Sweet as Pie

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  The bow bounced when she walked.

  He ate another bite of chicken pot pie.

  It tasted like glue.

  * * *

  It was lucky that Evans had driven to work today because it was raining when she left Crust—which matched her mood.

  Challenging anyone wasn’t like her; challenging Jake was unheard of.

  Even when he’d joked about her making chicken pot pies for his pregame meals, her first inclination had been to say yes, that she would absolutely do that—just tell her how many and how often. But then she’d seen that little glint in his eye that indicated he was teasing. She’d been down that road before—before she’d understood what that glint meant. He would ask for something ridiculous—clean his room or gas up his car—and yes girl would answer the call. Then he’d have to admit he was kidding, and she’d get red-faced, aware that she’d just shown how eager she was to please him.

  Awkward, but that would have been preferable to the clash of the decade.

  She wasn’t even sure who had been more wrong—Jake for acting like a caveman in charge of all other cave people or her for throwing the past in his face. After ordering him to eat his food while she and Able loaded the dishwasher, she’d returned to find him gone—the pie with him. Their relationship might be lost again, and this time permanently. Maybe she ought to call him.

  As if it knew she was thinking of it, Evans’s phone rang as she pulled her Honda CRV into the entrance of Bungalow Circle. Maybe it was Jake! Maybe he wanted to settle things between them, too. But no. Her mother. She let it go to voice mail. She wasn’t avoiding Anna-Blair, but it could wait until she changed from her rain-splattered clothes and made a cup of tea. Once settled on the sofa under a throw, she made the call.

  “Hello, Mama. Sorry I didn’t pick up. I was driving.”

  “That’s good. Don’t drive and talk. Were you out doing something fun?”

  “Just getting home from the shop.”

  “It’s late to be working.”

  “Early pickup order tomorrow.” Evans chose not to mention the hockey player pie-eating convention.

  “Have you seen Jake yet?” Anna-Blair had said yet because she couldn’t fathom a world where Jake and Evans would be in the same town and not get together. Her family must have known that she and Jake had not had as much contact during the last few years as they once had, but they probably marked it up to his marriage, their careers, the end of his marriage, and a hundred other things. She’d never discussed it with them and had been evasive when Jake was mentioned.

  “Yes. I’ve seen him a couple of times.” Three in fact. The first time for pie and apologies. The second, for pie and some Delta reminiscing. The third, for pie and ruining our friendship—again.

  “I called because I wanted to tell you I just talked to Christine.”

  Great. Jake’s mother. What fresh hell was about to be visited on her? Had he called and reported in about their dustup tonight?

  “You talk to Christine every day. She’s your best friend.”

  “True. But I wanted to tell you that we’re coming with her and Marc for Jake’s first home game—the preseason game with Vancouver.” No. No. Jake and I may or may not be speaking. At best, it will be awkward. At worst, humiliating—for me. “So, put it on your calendar so we can all go together. In ten days. You can do that, can’t you?”

  Not a chance. I’ll be in Boston making lobster pot pie for Harvard’s rowing team.

  “Of course I can. It’ll be good to see you.”

  “Great. Christine and Marc are staying with Jake, but I made a reservation for your father and me at the Laurel Springs Inn.”

  “You could have stayed with me.” Though she was grateful that wasn’t going to happen. She loved her 1940s bungalow, but it was small.

  Jake, on the other hand, probably had lots of room. She’d heard those condos were sweet—not that she expected to see it.

  “No,” Anna-Blair said. “We don’t want you to have to sleep on the sofa. We’re looking forward to a great weekend with all of us together—like we used to have.”

  “You bet!”

  Damn it all to hell.

  Chapter Eight

  “We have a grilled salmon with Greek spices and feta cheese,” the Hammer Time host said. It was Saturday night and Evans, Hyacinth, and Ava Grace had met for dinner to go over their fall fest plans. “The drink special is spiced apple margaritas. Stacy is your server and she’ll be right with you.”

