Sweet as Pie

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  “Yes,” Evie said quietly. “I know my way around. I’ll find the other things we need.”

  Once the happy clerk left, Evie hissed at him, “You’ve lost your mind. You do not need all that. You just bought a four-hundred-dollar paella pan and a fondue pot for God only knows how much.”

  He smiled at her. “Not only God. I guarantee you Millicent knows. How else would she ring it up?”

  “You’re not going to cook paella.”

  “I might. Or maybe I’ll have company—someone who wants to cook paella.” He wasn’t sure what paella was, but Evie would know. He winked at her.

  “Ah.” Her tone was flat and her cheeks went pink. “I see.” What did she see? Was she mad? Was he being an asshole, assuming she would cook paella for him?

  “I would help. I can chop, and I’d wash all the dishes.”

  She ran her hand over her face and came up with a smile. Okay, not mad. “It’s your money. Do you want to pick out your other things?”

  “No. You’re the expert. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll let you pick.” Off she went. “Don’t forget the toaster,” he called after her. She waved her hand in the air without looking back. He was fairly sure that meant shut up, not goodbye.

  He wandered around until he found something interesting—a display of all manner of neat little machines that he had never heard of. He didn’t want an electric pasta maker, but its existence made the world better.

  Then he saw it—the combination coffee/espresso maker. He fell for it immediately. Who wouldn’t? With all its nozzles, knobs, and gauges, it looked a like a toy spaceship—probably for time travel.

  “Please tell me you’re not thinking of buying that thing,” said the voice behind him. He felt the smile coming on before he turned around.

  “Got to have it, Evie.” After all, he’d bought those pots with the fancy handles for her. He deserved this.

  “You don’t even drink coffee.”

  “My parents do.” You do.

  “You have a Keurig.”

  “It’s not nearly as cool as this.”

  “This costs two thousand dollars.” Did it? He smiled. She went on, “You don’t care, do you?”

  “Not at all.” He’d spent a lot of money, mostly on other people. He’d been happy to do it, but it was his turn. Though it made no sense, this was the first thing he’d truly wanted since the Lamborghini. And he was going to have it.

  “I suppose you want to be able to show it off to your paella-making company.”

  “Exactly.” He winked at her again. “That’s the spirit.”

  She shook her head. “I was going to ask you to come look over the other things I picked out before I spend your money, but I can see it doesn’t matter to you that a whisk costs twenty dollars.”

  It did not.

  After Millicent presented him with the staggering bill and ran his credit card, she said, “I hope y’all will be as happy with your purchases as you are with each other.”

  Happy with each other? He didn’t know what to say to that, and Evie looked a little taken aback, too.

  He found his voice. “Thank you for your service, Millicent.” As soon as it came out of his mouth, he realized it was the wrong thing.

  “Uh, right,” she said. “You’re very welcome. We’ll have everything ready for your interior designer.”

  Once they were out of the store, he started laughing like he was at the circus. It took her a second, but Evie joined in. “Why did I just say that like she was a Navy SEAL? ‘Thank you for your service, ma’am!’” He saluted. “I guess I was surprised she thought we were married. I could have told her you were in my wedding, all right. You just weren’t the bride.”

  And in a split second, the laughter died on Evie’s face. “Jake, I wasn’t.”

  She hadn’t been in that Cecil B. Demille production of a wedding? At least fourteen women had marched down that aisle wearing dresses the color of Bazooka bubble gum; surely Evie had been one of them.

  “You weren’t? I could have sworn...” How could he have missed that?

  Evie smiled a sad little smile. “To be fair there was a lot of pink tulle and ruffles going on with those dresses. It was hard to see who was under all that.”

  “That’s the truth. But you’re Channing’s cousin.”

  She shrugged. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I was in the wedding. My sisters were. Your sister was. But it was an all Omega Beta Gamma cast. I didn’t make the cut.”

  She began to walk toward the car and he fell into step with her.

  “I guess I had a lot going on—getting ready to move to Nashville, the honeymoon, getting enough groomsmen lined up for all those pink women. But I swear, Evie. I thought you were one of them. I can’t believe it.”

  “Oh, you can believe it, all right. If you don’t, ask my mother. I didn’t care, but she did. She said if it weren’t for you and your parents, she would have refused to go to the wedding.”

  He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Channing was always accusing me of that. Maybe that’s why I’m divorced.”

  When they reached the car, Evie stopped and met his eyes. “I’ll tell you why you’re divorced. You’re divorced because Channing is a spoiled brat who got distracted.” As soon as she’d spoken, her face went pink and she put her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  He liked that she’d said it. He was over the whole thing, but that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate a little righteous indignation on his behalf. “Hey, close or not, she’s your blood, not mine. If you can’t say it, who can?”

  Evie got this prissy little look on her face. “Nevertheless, one shouldn’t speak disparagingly about the love of someone’s life.”

  “One shouldn’t, should one?” Jake said.

  Evie shook her head. “Me. I. I shouldn’t have said it.”

  “Oh, who cares? She wasn’t the love of my life anyway. I just thought she was.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing? People are always saying, ‘I just thought I was in love. I never was.’ It’s the same thing. If you think you’re in love, you are.”

