Rosie said cheerfully over the supper dishes that night. “We’ll just make the best of it.” The woman wasn’t even trying to hide her delight. Cara felt glum. They were stuck another day. What if he had to order parts? It made her heart race to think about it. “Now that green sauce you put on the spaghetti,” Rosie said, drying a plate. “What was it again?” “Huh? Oh. Pesto. Throw basil, pine nuts, Parmesan, garlic and olive oil into the food processor and flip the switch. Really easy.” She’d brought up the food processor from the café pantry, where she’d found the coffee grinder, as well as an industrial citrus press she’d used to make fresh lemonade. People had loved it, which had really boosted her confidence. Rosie had inspired her. “Too much fuss for one person.” “The basil’s right in your garden.” “The garden’s too much fuss, as well.
