"I think I've retired," she said.
"Not allowed." Martin was having trouble keeping his eyes off Amber who had shifted to ground midway between a barnwarmer's dream and a folksinger's groupie. Here we go again, Willow thought.
"How's that Chevy running?" Art asked.
"Good. I just put new tires on her."
"That's a commitment. Love that car. Have you seen it, Amber—a red '52 convertible?"
"Not yet," she said.
God. Willow brought out the honey walnut loaf. "Anybody hungry?"
"Sure," Martin said. She broke off an end, the best part, and handed it to him.
"Good," he said, chewing.
"Willow can cook!" Art said. People were arriving steadily. It was five o'clock; the heat of the day was easing. A strong looking man in his thirties with a short beard and dark curly hair began to play the piano, his back straight.