  “I guess so.” He reached to open the passenger door for her, but stopped. An image of Evie at the wedding came rushing back.

  “You served the cake at the reception, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. And what a cake it was—what with the bridges, satellite cakes, and edible glitter.” She sounded amused, cheerful. But she couldn’t be. Even he knew that though people acted like it was an honor to be asked to serve the bride’s cake, the job really went to someone who wasn’t quite good enough to stand at the altar with the bride.

  It must have been humiliating for her.

  He was as much to blame for the oversight as Channing—more. Evie was one of his best friends—maybe his best friend. If he’d known Channing hadn’t included her, he would have insisted.

  Wouldn’t he?

  No.

  He wouldn’t have given it another thought. Jake wasn’t proud of it, but there it was. As long as Channing was getting what she wanted, he was happy. He had never considered another thing—even making Evie feel like she meant less than nothing to him. But hadn’t he already done that—long before the wedding? With the calls he didn’t return, the texts he barely answered, the forgotten birthdays?

  He had been the biggest dick in Dick Land. Still was. Oh, he’d been sorry before, but not sorry enough. He might have meant it when he apologized, but it was the timing that was the problem—that and the motive. He may as well have said, “I know I treated you like shit, Evie, but now that I’m going to be living where you are, could you pretty please forgive me? And while you’re at it, forget it happened and make me a pie.”

  He closed his eyes—from shame and because he didn’t deserve t
o even look at her. “Evie, I am so, so sorry.”

  “We’ve been through this.”

  “No. Not by half, we haven’t.” He opened his eyes and placed his hands on her shoulders. She was trembling—or was it him? “There’s no excuse for how I turned my back on you. I put you in a box, stored you on a shelf, and thought you’d be there when I got ready to let you out again.” He moved his hands against her. It felt good.

  She put up a hand and started to shake her head.

  “No. Don’t tell me it was all right.”

  He locked eyes with her and they were quiet for a moment.

  “At the very least, I should have come to my senses after the divorce. I should have thrown myself on your doorstep and begged you to forgive me.” But, no. He’d used all his energy chasing ass and drinking. “It never hit me until now—how it must have made you feel, how it would have made me feel.”

  She didn’t blink and then she nodded. “Our relationship was always like a magic carpet ride for me,” she said quietly. “Sometimes we flew high and fast, sometimes steady and slow. But it was always there. We were always on that carpet together. I guess the hardest part was that I thought we had just entered a steady, slow phase, but I looked up one day and had to face that I was on the ground—alone. There was no carpet and there was no Jake.”

  Broken heart. People said it all the time. He’d never understood it, not even the day Channing had thrown him out of the house. He’d come closer when Blake died, but even that didn’t equal this, and he understood why.

  A heart could only be really broken when you were to blame.

  Evie let out a ragged breath, closed her eyes, and swallowed. He realized she was swallowing tears and he wondered how many times she’d cried because of him.

  His heart went from jagged pieces to crushed into powder.

  He folded her against him and cradled her head against his neck. “I’d give anything—anything—if I’d never let you go.”

  She startled and then went still for a beat before pulling away enough to look up at him, her eyes wide and questioning. “What...what is it that you mean, Jake?”

  What did he mean?

  He let his eyes drop to her mouth—the mouth that always smiled at him, but wasn’t smiling now. He could answer her question by bringing her mouth to his. He knew instinctively that she would welcome it—and he almost did it. He opened his lips and dropped his face toward her.

  But he stopped. How could he answer her with a gesture when he didn’t have the answer in words?

  “I mean I should have returned your calls. Hell, I shouldn’t have waited for you to call. I should have treated your friendship like the fine thing it was—is.”

  She nodded and slowly pulled out of his arms, leaving a cold void where she’d been.

  “Thank you for saying that, Jake.”

  He still wanted to kiss her, but that wouldn’t do. “Hey, Evie, I really am sorry I treated you so bad, but how about we suck face?” That would be a real princely move.

  Time to lighten the mood. “But at least you didn’t have to wear that pink parade float of a dress.” He opened the car door for her.

  She smiled as she climbed. “One good thing about serving the cake—I got to pick my own dress. It was not Pepto Bismol pink.”

  He laughed. “Tell you what—you can be in my next wedding and you can pick the dress.” He tried and failed to conjure up an image of what that would look like. No wonder. Another marriage wasn’t at the top of his list. At least that exorbitant amount of alimony he’d paid Channing had come to an end when she’d remarried. He might not be as lucky next time.

  “I won’t hold you to it.”

  “Well, I figure I’ve had my last wedding anyway. But, Evie”—he put a hand on her arm—“there’s not a woman in a veil you wouldn’t outshine.”

  * * *

  His next wedding?

  This wasn’t the first time Evans had let herself dance into blissful hope, only to get slammed to the ground in the most humiliating way possible—but, with God as her witness, it would be the last time. When he’d inclined his face toward hers, she’d been so sure that he was—finally—going to kiss her that she had almost put her hands on his cheeks to guide him there. But his expression had suddenly changed and she stopped. That was something, at least. Then he’d started babbling about taking her calls—that was what he’d meant by not letting her get away.

