Last Slice of Pie (Starving for Southern Book 2)

by Kathryn Andrews

  Me. This only happens to someone like me. I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole.

  From behind me, Marie calls out, “Oh, come on. It was funny.”

  But I don’t stop. I just can’t.

  To hell with both of them.

  Chocolate Chip Bundt Cake

  I KNEW SHE was here. I could feel it, but I couldn’t openly look for her without making it too obvious I was looking for someone. Discreetly and quickly, I scanned through every person I could out in the audience. So many faces, young and old, but not the one I had been hoping for, which left me feeling disappointed.

  That is until her spectacular display in front of most of the town.

  The anxiety I had felt prior to being here today dissipated in a flash, just like the flash of those squirrels. I chuckle to myself. In its place, a rightness settled into my chest, knowing I’ve got this, and I couldn’t help but smile.

  Her eyes met mine, narrowed, and then she whipped around to leave, so fast her hair flew out behind her. I drank in the sight of her, from her blonde hair down to her flip-flop-clad feet as she stormed away. I can’t say I blame her; had it been me, I would have left too. That said, she can run, just like she’s doing, but she can’t hide. I’m glad I came today, and now I know what I need to do. It’s finally time, and I don’t intend for any more of it to go by without her.

  “As I was saying . . .” The mayor clears his throat to start again, the crowd smiling and laughing along with him.

  I have to forcefully tear my gaze off her retreating back, slip into my required role, and return my attention to the ceremony. Thankfully it started at ten, and I can’t imagine it lasting too long; I was told thirty minutes. It’s scorching hot out here, everyone is sweating, and the gnats have started to swarm.

  I’ve never minded being out in public to meet fans. As much as I’ve let the world know I’m there to work and only work, the media and the fans are two completely different things. The fans, I’m so appreciative of for their continued support both on and off the field, and I always do and always will stop to shake someone’s hand or take a photo. It makes me proud and humbled, and I often remind myself that greatness is not what I have, but what I give. Giving back to those who are always giving to me inspires all of us, and it feels like the least I can do, which is why I haven’t minded sitting here for the last hour and a half signing things and taking photos.

  “Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” I hear as I wave goodbye to the boy and his mom currently at my signing table. From behind them, Marie Michaels steps up and tilts her head to the side as she and I both take in the changes from the last ten years. She looks older, different, but in a good way.

  “Marie, how are you?” I give her a close-lipped smile as she shoves her hands into the back pockets of her shorts. She doesn’t know I know she works with Lexi. James told me a while back, so I find it endearing that she’s here in front of me. We both know she’s not here to see me. Judging by the ring on her finger, which flashed at me two seconds ago, she’s married and couldn’t care less about me. This is all for Lexi.

  “I’m livin’ the dream,” she says. There’s a little edge to her tone, and it makes me smile bigger.

  “I’m happy to hear that. Thanks for coming out. It’s nice to see another familiar face.” I lean forward with my elbows on the table. Between my fingers is a black Sharpie, and I twirl it.

  “You look taller.” Her eyes scan over my face, my shoulders, and down my arms.

  “I am. I grew another two inches when I was nineteen.” The growth spurt was a surprise and very much a delight to the coaching staff at the University of Florida. As I grew taller, my arms grew longer, and in many ways the quarterback coach was able to tweak the drills we had been running to take my fundamentals and mechanics to the next level.

  “Are you planning on stopping by the house while you’re in town?” she asks, straight to the point and watching me for any type of reaction.

  “I am.”

  Instead of responding, her eyes spark and her lips compress, and with that one inflection, I hear her loud and clear.

  “Besides, James would kick my ass if I didn’t stop in and check up on her.” I give her my best grin, but she doesn’t take the bait. Those who are enamored by my position and title usually waver when I smile, and it’s good to see that Marie is not. She’s true to Lexi, and I find comfort in this. I’ve often wondered who’s in Lexi’s life and if she has the support she needs, especially since GiGi died.

