"I know what you mean, and I'm all for exploring this more," Sarah said firmly.

Emma shot her a grateful look.

"Did you have something specific in mind?" asked Sarah.

"Actually, yes."

Jamie waved a hand in surrender. "So, let's hear it."

"Well," Emma began, warming to her subject, "the 'acts of kindness' thing is great, but we need a plan to make it all come together, just like if you're making a quilt. You have to have a pattern, some way to make the pieces fit."

"And so?" prompted Jamie.

"I'm getting to that." Sheesh. "First we need a name. That will be our pattern. We could call it the 'Have a Heart' campaign, and our slogan could be 'Keep the Heart in Heart Lake.' "

Jamie nodded, looking reluctantly impressed. "Not bad. But how do you make it all happen?"

"Call a community meeting," said Emma. "Maybe we could get the Grange Hall for a night, put an ad in the paper."

Now Sarah was nodding and smiling. "Great idea."

"Okay, so now we've got a bunch of people at the Grange," said Jamie. "Then what?"

"Then we get everyone to pledge to do one good deed a day," said Emma.

"Maybe we could even make up T-shirts that say HAVE A HEART," Sarah suggested. "That way we have something tangible. On the back we could print KEEP THE HEART IN HEART LAKE. We could sell them and give the proceeds to Helpline."

"Money for the food bank-I love that," said Jamie, pointing at Sarah as if she were brilliant.

Emma wouldn't have minded getting a little credit, but oh, well. At least Jamie was on board. "And if we invite a reporter from the Heart Lake Herald, we could get an article out of the deal. Free publicity."

"I'll call the Park and Rec office tomorrow and see if they'll let us use the hall," Sarah said. "We could shoot for the first week in November. The timing is perfect, just as we're coming into giving season, when people feel most generous."

Emma frowned. "We don't want to limit this to a season, do we? I mean giving season should last all year."

"There's another great slogan," Sarah said, saluting Emma with her mug. "And I agree. I'm just saying this is a great time to kick off a campaign to do good deeds. People are already predisposed to accept it." She turned to Jamie. "What do you think?"

Jamie nodded. "I don't know if it will work, but I'm in."

"Let's all start this week so we have some testimonials for the meeting," said Emma, excited.

"Sure. Why not?" Sarah agreed. She hoisted her mug. "Here's to giving season. May it last all year long."

Emma had tears in her eyes now. This was such a beautiful idea. "This is a true movie moment."

Jamie rolled her eyes. "I'm going to go into insulin shock here." But then she grinned and raised her mug, too. "To giving season."

"This is going to be awesome," Emma predicted.

Jamie wasn't so sure about that, but she decided to try to keep an open mind. No opportunity to do a good deed presented itself between the Chocolate Bar and home. In fact, nothing at all happened between the Chocolate Bar and home. Everyone was behaving at the four-way stop, probably because she'd missed rush hour. No person in need crossed her path. No cop, either, thank G.o.d. Naturally, she didn't run into the big, bad cop because she now had her taillight fixed. If she hadn't, of course he'd have been right behind her like a hound on the scent of a terrified fox.

Tomorrow would be soon enough to do something nice, she decided. Tomorrow she would send her mom some chocolates, just because. Mom was as bad a chocoholic as Sarah. She'd love it.

Jamie was in her shop kitchen by five the next day, making ganache. Before opening at ten she had chocolates to dip and decorate and fruit to enrobe, and she had to fill the espresso machine with beans and make her dark and white truffle shots and hot chocolate. By the time Clarice, her counter help, showed up, she was ready for a break, so she decided to go put her mom's surprise in the mail. Just before she left for the post office, it occurred to her that simply sending chocolates to her mom didn't really qualify as a good deed, so she filled a little plate for Carolyn the postmaster and her a.s.sistant Walter. If any pair deserved a good deed it was those two. They knew every one of their post office patrons by name as well as their dogs, and Carolyn always kept treats on hand to give to her four-legged visitors.

Carolyn saw the plate of truffles and her eyes lit up behind her gla.s.ses. "What have we got here?"

"A little something to thank you guys for working so hard," said Jamie.