  “He didn’t offer to bring us that drink,” Hyacinth said after he left. “I could use one after shoehorning Chloe Harper into her wedding dress. I swear, she’s gained ten pounds since her last fitting.”

  “Soup Carter isn’t old enough to serve alcohol. That’s why he’s a host.” Ava Grace knew everything that was worth knowing about everybody in Laurel Springs—and a whole lot that wasn’t worth diddly-squat.

  Evans drew her wrap around her. The heat had broken, leaving a whisper of fall in the air, but the cold weather that Jake hated was still a long way off.

  “I’m freezing my Southern ass off.” That’s what he had said nearly every time they’d talked when he was at the University of North Dakota and she was in culinary school. She would complain that it was muggy in New Orleans because it always was. Then they would laugh and spend the next hour expounding on the particulars of their lives—his sore ankle, her soufflé class, what they would eat when they were next together in the Delta. Tamales. Always tamales from Fat Joe’s—with Cokes in bottles when they were teenagers, and later, Abita beer—eaten at that outside picnic table that hadn’t seen new paint since 1987.

  And now she was never going to get that picnic table back. During the argument she’d felt that her reaction was valid, but she wasn’t so sure anymore. And even if it had been, had it been worth it?

  She still hadn’t heard from him.

  In the three days that had passed, she’d picked up the phone to call him more than once, but hadn’t followed through. She’d thought he might be here tonight, but there wasn’t a hockey player in sight. Maybe Claire’s plans for this to be the Yellowhammer hangout wasn’t working out. It was just as well. What would she say to him if she saw him?

  “Are you looking for someone?” Hyacinth interrupted her thoughts.

  “The waitress,” Evans lied. “And here she comes.”

  Once they had a whole pitcher of apple margaritas and had ordered food, Evans took a notebook from her bag. “Should we go ahead and get this done?”

  “I have something first.” Ava Grace pulled two envelopes from her bag and handed one to Hyacinth and one to Evans. “Claire came by my shop before she left town and asked me to give y’all these.”

  “What is it?” Hyacinth asked, already ripping the envelope open.

  “Yellowhammer season tickets. She gave us each two for all the regular season home games,” Ava Grace said.

  This meant Claire expected them to go to these games. Evans wasn’t sure how she felt about that. If she and Jake were no longer on speaking terms, did she really want to go see him play?

  “The preseason games are not included,” Ava Grace went on, “but she wanted us to have these so we could go ahead and get the games on our calendars.”

  Hyacinth leafed through hers. “Mother of Pearl! How many games do these people play?”

  “A lot,” Ava Grace said with a sigh. “It took me thirty minutes just to write them on my calendar.”

  Hyacinth tossed the envelope on the table and took a sip of her drink. “It won’t take me that long. In fact, it will take me no time.”

  Evans was afraid of that.

  “What do you mean, Hyacinth?” Ava Grace asked.

  “I mean I don’t need to put them on my calendar because I’m not going to any stinking hockey games.”

  “Now, Hyacinth.” Ava
Grace was the blue blood of the group and spent a great deal of energy trying to keep Hyacinth from causing herself trouble. “Claire was kind enough to give us the tickets and the seats are good. You know she wants the community to support the team. She’s been so supportive of us, the least we can do is go to some of these games.”

  Hyacinth rolled her eyes. “I guess. But you can believe it now or believe it later. I’m going to as few as I can get by with.”

  “Oh, come on,” Ava Grace coaxed. “You might have fun.”

  “How would you know?” Hyacinth said. “You’ve never been to a hockey game in your life. None of us have.” She gestured to the table with her glass.

  Oh, hell. Here it comes. Evans could feel it bearing down like a rickety wooden wagon on a country road.

  “Evans has,” Ava Grace said like she was delivering good news. “One of those Yellowhammers—Jake Champagne—is her friend from the Delta. She’ll want to go see him play. If nothing else, we should keep her company.”

  Hyacinth sat back, crashed her eyes into Evans’s, and smiled an evil little grin. “Are you, now?” She had the look of a vampire who smelled blood. “Why didn’t I know this?”

