Sweet as Pie

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  “She wants to give us plenty of time in case we screw up,” Quentin said.

  “That’s right.” Might as well admit it. Besides, she might be here at the regular time in the morning. Nothing was sure about what would happen with Jake.

  “How about the decorations?” Ariel asked. “Can we do that?”

  Evans hesitated. “Sure. No free handing. Keep it simple—leaves and fruit cutouts.” There were cutters for those things. “Maybe some braids around the edges.”

  Ariel gave a little squeal of delight.

  “I’ll cut out the decorations and make the braids,” Quentin said. “You can do the decorating.”

  “Get the crusts made first,” Evans said. “I’m going out front to help Neva open. Weigh out your ingredients and I’ll check in with you in a bit.”

  Neva was checking tickets against the boxed pies in the vertical case for special orders.

  “Where are Quentin and Ariel? It’s almost time to unlock the door.”

  “Making pie crusts.” Evans replenished the cups next to the coffee maker.

  Neva slowly turned her head and met Evans’s eyes. “You’re kidding. I didn’t think you’d ever do it.”

  Evans laughed. “If you thought that, why did you keep harassing me about it?”

  “Sometimes, you just have to have your say—which reminds me.” She reached under the counter and handed Evans a business card. “The guy from Hollingsworth came by.”

  So, he’d given up trying to reach her by phone. “Toss it,” Evans said.

  Neva looked toward the door. “Looks like we’ve got some eager customers.” A couple of people were now waiting to be let in.

  “I’ll open the door,” Evans said, but just then her phone vibrated. Jake. “Uh, Neva? Could you get the door, after all? I need to take a call. I promise I’ll be right back.”

  “Hello.” She hurried through the kitchen, past where Ariel and Quentin were weighing out flour, and closed herself in the supply closet.

  “I don’t have much time,” he said. “About to board.”

  “Neither do I. We’re just opening.”

  “You’re coming tonight?”

  “That’s the plan.” I’m ready, Jake. I’m shaved, plucked, and polished. I’ve had a pedicure, a facial, and I think I have mastered the perfect smoky eye. I have a new nightgown, just in case. It’s pretty, but not sexy. I’ve washed it five times so you won’t know it’s new. I’ve never been more ready in my life.

  “The box office will have your ticket. Do you need more than one? Want to bring someone?”

  “I think I’ll come alone. You know. Secrets.”

  “Right. Probably best. About after—”

  Her heart went into anxiety rhythm. “If you need to go out with your teammates, it’s fine.”

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?” There was a smile in his voice.

  “No! I just thought—” maybe you had changed your mind.

  “Don’t think. I’m in teammate overload. I thought I’d just come to your house when I get back.”

  “Bad plan. Hyacinth will see your car. She’s already grilled me about why you were there Saturday night.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s not as if you drive a Ford Focus. But to be fair, if you did, she would have grilled me about that, too.”

  “So what? It’s not like we’re married to other people. It’s just Able we’re hiding from.”

  “Jake. Think. Gossip.”

  “Right. You’re right. This is so stupid.”

  “Text me, and I’ll come to your condo.” But if she did that, what about the nightgown? She couldn’t just pack a bag like she took for granted she was staying over, but she didn’t want to be caught without a toothbrush either. Why did this have to be so hard?

  “Bad plan. Killjoy lives in the building.”

  “I didn’t know that.” It had never occurred to her to wonder where he lived.

  Jake was silent for a moment. “Okay. New plan. I’ll ride to the game with Robbie and ride back to Laurel Springs with you.”

  “What will you tell Robbie?”

  “That you came to the game and I’m riding home with you.”

  “Won’t he think that’s odd?” Or maybe Jake had told him about them. She hoped he had. That would make it more real.

  “No. He has seven sisters and doesn’t think women ought to be on the lam late at night alone.”

  He hadn’t told him—but that was good. It was just their secret.

  “Okay. I’ll wait for you at the arena. Text me when you’re done and tell me where to pick you up.”

  “Perfect. I need to go.”

  “Me, too.”

  “But, Evie?”

  “Yes?”

  “I hate this. I really do. This sneaking around feels so stupid. It’s not what I want.”

  Her heart went into overdrive, but in a good way this time. “It won’t be long. Go get on the plane.”

  “Right. It could be worse. I get to see you soon.” He laughed. “Maybe you can build a fire in that fireplace of yours.”

  She clasped the phone to her heart. Jake was coming home and they were going to be together. But there was no time to think about that now. Neva was alone and people were probably already lined up for coffee.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jake was tired. Three cities in five days, five games in six, and a home ice loss would do that to a man. But unlike some of his teammates, he wasn’t upset. A three to two loss to the championship defenders in a preseason game wasn’t the end of the world.

  “See you later,” Jake said to Robbie as he slung his backpack over his shoulder.

  “Are you sure Evie is waiting for you?” Robbie asked as he straightened his tie.

  “Yeah. I just texted with her.” She was waiting at the south exit.