"All right," said Walter, leaning over from where he was sorting letters into mailboxes and grabbing one.

Noting the bit of belly beginning to sneak over Walter's belt, Jamie couldn't help but wonder if this really qualified as a good deed. Walter's wife, who tried to watch his weight, would probably come into the shop and club her with a scale.

"That was really sweet of you," said Carolyn as she weighed Jamie's goody package for Mom.

Jamie shrugged. "Just trying to keep that small-town feeling alive. In fact, Emma Swanson, Sarah Goodwin, and I are starting a movement."

"A movement?" Carolyn looked at her like Jamie was about to try to lure her into some strange cult.

"Yeah. We're going to try and encourage everyone to do one nice thing for somebody every day."

"Kind of like paying it forward?" asked Walter, reaching for another chocolate. Carolyn moved it out of range and he pouted.

"Something like that," said Jamie. "You know, help keep the heart in Heart Lake."

"That's a great idea," said Carolyn as Jamie handed over her money.

"So, what do we have to do?" asked Walter.

"Anything," Jamie told him. "Let somebody go ahead of you in the checkout line, change a flat tire for someone-whatever comes to mind."

"That could be kind of fun," he said. "How long are we doing this?"

"We're not exactly thinking of putting an expiration date on it."

Walter shook his head. "People will never keep it up."

Jamie conveniently forgot that she had thought the exact same thing. "You never know. Maybe it will become a habit."

"It sounds like a good habit to me," said Carolyn. And as Jamie left the post office, she heard Carolyn say to the next person in line, "Let's start right now. Would you like one of my truffles, Mrs. Gormsley?"

"Chocolates?"

Jamie looked over her shoulder and saw one of Heart Lake's senior citizens with her fingers poised over the plate, a smile on her face. That felt good. She could get into this. So, what else could she do?

Gift jars. She and Emma could fill quart-sized Mason jars with candies or cocoa mix, decorate them with cute lids, and randomly give them away to anyone who looked tired or down or stressed. That would be fun. Maybe they could make a bunch and take them around to the residents at Senior Gardens.

She called Emma at the quilt shop to share her idea.

"Emma's Quilt Corner," snarled Emma.

"It's me. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Emma said with a sigh. "I just let Shirley Schultz make off with half a yard of free fabric and two spools of colored thread."

"Oh. The woman who never remembers her checkbook."

"That would be the one. We're like Lucy and Charlie Brown with the football. Wouldn't you think I'd get smart?"

Jamie decided that was probably a rhetorical question. "At least it wasn't much."

"It all adds up," Emma said, sounding grumpy.

"Look at it this way. There's your random act of kindness for the day."

"It wasn't random, it was planned. And a good deed isn't much of a good deed if you feel like you were tricked into it."

"Then tell yourself you're not being tricked," reasoned Jamie. "You know what's coming."

"Yeah, you're right," Emma said. "Maybe I'm just tired of getting suckered by old ladies. It doesn't feel very n.o.ble."

"Well, then, have I got a deal for you," Jamie said, and explained her idea.

"Oh, I love it!" gushed Emma. "Let's start tonight."

"Why not? You bring the material; I'll go scrounge jars from Aunt Sarah. I know she's got a ton in her bas.e.m.e.nt."

"And I'll pick up a pizza."

"Great. You can count that as your good deed for the day," said Jamie. "My fridge is empty and I'm broke."

"Me, too," said Emma. "But I'm so far in the hole, what's another inch?"

Emma hung up feeling excited again. Jamie was right, of course. Helping Shirley was a good thing to do, and she shouldn't take the shine off the act of kindness by feeling resentful. The small amount of merchandise Shirley got away with wasn't going to make or break her. Her meager supply of customers was going to do that.

No negative thinking, she told herself sternly, and no more bad att.i.tude. From now on she was going to help anyone and everyone and not worry about feeling tricked or taken advantage of. And she'd keep her eyes open for more ways to help others.