  “I would say it’s nice to see you, but I’m not so sure yet.” She smirks a little.

  “I guess that’s fair.”

  We stare at each other for a beat longer until her eyes flit to the table, travel over the homemade barbecue sauce someone brought me, and land on the glossy eight-by-ten photos of me in action throwing the ball. She reaches down and slides one toward me to sign, so I uncap the marker and slash my autograph across it. I pick it up, our eyes meeting and holding again as she takes it from me and hugs it to her chest.

  “So, yeah, speaking of James . . . if you hurt her again, I’ll be sure to tell him, and this right here”—she taps the back of the photo—“it will look lovely on the dartboard at The Roundup.”

  With that she gives me one more smile, albeit a sarcastic one, and then saunters off.

  All I hear echoing through my mind is the word ‘again’.

  Again.

  Damn, she hit mark, and I’m not sure she even knows it.

  Hearing that word felt like being struck in the chest with a rock from a slingshot, and the discomfort lingers with me long after the last person walks through the line to meet me, while I pack up and say my farewells, and as I climb into my truck to drive the familiar path back to the house of my childhood.

  What did she mean by ‘again’?

  It could be a number of things. So many times I’ve imagined what seeing Lexi again would be like, but that one word makes me acutely aware that this may not go like I want it to.

  Well, no turning back now.

  The town looks good, not that I didn’t think it would, but it looks well-loved over the last ten years and not run-down in the slightest.

  Over and over, I pass places I had forgotten about, smiling at the memories that come flooding back. From the diner to the coffee shop, the post office, and even the urgent care, all of them have stories to tell, and I realize all of my stories have Lexi in them.

  Letting out a deep breath, I shake my head.

  I am an idiot.

  I’ve known this for years, but she knows me, too, and she has to know why it’s been this way. If anyone will understand, it’s going to be her.

  Pulling onto the driveway, I stop at the entrance to scan the property and immediately spot changes. Most noticeable is that the driveway is now lined with a split rail fence, and it’s covered in a green leafy vine I’m certain is honeysuckle or jasmine. I saw she sells honey on her website for Firefly Kitchen, so I’m not surprised she would plant this.

  As I roll down the window, an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia hits me as I breathe in the humid summer air. It smells like grass, warm and fresh, like home, a home I never wanted to recognize as such. Now that I’m here, though, I do.

  Glancing to the right, I see she’s replaced the mailbox. It’s oversized and black, and there are fireflies painted down the side of it. Next to it is an old tree stump. It was our bus stop, and it’s also the place where I first met James and got to see Lexi, I mean really see her in the light of day. I knew then that she was someone who was going to be important to me, even though I didn’t want her to be.

  I was sitting by myself on the stump, waiting for the school bus, when I heard them approaching. I glanced up and watched as a woman walked with the boy I knew was James and Lexi, the girl who’d sat with me while I cried. I said nothing, and I couldn’t help but notice how pretty she was.

  “Hey, Bryan,” she said to me. My eyes flashed to hers as al
l three of them stared at me. I didn’t really understand the expression on her face, but thinking back, I’m certain it was wariness mixed with hope . . . hope for a new friend.

  “Hey you,” I said quietly before looking down at my shoes—old shoes that were dirty and had a hole in the toe.

  “Bryan!” James said next to her. “This is going to be awesome! You can sit next to me on the bus this year.” He started jumping around, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Hey, what about me?” Anger and disappointment flashed across her face.

  “Oh, Lexi, us boys have to stick together,” he taunted, smirking at her while I still said nothing, and that’s exactly what we did.

  James and I became inseparable after that day. We were placed in the same class, and our fate was sealed. We rode the bus together, sat together at lunch, played together after school, and all the while there was Lexi sitting off to the side. I wanted to include her, and sometimes we did, but he was my best friend and I didn’t want to do anything to change that.

  It was always just James and me, at least that was what I told myself, but after all this time, I know it wasn’t.

