"I'm pretty sure this person needs no introduction," Insu Park, the mayor of Hopewell, Pennsylvania, announced, motioning to the end of the table set on the front of the stage.

The denizens of Hopewell had gathered on a Tuesday evening---foregoing "Wheel of Fortune" and reruns of "Golden Girls"---for a planning board meeting. That the meeting had drawn a sizeable crowd said something about the priorities of the small town in picturesque Bucks County, one hour north of Philadelphia. Measures that concerned the good of the whole community outweighed buying a vowel and following the dating mishaps of a group of senior citizens. Especially when the meeting came with the promise of Frank Pulaski in person!

"Even so, Gloria, would you like to say some words first?" The mayor nodded to a red-headed woman seated in the front row of folding chairs set up in the aging town hall.

Gloria Pulaski, the queen bee of Hopewell, could be counted on to organize everything from fund-raising pancake breakfasts to the weekly farmers' market. She even crocheted brightly colored hats for all the newborns in the community.

On tonight's occasion, Gloria smiled but shook her head no-thanks. "I'm sure that Frank, like all my children, is quite capable of speaking up. Frank," she prompted. She might let him talk, but she still was his mother.

The son nodded with a smile. "Thanks, Mom. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Frank, Frank Pulaski, and I'm delighted to be back in Hopewell after all this time. I'm here today with Ted Kauffman, our architect, and Janice Crown, our legal counsel, to talk about the proposal for a new brewpub for Hopewell. As you all probably know from speaking with my mother"---a few twitters were heard---"after graduating from UC Davis in their brewing and winemaking program, I worked for several breweries in Germany and Belgium before returning to the U.S. as the brewmaster for a craft brewery in California. That's when Lance and Leslie Havemeyer of San Francisco---"

"He sold his startup company and she's a hedge fund manager," Gloria interrupted. "What?" she looked askance when Frank grimaced. "I'm just filling everyone in."

"Thank you." Frank played nicely. "As I was saying, when the Havemeyers approached me about the brewpub that they wanted to launch here in Hopewell, I jumped at the chance. Talk about serendipity! This way I get to create my own craft beers and also give something back to the community that helped raise me. I could provide top-notch dining and drinking experiences, as well as create jobs and work hand in hand with local farmers to source the ingredients for our beer and the food. If all goes well, I'm hoping to grow our own hops and barley."

Frank's speech drew a loud round of applause.

"He certainly has a plan, and I'm not surprised. Why, I remember his dog walking business when he was in high school. Very organized, very responsible," Norman Trombo, the semi-retired veterinarian, added.

Norman's companion, Myrna Longfellow, whose devotion to Hopewell more than made up for her relative newbie status, patted his arm in approval. Then she turned to Gloria. "And he's such a good looking fellow, to boot."

Frank rubbed his nose to hide his embarrassment. The murmurings of his front-row fan club echoed off the wooden floors and high ceiling in the auditorium, and he couldn't help overhearing their comments. Not that Frank would ever admit it, but what they said was true---especially the looks.

Like all the Pulaskis, Frank had inherited his mom's red hair. But his was a rich mahogany, randomly tipped with a lighter shade akin to raspberry sauce. And standing at a lean six-foot, he combined a workman's strength---all that lugging kegs of lager around---with the refined palette of a Michelin three-star chef. Both attributes were a testament to his complete and utter dedication to his craft. His unassuming handsomeness and talent---a quiet charisma, if you will---made him both a pitchman's dream and the apple of his mother's eye. (Though when pushed, Gloria would insist that she loved all her children equally.)

"I've just got a few more things to say before I let my colleagues Ted and Janice"---Frank motioned to his left---"take over. First, I want to acknowledge a debt of gratitude to Walt Mason, the owner of Walt's Auto Body. The Havemeyers were so impressed by Walt and his long-standing contributions to Hopewell that I'm pleased to announce they've decided to name their enterprise after him---Mason's Brewery. I think that we can all agree that it's a fitting tribute to Walt and the history of Hopewell." He led everyone in a round of applause.

"I also want to personally thank Mr. Mason regarding an incident that occurred one summer, quite a number of years ago. You see, while my parents were on a cruise to Alaska, I drove their Buick Skylark. What can I say? Things happen when you're a teenager and trying to impress a girl. Walt not only let me pay the bill in installments---and I'm sure the total was much reduced---but he repaired the front right fender so that my parents never knew."

Gloria covered the side of her mouth and whispered to Myrna Longfellow, "So he thinks."

"As much as we all miss the services your business provided, you've told me on a number of occasions how much you're enjoying retirement," Frank continued. "At the very least, I'm glad your sale to the Havemeyers has helped make that transition possible. Now, I think it's only proper that you take a bow." Frank motioned for Walt Mason to stand.

