamed, hoping to reassure him that The Pantry was still a haven for him and anyone who needed a meal.

“I’ll come back tomorrow, then.” He dropped his chin to his chest and shuffled off.

Clover watched him go, feeling as though she’d failed him. With a quick prayer on John’s behalf, she stomped back into The Pantry, her anger at the situation simmering under the surface.

“There she is,” said Jane, pointing at Clover. The woman with the brush grabbed her arm and propelled her across the floor to the backdrop they’d prepared. Dustin held a giant check on one side, and Jane held the other.

“Here,” said brush girl, “stand right next to Dustin.”

Clover did as she was told, but she leaned away from him. She had no desire to be caught up in his delicious smell or the heat coming off his body. He didn’t have any team gear on today. She glanced at the check and saw that it had his personal signature on it. Yep. This was all about him.

“Smile, Clover. You’re on camera,” Dustin said without moving his lips. His teeth were perfectly white and straight and beautiful. She licked her lips and smiled without showing her teeth. They were clean and bright, but one of her bottom teeth twisted. She’d never been self-conscious about it before.

“I don’t want to be on camera.”

“Make the best of it.”

The photographer snapped a couple pictures. The flash made Clover blink. “Fine, I’ll blame you.”

“If that will make you feel better.”

“It does.”

“Good.”

Clover moved to step away, and the brush girl wagged a finger at her. She growled. “I have things to do.” And the sooner we get you all out of here, the sooner our patrons will come inside.

“Just a few more.” Brush girl moved her to the middle of the check and placed her hands on the top as if she were the one holding it up. “There. Perfect.” She trotted back to her place, and the photographer stepped forward once again.

“You’re doing great,” said Dustin.

Clover mentally rolled her eyes.

Jane poked her in the rib. “Think nice thoughts.”

Clover pressed her lips together. It’s nice that he wants to help people. There! One nice thought.

“Little more happy in the middle there,” prompted the photographer.

“She’s not used to smiling,” teased Dustin.

“Not when you’re around,” quipped Clover.

Jane cleared her throat.

This time, Clover did roll her eyes. She searched for something to say that wouldn’t come across as too personal or make it sound like she’d stalked his Instagram account. “You look better without the beard.” She smiled at Jane, pleased that she’d been able to get the words out without a trace of sarcasm. Because she was feeling a tad sarcastic this afternoon. She might as well go ahead and blame Dustin for that too.

“Say cheese!” The photographer was becoming impatient with their continued conversations and ventriloquist smiles.

“Cheese,” they said in unison. He moved forward and then back again, changing a setting on his camera and then putting it back in front of his face.

“I don’t think you mean that,” said Dustin.

He was baiting her for another argument, only this time she wasn’t biting. “You can think whatever you want.”

“Dustin, less scowl, more happy.” Brush girl flashed her pearly whites. She looked like a shark ready for a snack.

Dustin mimicked her hungry smile and Clover had to bite her cheek not to laugh.

“Are you sticking around for my speech?” he asked. “The news crews will be here in a few minutes.”

“There’s more? You couldn’t pay me—oof!” Clover rubbed her ribs. Jane grinned for the camera.

Rethinking her response so she wouldn’t be bruised by her boss—who was taking this think-positive thing way too far—she said, “I’m sure your words will be inspiring for children of all ages.”

“Why do I feel insulted?” Dustin coughed. “Did you compare me to a circus?”

Clover pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. “Not intentionally.”

“So, you’re saying your subconscious insulted me.”

Her eyebrows came together. “It would seem so.” She gripped the check tighter. Up to this point, she’d thought Jane’s activity would be nice, a fun way to some self-improvement that was on the lighter side. But now, she wondered if deep down inside of her there was darkness that leaked out.

The photographer sighed heavily as if taking their picture was harder than capturing three-year-old triplets on film. Brush girl took the check out of their hands. Jane hurried to talk to a small family huddled near the front door. The children were wide-eyed, and not the excited kind.

Clover pressed her palms together. She didn’t want to be angry at Dustin anymore—didn’t want to feed the bad feelings he seemed to inspire. In the spirit of making amends and inviting good karma, she looked directly into his eyes and said the first thing that came to mind. “You’re not a horrible person.”

Dustin huffed like a bison. “Thanks. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go juggle.” He made the motion of tossing three balls into the air.

Clover hooked his elbow to stop him from leaving. She was trying to be nice. Apparently, it was more difficult than she first thought. “I didn’t say you were a clown.”

He tipped his head. “Then what am I? A trapeze artist? Because I feel like I’m walking a thin wire when I’m around you.”

She shook her head quickly.

“Lion tamer? Sword swallower? Human cannonball?” His neck was turning red.

Clover waved her arms, indicating all the craziness around them as the crew packed up and headed outside, where the press conference would be held in front of the building. “You’re a ringmaster.”

Dustin put his hand on top of hers, where it still rested on his arm. Her breath caught as a current sprinted from his hand to her hand to her lungs. His eyes danced. “Ringmaster is better than elephant pooper scooper.”

“And it’s way better than the bearded lady.”

He laughed. “Don’t disrespect that beard. My brother called it the noble fleece. He was devastated when I shaved it off.”

“Noble fleece? More like hobo fleece,” she snapped. Aw crap! That came out mean. She looked down. For one not-nice thing, she had to give an honest compliment. Dustin’s white athletic shoes didn’t have a scuff on them. “What I meant to say was, I like your shoes.”

He looked down to see what she was pointing at, and Clover took the opportunity to slip her hand out from under his and move away. She wasn’t sure, but staying away from Dustin might make it easier to say and think nice things about people. She wanted to try it out, but she really had to finish dinner.

“Where are you going?” Dustin asked.

“I have a job to do.” She pointed to the front window, where a portable podium with multiple microphones could be seen. “And so do you.”

An hour later, when the rolls were baking in the oven and filling the kitchen with the most amazing scent of fresh-baked bread with butter on top, Jane came through the swinging doors. A large section of hair had fallen out of her bun and was tucked behind her right ear. “I’m glad that’s over.” She sagged against the sink.

“Do you think it’s worth it?” Clover began loading the pots and pans into the industrial dishwasher.

“Way worth it. Oh—” She patted her pockets. “Here.” She held out a pair of tickets.

“What are those?” Clover wiped her hands on her apron and reached for them.

“Tickets to tonight’s game.”

“What?” Clover snatched them and held them too close to her face. She squealed. “I’ve been watching the Redrocks for weeks.” She jumped up and down again. All the time she’d spent glued to the television, falling in love with baseball, had finally paid off! She was going to a game. A real game where they sold hot dogs and lemonades, and little kids with baseball mitts hoped to catch fly balls.

Jane laughed. “Have fun.”

Clover paused in her celebration. “Don’t you and Pastor Paul want to go?”

Jane waved her off. “I’ve had enough excitement for one day.” Her eyes softened. “Besides, we have a friend in the hospital we planned on visiting tonight.”

Clover hugged her. “Thank you so much. I can’t wait.” She tucked the tickets safely in her back pocket. This was going to be the best night ever.