  Evans shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t think much about it.”

  Hyacinth put her elbow on the table, made a fist, and leaned her cheek on it. “Is that right? All anybody has talked about for months is hockey, hockey, hockey, Yellowhammers, Yellowhammers, Yellowhammers. And you never thought to mention that your friend was on the team. I wonder why.”

  Evans didn’t have an answer for that and it didn’t matter because Hyacinth plowed on.

  “Could it be that he’s an old boyfriend? Are you rekindling a romance?”

  “Give it up, Hyacinth. I can’t be your hookup for All Dressed in White.”

  Hyacinth’s fondest wish was to get on the reality show that went to bridal salons and filmed brides picking dresses. She had hounded the producers until they told her if she could come up with a high-profile customer, they would consider it.

  “Are you sure?” Hyacinth said. “A pro athlete ought to be famous enough.”

  “Of all the things I’m unsure of in life, I can promise you I won’t be buying a dress from you to marry Jake Champagne in.”

  “Too bad.” Hyacinth looked unconvinced.

  “If Jake gets engaged, I’ll pass that information right along to you.” That caused a little pang to radiate through Evans’s gut, but not nearly like the one she’d felt when he’d publicly proposed to Channing at her college graduation party. She supposed it would get easier and easier. By Jake’s fifth engagement, she probably wouldn’t feel anything at all.

  “That’s something.” Hyacinth brought her back from her mean thoughts.

  Evans opened her notebook. “Why don’t you tell us what you’re doing for fall fest?” It was time—past time—for a change of subject.

  “Sure. I’m having a photo booth with a graveyard theme.” Hyacinth was clearly pleased with herself. “I’ve pulled some shop-worn wedding dresses and bought some used tuxes from Goodwill. The idea is for people to do dead bride and groom pictures. Not everybody will go to all that trouble, but they can still use the photo booth in their regular clothes. Anybody who tweets a picture gets a chance to win a wedding dress—no expiration date.”

  Ava Grace looked a little panicked, and Evans got the idea she hadn’t planned much.

  “I’d like to have some live wedding background music,” Hyacinth went on. “I’m still working on that.”

  Evans was officially impressed. She hadn’t thought of music.

  “What are your refreshments?” Ava Grace asked.

  Hyacinth rubbed her hands together. “I’m having a wedding cake that looks like a haunted house with spiders, cobwebs, and a dead bride and groom topper.”

  Ava Grace’s eyes got wider with every word Hyacinth spoke. “Claire will love it—especially the tweeting part.”

  “You’ve gone all out,” Evans said. “My plans aren’t nearly that elaborate. I’m serving miniature pies, coffee, and hot chocolate. For my activity, I’m having cornhole. I ordered two boards last summer, one with a ghost and one with a pumpkin. At the end of the night I’ll give away a pie a month to the people with the three highest scores.”

  “That’s smart,” Hyacinth said. “A prize will get them back in the shop.”

  “I wish I had thought of something that smart,” Ava Grace said forlornly. “Oh. Here comes our waitress.”

  Once they were settled with their food, Evans got back on task. “Ava Grace, it’s your turn. What are you thinking of for fall fest?”

  Ava Grace frowned. “I don’t have everything worked out yet, but I thought maybe for refreshments doughnuts and cold spiced cider, since a lot of people will be serving hot drinks.”

  Evans nodded. “That sounds good. I’ve got a witch’s caldron punch bowl from last year if you want to borrow it.”

  Ava Grace brightened. “I would love that.”

  Hyacinth said, “You can use some dry ice to make it look spooky.”

  Ava Grace looked a little happier. “For large orders, Krispy Kreme will deliver, but I don’t know how many I need to plan on feeding since I’ve never done this before.” Heirloom had only been open since last December.

  “I can help you with that,” Evans said. “I’ll look back at how much food I served last year and we’ll figure it out.”

  “Thank you,” Ava Grace said.

