After food processors and a warming tray had been purchased . . . after the plumbing was turned on, repaired, and turned on again (a process that took almost two weeks) . . . after the building inspector and the food inspector had given Mum the go-ahead . . . opening day for the Cornish Eatery was set for August 13.

The entire Grover family would need to work at the shop until Mum had a sense of how many pasties she would need to make each day. If there turned out to be an enormous demand for the meat pies, Mum would try to hire someone in town to help out — hopefully Rena. (The bank had refused Rena the loan for her pet-grooming / clothing store. As Sami told it, the bank manager had said, “Ms. Doshi, if you’re going to establish a successful business, you have to understand people in these parts. None of us would be caught dead putting a coat on our dog or cat — especially during these hard times.”) So now Rena was trying to come up with a new way to make a living.

Things seemed to be moving along swimmingly by opening day.

Clem was using the food processors to mix extra pasty dough. Anneth was rolling dough into flats and placing them into the refrigerator to chill. Lowen and Sami, who was often at the shop when her mother was, too, were cutting potatoes and onions for the filling. Dad was cutting the steak and moving cooked pasties from the oven to the warmer. Mum was layering new meat pies: onion, potato, meat; and Rena (being a vegetarian — all the Doshis were) was layering vegetarian pies: onion, potato, carrot, and mushroom. Then both women crimped the edges and popped the pasties into the oven. The whole room smelled of buttery piecrust and roasted onions.

Sami, as directed, propped open the front door to let some of the heat — and the delicious aroma of the pasties — escape. “Whoa,” she said. “Why is there such a long line at the Busy Bee?”

Mum, who was adjusting the drink selections in the glass cooler (not that they needed any adjusting), said, “Go check it out, Lowen, and report back.” Lowen finished up writing the definition of pasty on their chalkboard, then slid off his chair and walked out front. Sami followed.

Just like Sami said, there was a long line of Millvillians outside the Busy Bee. Some, like Mr. Avery and the plumber who had worked on the shop, Lowen recognized. Others he didn’t.

It didn’t make sense. Sure, there was often a crowd of people early in the morning. The quilters, the Knights, the bird-watchers, the town council, and the poets all chose to have their meetings over breakfast at the Busy Bee. They often popped their heads into Mum’s shop to see how she was progressing, and most seemed excited about the new lunch shop opening soon.

But the Busy Bee closed at 10:30 a.m. It was nearly 11:00 now.

Sami pointed to a standing sign next to the long line. It read, THE BUSY BEE NOW SERVES LUNCH. FREE MACARONI AND CHEESE TODAY!

Lowen quickly turned so no one in line could see his reaction. He ran back into their shop, shut the door behind him, and exploded: “They’re serving lunch now!”

“And offering free food,” Sami added. “Comfort food.”

Everyone huddled around Mum, who slowly collapsed into one of the two chairs around the table in front.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Rena said.

Mum shook her head as if to shake away a bad dream. “Why would Mrs. Corbeau do this?”

“The scarcity principle,” said Sami.

Everyone turned to look at her.

“The what?” asked Anneth.

“The scarcity principle. It brings out competition. Mrs. Corbeau likely believes that there is a limited number of dollars that can be spent on eating out in this town. She’s afraid that you’ll take money from her. Therefore, she’s going to compete with you directly by offering lunch.”

Clem looked at Sami.

“Online psychology class,” she said.

“Sure,” said Rena bitterly. “They want families to move into Millville so they can make a living, so they can keep their school and their sports teams running, so they can look out their windows and see something prettier than the foreclosed houses. But how do they think this is going to work if they won’t help us make a living, too?”

“I’ll go next door and talk to them,” Dad said.

“No, don’t, Weaver. It’s up to me to show them that this little town will be better off if we have two good restaurants.”

“How are you going to do that?” asked Lowen.

“I don’t know,” Mum said, getting to her feet. “But the first step is to serve the bloody best pasties we can make!”

During the first two hours, the other new families popped in to congratulate the Grovers and to celebrate the opening. Even though the Cornish Eatery was technically a take-out shop, and there was only one table in the front, everyone ate their first pasties on the premises, making the opening feel more like a party. Some of the little kids sat right down on the floor.

The Greys, who thoughtfully brought an extra oscillating fan to counter the rising summer temperatures, raved about the pies. “I’ll have to find a way to sneak out during my lunch break to stock up on these pasty pies,” Mr. Grey said. Mr. Grey was actually Dr. Grey — a veterinarian — and he planned to open a veterinary office in town. When Rena told him about her failed business plan, Dr. Grey suggested she try selling some of her wares in his office.

Kate Kelling brought the toddlers and Mason. Eden had already started her job as a seaplane pilot, flying fishermen into the more remote lakes. “But I’ll take one of these meat pasties to go,” Kate said, wiping one of the twin’s faces with a napkin. “Eden will love it!” After eating two pasties, Mason convinced Clem to go off with him to play in a pickup soccer game.

Lowen hoped Clem had noticed all the effort he was putting into watching videos and would invite him — but that didn’t happen.

That’s OK, thought Lowen. Because the only new family that hadn’t arrived yet was the Muñoz family, and if Luna showed up and Clem wasn’t around, well, that was certainly all right with him.

Unfortunately that didn’t happen either. Only Mr. Muñoz (who was a freelance journalist) and the other two kids (Mateo and Diego) came in. After Mum told them that pasties are even better reheated the next day, they bought a half dozen to go.

Despite the unexpected competition from the Busy Bee, opening day was lively, and celebratory, and fun.

The second day was different.

The food was prepared, the restaurant was prepped, but then the Grovers waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Mum wiped the counters over and over again. Anneth checked the napkin holders, but they were still quite full. Lowen swept the floor while sweat rolled down his back, despite the stale breeze provided by the fan.

Only one customer came that afternoon, and that was Dylan. He showed up a half hour before closing and paid for his pasty in nickels. All nickels. Then he sat at the table and scarfed down his pasty, telling Mum that her pie was the best food he’d ever tasted. “And my gram was a good cook,” he added.

By that time, the embarrassment of having no other customers, of having stood around for so long and watched first concern and then feelings of rejection grow in his mother’s eyes, made Lowen irritable. So did Dylan’s method of payment. Obviously Dylan was using his hard-earned money. His generosity should have made Lowen feel warmly toward him. But it didn’t. If possible, Lowen felt even more wary of this kid.