  “See you two at Hammer Time, then,” Robbie said.

  Like hell. “No. I don’t think so. I’m really tired.”

  “Okay,” Robbie said cheerfully. “Want to work out tomorrow?”

  “Probably should.” They were off until Monday midmorning, when they had stretch and practice. “If you rest, you rust. I’ll check in with you.”

  “Not too early,” Robbie said. “I want to sleep in.”

  “So do I,” Jake said, though he dreaded sleeping alone. Evie wasn’t ready and waiting was the right thing to do for where they were right now—but if being away from her had taught him anything it was that he wanted her to be his forever. He wasn’t about to jeopardize that by pressing her to have sex before she was ready—no matter how much he wanted her. But at least he’d get to see her.

  It couldn’t be soon enough. He was tempted to avoid the autograph seekers. Dempsey, Bachet, and Bell were already working the crowd outside the locker room, so he could have slipped away. But it was hard to turn down a kid, impossible to disappoint one wearing his number. That led to a picture and more autographs and more pictures. After about fifteen minutes, he put up his hands.

  “Thank you all for coming out. I’ve got to go now, but I have it on good authority that our goalie will be out any second.” Wingo would stand there all night.

  He bypassed the puck bunny line without a backward glance, though he heard his name called several times.

  He had chosen to meet Evie at the exit he figured would have the least foot traffic and he was right. Even so, he walked quickly, eyes on the floor to avoid contact with anyone who might be hanging around.

  The journey from the locker room seemed to be more miles than he’d traveled all week, but finally he arrived—and there she was. She waved from the driver’s seat and he went to open the car door.

  Locked.

  She fumbled to unlock it, but rolled down the back window instead. She looked chagrined and trie
d again—and failed. She let out a little screech and they started to laugh. Despite the loss and that he was dead on his feet, it was easy to be happy. He’d gotten an assist. He wasn’t on the road anymore. Fall had arrived in the South, chasing away the heat and humidity. Best of all, Evie was on the other side of this door...if she ever got it open.

  Finally, she jerked the key out of the ignition, pointed the fob at the door with a determined look, and pressed the button. She looked adorable.

  He was still laughing when he threw his backpack behind the seat and sat down.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “I thought for a minute there you had decided only winners get to ride in your car.”

  She vigorously shook her head and closed her eyes. “You’re not—”

  And though he didn’t plan it, had thought he would wait until they were alone at her house, he jerked her into his arms and brought his mouth to hers. She smelled like apples, tasted like peppermint, and—just like before—there was no hesitation in returning his kiss.

  It was almost his undoing when she snapped her seatbelt open so she could put her arms around him.

  The desire that ripped through him was different. It wasn’t pure lust with only one end in sight; it was sweet, hot longing that wanted more. He hadn’t known until now that there were different ways to want.

  Evie made a little mmm sound and reached up to stroke the sensitive place on his neck. She remembered.

  Hellfire and brimstone! He’d always wondered what those people were thinking who got caught having sex in parks, on beaches, and in bedrooms at parties. Now he knew. They weren’t thinking; they were feeling, wanting something more than quick release and see-you-later. That had to be it. His hand had a mind of its own and moved up her side toward her breast.

  But then he stopped.

  He broke the kiss, but took his time about it, caressing her tongue as he withdrew.

  “I missed you.” The words tumbled out of his mouth with no forethought. It was the raw simple truth.

  “Me, too.” She nestled her face into his neck.

  He hugged her briefly to him before lifting his head to look at her. “Oh, yeah? You missed yourself? How does that even work?”

  She blushed, so pretty. Had she always been this pretty? How had he missed it for so long? “You know what I mean.”

  “I hope I do,” he teased her.

  Then the arena door opened and they flew apart—probably much like those couples who got caught having sex in public places.

  But it was only some arena staff.

  “That could have been bad,” she said.

  Funny, he didn’t care about that much right now. He probably should, but he didn’t intend to keep this up long—a week or two, tops. Then he was going to have a talk with Killen and they were all going to get on with their lives on and off the ice.

  “Humph.”

  She laughed. “You say that now...”

  “I’m already tired of this. Robbie asked if we were going to Hammer Time. I don’t want to go, but it makes me mad that we can’t—at least not and keep our hands to ourselves.”

  “I think you’re just tired, period,” she said. “You look exhausted.”

  He took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “I am. We all are.”

  “Here.” She reached behind his seat and handed him a bag. “I got you a pulled pork sandwich and a bottle of water as I was leaving. It’s probably cold.”

  “Thank you.” He unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. It wasn’t very good, but that didn’t matter. Evie had handed him food and that felt good. “I’m starving.”

  She buckled her seatbelt and started the car. “I thought it would hold you until we get home, and you can have pizza.”

  He liked that they were going to the same place and she called it home.

  “What’s the best place to order it from?” he asked.

  “You don’t have to order it.” She pulled out of the parking lot. “I made you one. It’s all ready to go in the oven.”

  He stopped short. “You made a pizza?”

  “Technically, it is a pie.”