Walt rose and waved his signature checkered wool driving cap. Slightly stooped but remarkably trim in his late seventies, he had sparkly green eyes and looked like a mischievous leprechaun, one who could charm the pants off you, not to mention win your money at cards. (It was all too true---the money part, not the pants. But since it was penny, nickel, dime stuff, no one seemed to mind.)

After Walt sat down again, Frank continued. "Without further ado, I'd like to pass the baton to Ted Kauffmann, our architect on the project, who'll walk you through the plans and share drawings of the interior and exterior. I know that most of you have already had a chance to look them over, but now you'll be able to ask Ted questions and get some more background. After which, Janice Crown, our legal counsel, can respond to any comments you may have in that department."

Frank sat back, crossed his arms over his blue dress shirt, and thanked his lucky stars that he was finished speaking. He knew that he'd ably done his bit. That wasn't bragging, more a rational evaluation. He could be as hard on himself as anyone---probably harder. Definitely harder. But public speaking and calling attention to himself in general weren't his thing. Leave him alone with the tools of his trade, his meticulous notebooks or, when possible, out in the fields tasting raw barley and talking with farmers. That was heaven. Was it any wonder that when he did allow himself a break from work---never a chore, more a passion---that he headed for the mountains to hike and camp under the open sky?

For now, he was content to listen to Ted explain how the combination brewery and brewpub would replace the existing auto body shop. There would be indoor dining and sampling of their craft beers at a spacious bar, as well as individual tables. A separate dining area, located up a set of open stairs, would accommodate functions and private parties. Outdoors, there would be a space for warm weather imbibing and eating, cordoned off with flowerbeds and planters and with decorative lighting enhancing the festive ambiance.

As he spoke, Ted projected the architectural plans and drawings on a screen behind him and highlighted how the whole structure would be light and airy, with high ceilings and expansive windows. Exposed spun-steel beams would instill a modern industrial look, but unpainted wood finishes would provide a natural, earthy component that blended with the organic nature of the drink and food. Finally, in a dramatic touch, the giant brewing vats themselves would be visible behind walls of glass.

"Most importantly, we want to retain the ethos of Mason's Auto Body, and in that spirit, you can see from this drawing of the facade that the signage for Mason's Brewery uses the same white on black font as the original sign. Moreover, the large front windows are arched at the top, calling to mind the bays in the old shop. And you remember the telltale dinging sound when you drove your car over the rubber cord?" There were nods all around. "Well, I even managed to track down the company who made that, and every time someone opens the front door to the building, you'll hear the same sound. So, Mason's Auto Body won't have disappeared, more like found a new life."

Frank saw that the last point really resonated with the crowd. These were people who had lived and worked in Hopewell a long time, the same generation as his parents and many who were their friends. For them, the town wasn't merely a zip code, more like an extended family.

The one person in the audience who was nearer his age was Robby Bellona. Robby had been the high school class cutup and good friend of Drew Trombo, Dr. Trombo's son. Robby had been texting all during Ted's presentation, and only when the building's boiler coughed loudly did he look up and take notice of his surroundings. At which point, he hightailed it out of the room. Frank laughed behind his hand. Robby owned the plumbing business in town, and he was clearly on call for the aging furnace. Then he caught a glimpse of another person around his age---a woman, someone who looked vaguely familiar but whom he couldn't quite place. It didn't help that the baseball cap she was wearing was pulled low over her face, obscuring her features, or that the man seated in front of her blocked any clear view. One thing was for sure though. She and Walt Mason were carrying on a quiet but intense conversation.

Toward the end of the Ted's presentation, he saw her get up and walk to the drawings posted on the side wall. Even then, he wasn't able to get a better look because of the way she cupped her chin and placed her fingers against her cheek while she studied the drawings. After a few minutes, she sat back down and melted into the crowd. If he and the mystery woman had met before, it had to have been in the distant past, Frank decided. Certainly, her oversized, olive-colored jacket and loose jeans didn't render any clues. And seeing as her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and covered by that cap, there was no way to distinguish its exact color except to say it was light. Mayor Park cleared his voice. "Thank you, Mr. Kauffmann. That was a very clear and detailed presentation. If anyone has any questions, now's the time to ask."

A number of people rose and spoke, mostly to voice their enthusiasm for the project. "I think it's wonderful that you're keeping Walt's presence intact by calling the new place Mason's Brewery," announced Gloria, who never attended a meeting where she didn't speak up.

"Here, here," and "Isn't that just perfect," echoed this sentiment.

The mayor waited for more questions, but near silence greeted him. Robby must have worked his magic because the furnace had stopped coughing and hummed discreetly in the background. The only sound in the auditorium came from the mayor's dog, a bull mastiff named Sheba, who was snoring under the table.

"If there are no other comments..." The mayor looked around the gathered crowd. The discussion had been animated enough that no one had wandered off to the refreshment table. Yet.

A lone hand went up toward the side of the auditorium.