She didn't have to keep them open for long. After an evening of topping jar lids with fabric and ribbon at Jamie's little lake shack, she bolted from her car to her duplex under a deluge of rain. As she unlocked the door, she heard a pitiful yowl. She peered around in an attempt to locate it. There it was again, just off to the right of the porch. Bending over and looking under the juniper bush, she saw two green cat eyes peering back at her. The animal gave a low-throated rumble.

"Oh, kitty. Why aren't you home and out of the rain?" she cooed.

The cat explained with another yowl, this time softer, like it was now too low on energy to cry for help.

Now here, indeed, was an act of kindness waiting to happen. "Oh, poor thing." She bent over and held out a hand. "Come here, sweetie."

The cat backed up with a growl.

"Of course you're afraid," she explained to both of them. She unlocked her door and opened it. "You want in?"

The cat didn't respond. Its mama had probably told it never to talk to strangers.

Emma sighed. It was hard to be kind when the animal you were trying to help wanted no part of you. "Okay, wait there," she said. She went inside, ran to the kitchen, and found a can of tuna in the cupboard. She opened it, then went back to the porch and set it down on the welcome mat. "There you go. Maybe that will help."

Sure the cat wouldn't come out of hiding until she was gone, she stepped back inside and shut the door. She couldn't see from the peephole in the door or her front window. She hoped the cat was enjoying its feast. One thing she knew for sure, she'd enjoyed offering it.

She washed up, threw on her pajamas, and climbed into bed. She was just drifting off when she remembered that Tess was supposed to pay for the land she won in her latest land auction.

Tess could wait.

SIX.

Sarah took weekends off. Sweet Somethings Bakery was closed on Sundays, and on Sat.u.r.days she left the bakery in the capable hands of Chrissy Carroll and Amber Howell. Amber would come in at five and turn herself into Sarah, baking up a storm. Then Chrissy would arrive at seven and together they'd handle the morning breakfast rush of Heart Lakers looking for quiche and Sarah's famous scones-a rush that started the second they opened their doors at eight. And while things were humming at the bakery, Sarah and Sam, who managed to be home at least part of the weekend, would enjoy a quick bout of middle-aged s.e.x, followed by Sam's breakfast specialty: scrambled eggs and toast. It was the only thing he could make, but it was something, and Sarah never discouraged him.

Except this Sat.u.r.day. This Sat.u.r.day she was as disgruntled with scrambled eggs as she was with middle-aged Sat.u.r.day-morning s.e.x. It might have had something to do with the fact that another Sat.u.r.day tradition was suddenly lacking: no granddaughters coming over in the afternoon to bake cookies.

"It wouldn't hurt you to learn how to make coffee cake," she grumped to Sam. "Or pancakes. Pancakes are easy."

He frowned. "Eggs are good for you. They stick with you all day."

"They especially stick to your arteries," Sarah informed him without so much as a smile. She watched as he randomly shoved the plates into the dishwasher. Without rinsing them, even though she'd told him a million times over the last thirty-five years that, no matter what the manufacturer told you, you really had to rinse the dishes first or the food would bake on. They'd married young. He should have been trainable, for crying out loud.

She got up from the washed-oak kitchen table, scowling, and trudged to the dishwasher. "Here. If you're not going to do it right I may as well load the dishes." Maybe some good, old-fashioned guilt would motivate him to respect the Sarah Goodwin Dish Loading Method.

She supposed she could just load the dishes and shut up and let it be her good deed for the day, but she'd already faked an o.r.g.a.s.m. That should count for a whole week's worth of acts of kindness.

Sam scowled back at her. "What is with you? I haven't seen you this grumpy since Kizzy beat you out in the Fourth of July pie-baking contest."

"I am not grumpy," she snapped, and then burst into tears. "Yes I am. I'm sorry."

Sam pulled her into a big bear hug. "I know you miss the girls, babe, but it'll be Christmas before you know it and they'll be back."

"Only for a visit." Sarah sniffled. "I'm grandchildless."

"No you're not. They're just in a different location."

"The house is so empty," she continued.

"So, let's go to the pound and get a dog," Sam suggested.

"Oh, leave it to a man who is gone half the week to suggest getting something to housebreak," Sarah said in disgust ending their embrace. "And how can you compare a dog to a grandchild?"