  As the bus pulled up that day, GiGi reached into her apron pocket and grabbed her camera. Every year on the first day of school, she took their picture, and this year was no different, except now and every year after, I was in the photo too.

  Taking in a deep breath, I let go of the memory, ease up off the brake, and begin to make my way up the drive. It’s funny—I always knew I would see Lexi again, knew our paths would cross, most likely because of James; I just never thought it would be here.

  I wanted away from this place so bad, for so many reasons, mainly because Cole was here and I never wanted to see him again, but I think my prejudices and ambitions skewed the reality of what I thought this home represented. When looking at it now, it’s not discomfort I see—it’s contentment.

  Approaching the house, I see Lexi sitting out on the front steps. She must have heard me coming up the drive, or maybe Marie called her, and although I’ve had ten years to think about what I’m going to say to her, I find myself suddenly nervous and at a loss.

  Occasionally, photos of her would show up or James would share one with me, but none of them prepared me for the woman she is now. In many ways, she was still a girl when I left, but not anymore.

  I park next to another truck off to the side and see a decal on the driver’s side door that says, Tadlock Roofing Company. I glance up at the house, and sure enough, there on the back side, two guys are working. I can’t imagine how much it costs her to maintain this house.

  Climbing out, I follow through with a ritual I’ve done for as long as I can remember to calm my nerves. I take two deep breaths and swallow once. I don’t know why I’m so nervous, but I am.

  As I approach her, she looks up, and her beautiful light eyes lock with mine. Something deep inside me shifts and settles. I feel like for years I have been running—running from the pain of my mother’s death, running from my childhood memories with Cole, and well . . . just running from here. I don’t even really know where I was trying to run to, and it doesn’t really matter. I just needed something different, somewhere different, and it wasn’t going to be here.

  For so long I have been trying to find a place of acceptance, a place for me. Yes, everyone knows I’m a great football player, and everyone loves that guy. It was a perfect means to an end to get the hell out of here, but seeing Lexi again, a peace I have been searching for so desperately trickles through my veins. I knew it was her; it’s always been her, and it’s my fault we have this huge gap of missed time.

  I can’t read the expression on her face. In the midst of all this, I was hoping she would be happy to see me, but maybe she’s not. I feel the air being sucked out of my lungs the longer we stand facing each other. I am actually beginning to think it was a really bad idea coming back here, but then again, I had to face her at some point. It’s been too long.

  Watching her beautiful face, I see her chin quiver slightly, and then her eyes fill with unshed tears. My stomach drops. Oh man. I have no idea what to say or do. I can’t read her anymore. Is she happy I’m here or is she mad? Does she want me to stay or go? All I can do is stare at her, say nothing, and wait for her to take the lead.

  “Hey, Bryan,” she finally whispers, letting out a deep sigh and blinking to clear her eyes.

  “Hey, you,” I calmly say back.

  She clasps her hands in front of her, propping her elbows on her thighs. She’s changed her clothes, now wearing cutoff denim shorts with a Firefly Kitchen T-shirt, and her hair is pulled up into a ponytail. She looks casual; she looks perfect.

  “Congratulations on your award. What you’ve done for our community means a lot to the people around here.”

  Taking compliments has never been my thing, so I just shrug my shoulders and then change the subject.

  “I like what you’ve done with the place.” I look around and see she recently painted the house, refinished the porch, and has several pots overflowing with flowers. It’s so Lexi.

  “Thanks. How long are you in town for?” she asks, and my eyes slide back to her.

  “Just today. We fly out in the morning.”

  “Right,” she says, standing and brushing off her shorts. “Well, you came all this way, so you may as well come on in and have a slice of pie.”

  Homemade Southern Barbecue Sauce

  I CAN’T BELIEVE he’s here. In. My. Home.

  I can’t believe I almost cried.