  “What about your activity?” Hyacinth asked.

  “I was going to have a gallon jar of candy corn and let people guess how many pieces. Whoever wins gets a silver-plated vanity set.” She swallowed. “And the candy. They get the candy, too.”

  No one said anything for a moment.

  Then, Evans cleared her throat. “That’s a good start, but you really need something to get some attention for your shop—give people something to remember.” And doughnuts and candy corn weren’t going to do it.

  Ava Grace nodded. “I know. Y’all have such good ideas, but I couldn’t think of anything.”

  “An antique store is hard,” Hyacinth said kindly, “but we’ll figure something out. How about some kind of demonstration? Like how to cane a chair or refinish a table?”

  Ava Grace shook her head. “Those things take a lot of time. I don’t think people would want to stay in one spot long enough—especially people with children.”

  “And this is a family event, but there must be something,” Evans said. “How about someone who can appraise pieces that people bring in, like on Antiques Roadshow?”

  “No,” Hyacinth said. “We want people to buy Ava Grace’s merchandise, not try to sell their own.”

  And in that moment, Evans had an epiphany. “Ghost stories! We can find someone to tell ghost stories.”

  The two other women looked at her, interested.

  “Damn skippy!” Hyacinth said. “People love ghost stories. The ones where a ghost is haunting an object? That’s perfect for an antique store.”

  Ava Grace clapped her hands. “I would have never thought of it. I can get some books with regional stories to sell. And I have a costume from when I was a hostess for the historical homes Christmas tour my debutante year.”

  “Maybe we can pour fake blood all over you and give you some slash marks, like someone cut your throat!” Hyacinth’s eyes glowed with excitement, but Evans and Ava Grace were taken aback.

  “Uh, no,” Ava Grace said. “Too scary for the kids.”

  Evans nodded in agreement.

  “I guess you’re right,” Hyacinth admitted.

  “Now all we have to do is find someone who can tell ghost stories,” Evans said. “Do y’all know anyone?”

  “I do. I can do it.”

  The voice behind Evans might as well have been coming from a ghost for the
start it gave her. But there was no doubt who it was. Nothing like a Delta accent.

  She slowly turned and looked, just to make sure.

  Jake Champagne stood there with a chapped face, five o’clock shadow, and messy hair, his hands in the front pocket of his gold and black Alabama Yellowhammers hoodie. Despite the cooler temperatures, he wore shorts and Adidas slides.

  He’d never looked better—not at their junior-senior prom, not at Addison’s deb ball, not at his wedding, not ever—maybe because on those occasions, his smile hadn’t been for her. Was that smile an indication that he wasn’t mad at her, after all? Or was it window dressing for the tableful of women?

  Behind him, other hockey players filed past with Soup in the lead carrying a stack of menus. A couple of them waved to her. She waved back, but didn’t note their identities.

  Jake widened his eyes and let them go soft. “I know lots of ghost stories.”

  “What?” Evans had to ask because she could not have heard him correctly.

  “I know ghost stories aplenty.” Aplenty? Who used words like aplenty? Jake winked at her. “Evie, introduce me to your friends.”

  There was nothing else to do.

  “This is Jake Champagne. A Yellowhammers’ forward and my friend from back home. Jake, these are my friends Hyacinth Dawson and Ava Grace Fairchild.”

  “Ladies.” He smiled and let his eyes sparkle. Damn him.

  He pranced up and down the table shaking hands and making eyes like both acts would get him into heaven, laughing that charming laugh that made people want to fetch him a drink, lend him their beach house, and put him in their will.

  Evans jumped back in before Hyacinth could become too charmed by him. Hyacinth was a tough nut to crack, but if she decided she wanted Jake Champagne, she wouldn’t stop until she was standing at the altar beside him in one of her own dresses or they were both dead.

  “Hyacinth owns a bridal shop and Ava Grace has a wonderful antique store. Remember them when you do your Christmas shopping.”

  “Sounds great. Wedding dresses and sideboards for everybody.”