You offer her some pie

You follow the same route that took you to the dentist by way of the road construction area where you chatted with the nice young woman who was holding up the flag on your side of the single-lane traffic section. The roads to and through the hills take quite a beating, as do the bridges, so the county's always fixing something one place or another.

The ROAD CONSTRUCTION and FLAGGER AHEAD signs are still up as you approach the curve before the wide spot, and you're blessed enough to be at the head of the line when the flag turns to STOP. And there she is.

"Well hello, sweetie, nice to see you again," you say. "Am I catching you close to lunch break?"

"Oh, hi, ma'am," she says, returning your smile. "Yes, you might be the last car through for an hour n'a half or so."

"Well, hey, can I take you to lunch, I still owe you a piece of pie. There's the Atomic Truckstop, that's close, or there's Lupita's right across the highway, if you're partial to Mexican."

She blinks and her broad, sun-touched face goes blank for a moment. "Sure. Wait for me on the far side, I'll be there in ten-fifteen minutes." She smiles, nods, and straightens up her orange safety helmet.

"Oh, bless you, sweetie," you tell her. "It's good to have folks like you looking after us. Oh by the way, I'm Mary. Mary Forbes. What's yours?"

"Jennie, ma'am, Jennie Beth Jones, my ma calls me Jennie Bee."

"Oh, that's sweet," you say.

Jennie's walkie-talkie crackles. She steps back and acknowledges it. She gives you another smile, then turns the sign to SLOW.

"Come on, come on, last group before we close up for noon!" Jennie calls.

You blow her a kiss before you put your car in gear.