  And I don’t even know why. It’s like years and years of pent-up emotions over him, losing GiGi, James being gone, me embarrassing myself at the ceremony—all of it just bubbled to the top and tried to spill over. I’m sure he thinks I’m just a stupid girl. After all, I did see the look of horror-turned-pity on his face.

  Oh well. I am who I am.

  As I move around the kitchen, I do my best to play it cool, to look calm and collected, but all I can think about is how he’s here, finally here, in my house, and he looks so much better than I could have ever imagined.

  Don’t get me wrong—I’m still angry. I can’t believe for so long I allowed myself to have hearts in my eyes and claimed unrequited love, because now that just feels childish and dumb. We’re grown adults, and adults know better . . . right? He may be here now, checking in on me to report back to James, but he’ll leave, just like he’s always done. Only this time, I refuse to be hurt by him, or should I say, by myself. He’s never promised me anything, so technically he’s never done anything wrong. This fantasy, the illusion of us—I clearly built that up in my head and it’s clearly one-sided, so I’m done. I’m done making this into something more than it is.

  “It’s strange not seeing GiGi here,” Bryan says quietly, his fingers playing with the glass of sweet tea I set in front of him. His voice is deep and resonates with a dormant familiarity. If my soul were to awaken, I imagine it would feel something like this, and I don’t welcome the sensation. I don’t want it to recognize anything; there’s no point.

  Stealing a glance at him, I see he’s looking around the kitchen. It’s vastly different from when he was here before, what he remembers.

  Once Firefly Kitchen became a real business where I began selling items to people other than the locals in town, I had to update and make changes in order to obtain certification to be a commercial kitchen. All of the appliances are new along with the countertops and even the flooring, the biggest change being that business food must remain separate from personal food. As such, I gutted the mudroom off the back of the kitchen, expanded it, and added a large commercial refrigerator, freezer, and built-in shelving for storing our jarred pie fillings, jams, jellies, and honey. I love the setup and have made no secret of the fact that I love going to work every day. I’m proud of it and proud of myself. It’s my dream kitchen. Anything that’s left over, we store in the barn.

  “Yeah, I know. Every now and then, during different times of the yea
r, something will trigger a memory, and I expect to turn around and see her standing there, only she’s not.” I shrug one shoulder and go back to rolling out the dough in front of me. I have a slice in the refrigerator that I could have served him—I always do—but since I have dough ready and plenty of fillings to choose from, a fresh-baked pie seems like the better choice. Plus, he can take the leftovers with him when he goes.

  “Any specific flavor you’re craving today?” I ask as I shift the rolling pin so it lifts the dough off the counter, and then I transfer it to a white ceramic pie dish.

  “No. I know whatever you make will taste amazing.”

  His eyes have found their way back to watching me across the large kitchen island. His kind words mess with my insides, and I rub my hands over the flour on the workspace to ground me before pressing the dough evenly into the bottom and sides of the dish.

  My eyes flip up to his. “I watched your interview.”

  “You did?” His brows rise.

  “Yep. Smart decision on your part to answer that you prefer pie over cake.” I flash him a smile as I turn to walk into what I’ve officially started calling the gift shop and grab a large pie filling jar labeled Meyer Lemon Shaker Pie. As a kid, Bryan always loved citrus fruits, so I think this bright lemon marmalade will be perfect for him. Plus, it’s not a pie you regularly find on a restaurant menu. With six mature lemon trees outside that tend to gift me fruit year-round, it has become one of my more popular sellers.

  “Well . . .” He chuckles. “It’s the truth. I really like what you’ve done with the kitchen.”

  “Thanks. I love how the updates have turned out,” I say while popping the seal on the jar and walking back to the workstation.

  My eyes briefly flit to him. It’s so strange to see him sitting at the kitchen island. He’s watching me, and I have a hard time looking back at him. It’s not that I’m overly embarrassed anymore from earlier—well, maybe a tiny bit; I just feel overwhelmed and a little like this whole scenario is surreal.