  And then he’d thrown her that bone about outshining some specter bride.

  Would she never learn? She’d gone without sleep, worked late, worked early, took the afternoon off, all so she could do a favor for Jake Champagne—and there still hadn’t been a pie-making lesson, nor would there be in the foreseeable future. He was leaving Sunday for a week on the road.

  “When you get home, freeze the chicken,” she said absently as Jake veered onto the highway that would take them back to Laurel Springs.

  She was an idiot of the first degree. With all her silent whining about “not getting back on the Jake Road,” she’d missed the truth. She’d never left it, not really. She had just buried it when he had started seeing Channing, and there it had stayed until he’d walked into Crust that day. But now that she was clear about her locale, she was certain about her destination: the next exit ramp. It might take a bit to get there and that was okay. She just had to go straight and keep it between the lines.

  Furthermore, what she felt for Jake wasn’t a teenage crush, never had been. She knew that now. She was in love with him, just like she’d thought she’d been at fifteen, but she was calling a halt to it here and now.

  “Do what?” Jake glanced at her. “Freeze what chicken?”

  What chicken, indeed. “The chicken in your refrigerator that I bought when I thought we were going to cook tonight. Put it in the freezer. It’ll go bad before you get back.” That is, of course, unless your anticipated company is going to come over and cook it up for you. But if that’s the case, be sure and let her know that she needs to bring a skillet. The equipment that I spent a great deal of effort choosing for you—and her—won’t arrive until Friday.

  “I will. We can have my cooking lesson when I get back from the road games.”

  “Mmm,” she said. Would they? Right now, she wanted to tell him they most certainly would not, but she recognized that she was tired and shell shocked over her realization—not to mention raw that he had bought the most beautiful cookware she’d ever seen in hopes of impressing some woman who might or might not know how to boil water without destroying a four-hundred-dollar Swiss-made copper saucepan.

  * * *

  “I’ll need a couple of days to recover from the travel, but then I’ll be ready.” Apparently, he’d taken her Mmm for a yes. Understandable. That’s what it had always meant before. “You know what would be good? Some ice cream. Why don’t you google us up a place to get some?”

  “Actually, I’m kind of tired. Please take me home.” The sum of it was he had been everything to her while she wasn’t much more than a blip on his radar. She’d been doing just fine the last few years, hadn’t even thought of him—at least not much. Then he’d waltzed in, smiled, and she was right back where she’d been. But no more.

  “Oh, come on, Evie. Butter pecan. It’s your favorite.”

  Hell, hell, hell. Butter pecan was not her favorite! It was his.

  “No.” He might as well get used to sound of it right now. “I said I want to go home.”

  “Okay. Okay. Sorry.” He sounded pouty. Well, let him pout. It wouldn’t do him any good this time.

  Just when she thought they would make the rest of the drive in silence he asked abruptly, “What’s your shoe size?”

  “Seven.” She could hear the weariness in her voice. If he noticed it, he would assume she just needed some sleep—which she did, but that was the least of her fatigue. It was her heart
that was exhausted. “Why?”

  “I’m going to buy you some ice skates while I’m on the road. Better selection up North.” He paused. “You don’t have any, do you?”

  “No, Jake. I don’t have any. What’s more, I don’t need any.”

  “How are you going to learn to skate without skates?”

  “Hmm.” Let him make of that what he would. She didn’t want to argue, didn’t want to tell him there would be no skating lessons. He probably wouldn’t buy the skates anyway, wouldn’t think about it again—even though he was rattling on about when they would go and how she needed skate socks, so he would pick those up, too. She barely listened and didn’t bother to respond. What were skate socks anyway?

  They were almost home. She reached for her purse and searched out her keys. She wanted to be ready to bolt out of the car and into her house, wanted away from Jake and his talk about socks, skates, and Dietrich Wingo, who was apparently too big for his britches.

  “In case you’ve been wondering, I’ve been reading that ghost story book, so I’ll be ready. I’ll take it on the road with me and read some more on the plane.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be the star of the fall festival,” she said flatly. And he probably would be.

  “Hey!” He snapped his fingers like he did when he remembered something. “I need to let Claire know how many guests I’ll have for this breakfast thing they’re having Sunday morning. I can count you in, can’t I?”

  She opened her mouth to say, “Sure, great, yes, yes, yes, and I am so grateful that you considered me! Maybe there will be a cake I can serve.” Then she swallowed the words and batted away the feeling she’d always felt when Jake threw her a bone—elation and hope. How many times had he asked to do something similar, whether it was getting tamales, seeing a movie, or shopping for thousands of dollars’ worth of cookware? In the end, she always had to face that it was just tamales, movies, and copper pots.

  As children, they done everything together, but it became less and less as they got older when his hockey became more demanding and he’d started to have girlfriends. He might call her for a movie when the girl of the moment was at cheerleader camp or he wanted late-night tamales after the cheerleader’s curfew, but—by far—they spent most of their time together during those years when he was between girls. Every time, she had hoped maybe she was the next girl, but she never had been—yet she’d never given up hope until Channing came along and there was no in between.