"Yes?" Mayor Park said. "Maybe you could stand so that everyone can see you?" He smiled and encouraged with his hand.

Frank looked to where he was indicating. It was in Walt Mason's direction. Only it wasn't Walt who'd raised a hand.

It was the mystery woman. She scraped back her chair and rose. Even still, her slight frame was screened by the man seated in front. Mayor Park leaned to the side as if to get a better view. "You're Fredericka, correct?"

"That's right. I've only been in town a few months, but I think some of you might know me because I work for Robby Bellona."

"Yes, you installed my new washing machine, and it cleans just dandy," Mrs. Horowitz, the local piano teacher, piped up.

"Glad to hear. Any time," the woman answered.

"And you unblocked the oversized sink in my mud room. Too many baths for Sheba," Mayor Park added.

"Dog hair will do that."

Could it be? Frank wondered.

"You had a comment you wanted to make?" the mayor prompted.

"Yes." She strode over to where the drawings were posted. "About these plans. They show that the proposed new structure is going to be built in the overall area of the auto body shop. But if I read the plans correctly, you're not just talking about replacing the auto body shop itself, but the building that's connected to it. As I remember, the two share a wall." She looked toward the front.

Frank wished she'd take off that darn Yankees baseball cap, so he'd get a better look. It also didn't help that the Yankees were the evil empire as far as he was concerned.

"That's right," the architect agreed. "The auto body shop and the adjacent building are presently unoccupied and demolishing both will provide space for the brewery and the pub, while still maintaining enough of the surrounding area for parking and outside entertainment."

Her fists strained the pockets of her jacket. "Then I'm a little confused. The...ah...couple who purchased the auto body shop from Walt Mason. I'm sorry, but I can't recall their name."

"The Havemeyers, Lance and Leslie," Janice Crown, the lawyer supplied. Until this moment, she had remained silent, content to take notes on her laptop or stare at her French manicure. "Mr. Mason sold them his property about twelve months ago. I have a copy of the contract if you'd like to see it." She pulled out the relevant file from the stack placed next to her computer.

"No, that's not necessary. I believe you. But that still leaves one question."

"Yes?" Ms. Crown attempted a smile.

Fredericka pointed at one of the large drawings posted on the wall. Her nails were short and unadorned. "That's the original survey of the area, right? It shows the current structures, and if I'm not mistaken, it clearly indicates the owner of the connecting building as W. Mason."

There was something about the way she stood with her shoulders square and her hand forcefully directed that reminded Frank of someone, but he just couldn't pinpoint who.

"Yes, that's right. W. Mason. Obviously, Walter Mason. Is there a problem?" The lawyer sounded perplexed, if not a little irritated.

"The problem is that the W. Mason indicated on the connecting building is not Walter Mason."

Mayor Park looked over. "Walt, is that right?"

Mr. Mason nodded. "Yup, it stands for my twin brother Wendell."

Gloria turned around from the front row. "But I thought your brother's name was Dell?"

Mr. Mason nodded. "His real name was Wendell, but no one but our mom ever called him that. He was always known as Dell. Anyway, about the connecting building---it used to house a hardware store with an apartment on top. When our father died, he bequeathed the auto body shop to me and the connecting building to Dell. The apartment's where the two of us grew up."

"I remember now," Gloria said. "No one could ever tell the two of you apart when you were little. Didn't your mom insist on dressing you in blue while Dell wore red? Or was it the other way around?"

Mr. Mason chuckled. "You were right the first time. I was blue. That's probably why I like to wear plaid now." He winked.

Ms. Crown seemed flustered. "I'm confused. I assumed that W. Mason referred to you, Mr. Mason. You never mentioned anything to the contrary."

"You never asked," he said. The twinkle in his eye was more pronounced than ever.

"Well, I'm sure we can clear up this whole matter," she announced with the surety that lawyers are paid to demonstrate. "It's simply a matter of making a phone call, a minor delay if you will. You must have his contact information."

"Dell Mason died six months ago," the woman in the army surplus jacket explained. "I know this because, in addition to being Walt Mason's niece, I'm also Dell Mason's only child and heir. And, by the way, I have no intention of selling. In fact, I plan to reopen the hardware store and live in the upstairs apartment."

Talk about a surprise that could really gum up the whole project! Frank uncrossed his arms and sat forward. Which is when he got an inkling that he might be in for the second shock of the night.

As if on cue, Fredericka Mason took off her baseball cap and used it to fan herself. Her slim nose, delicate cheekbones and arched brows came into view. The family resemblance was unmistakable. But whereas Walt looked like a naughty gnome, she conjured the image of an ethereal woodland sprite.

Of course! Ricki. How could he have been so blind? And just like that, Frank remembered their kiss. Then she unzipped her jacket, and it flapped it open.

Which is when Frank got his third surprise of the evening.