  He didn’t have to ask to know it would be pepperoni and sausage. No mushrooms. And he was going to have beer, if she had one. He’d lived up to his vow to abstain during the preseason games, but the preseason games were over. He could hardly wait until he was finished with that other vow. December 13. Surely, she would be ready by then. He would think up a way to make it romantic, too.

  “After you finish your sandwich, take a nap if you like,” Evie said. “With this traffic we probably won’t be home for a half hour.”

  Food, naps, and kisses from a woman who smelled like apples and was willing to drive him. Life was good.

  * * *

  “That was the best pizza I’ve ever had in my life.” Jake finished his beer and set his plate and bottle on the coffee table. After eating two pieces, he’d had Mississippi mud pie, and then returned to the pizza to polish it off.

  “In your whole life?” she said. “That’s a lot of pizza.”

  He reached across the small space that separated them on the sofa and put an arm around her. “You’ve ruined me for all other pizzas. Same with chicken pot pies. I can’t go back to Marie Callender.” He let his blue eyes sparkle at her. They looked tired but they could still sparkle. Then he stage-whispered, “And Mississippi mud, but don’t tell Louella.”

  “Then I guess we’d better get cracking on those cooking lessons and add pizza and Mississippi mud to the syllabus. Not my job to feed you.” What a lie. She’d cook for him every day for the rest of her life, if he’d let her.

  “Hey. I almost forgot.” He stood up and crossed the room to where he’d left his backpack in front of the fire. He’d changed out of his suit into a Yellowhammer T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. His feet were bare and his hair needed combing. He was delicious.

  When he came back, he set a box beside her. “I promised you ice skates.” He opened the package and pulled out a silver-and-pink skate. “They’re comfort skates. The hockey blades are wider than figure skating blades and best for a beginner.” He paused and pulled three pairs of socks out of the box. “Skate socks.”

  She reached for the pink ones. “Thank you. What’s the difference between skate socks and regular socks?”

  “They’re tall and you skate in them.” He yawned. “Do you want to try them on?” He held up a skate.

  “Maybe later?”

  “Good answer.” He pushed the box aside and the next thing she knew she was lying in his arms on the sofa.

  “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?” He kissed her. She didn’t care that he tasted like beer and pizza. In fact, she liked it.

  “Get me in a reclining position before I know what’s happened.”

  “It’s my superpower.” He kissed her again, deeper this time, and he took his time twining his tongue with hers. He came up for air and said, “Do you mind?”

  “I might require it.” She ran her hand up the back of his shirt and kissed him on the neck.

  He let out a moan. “Your hand’s cold.”

  “I’m sorry.” She jerked it away.

  “No, no.” He hugged her to him. “It felt good. Do it again.”

  She did, but this time with both hands. It was heaven, the feel of his warm skin against her hands and his face pressed into her neck. This was going to happen. For a while there, she’d thought he might be too tired, but she knew—could feel—that wasn’t true. He was hard against her, and she shifted to feel him better. Desire ripped through her. She wanted him. Of course she did. But even more, she longed for the intimacy and the bond that making love would bring.

  “Mmm,” he said against her ear. “This is nice—just being here together like this.”

  “Yes.
So nice.” And I’ve waited for this so long.

  They kissed some more, for a good, long time. Then he buried his face in her neck, but he took things no further.

  Should she? Was that what he was waiting for? For her to make the next move? What should it be? Guide his hand to her breast? Move her pelvis aggressively against his? Suggest they go to the bedroom? Jump up, rip off his clothes, and scream, “Take me now!”? That would be effective. Not that she would do any of that.

  Before she could think of more things that she wouldn’t do, he let out a little snore.

  He had gone to sleep? He had gone to sleep! This never happened in books or movies. Now he was dead weight against her and was drooling on her neck—at least she hoped it was drool and he hadn’t started to bleed from one of his orifices for some unknown reason. She reached up, rubbed her fingers against the little puddle of warm moisture, and looked at it. Not blood, so it had to be spit. Of all the fantasies she’d indulged in with Jake Champagne as the star, none had involved pools of spittle.

  His falling asleep in what she’d considered at least a semi-erotic cuddle might not have been the best thing for her ego, but she wasn’t going to let it ruin her night. Though sex wasn’t happening.

  “Jake,” she said softly as she rolled away from him, and sat up. No response. “Jake.” This time she said it a little louder. Nothing. If she brought in a mariachi band and got up and danced the tango, would he just keep sleeping?

  “Jake!” She shook his shoulder. “You’re asleep! Wake up!”

  “What? Who...” He jerked his head up and then groaned. “I’m sorry, Evie.” He moved into a sitting position and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know what happened.” He laid a hand on her knee.

  Well, you were kissing me like you meant it, and the next thing I knew you were snoring.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “It’s not the company.”

  He really did look regretful, and he was exhausted. He’d also eaten a load of carbs and drank the first alcohol he’d had in a while.

  “It doesn’t matter. You need to go to bed. Come on. I’ll take you home.”