If she never got another compliment about another thing, this one would do her until death. “Mississippi mud is a hit in Alabama.”
“Don’t tell her, but this is so much better than the one from your mother’s bakery.”
No kidding. Anna-Blair Pemberton was all about a shortcut. “If she’d had her way, I’d be back in Cottonwood, making cookies from mixes and icing cakes with buttercream from a five-gallon tub.”
Jake laughed a little under his breath. “My mother might have mentioned that a time or six.”
“No doubt.” Christine Champagne and Evans’s mother were best friends. When Evans had deserted her mother’s bakery after graduating from the New Orleans Culinary Institute, it must have given them fodder for months.
“I, for one, am glad you’re making pie here.” Jake took another bite. “There’s something about this...something different. And familiar.” He wrinkled his brow. “But I can’t place it.”
Evans knew exactly what he meant, and it pleased her more than it should have that he’d noticed.
“Do you remember the Mississippi mud bars we used to get when we went to Fat Joe’s for tamales?”
“Yes! That’s it.” He took another bite of pie. “We ate a ton of those things, sitting at that old picnic table outside. Didn’t Joe’s wife make them?”
“She did. I got her secret and her permission to use it. She used milk and dark chocolate, and she added a little instant coffee to the batter.”
He stopped with his fork in midair. “Coffee? There’s coffee in here?”
Evans laughed. “You’ve been eating Lola’s for years without knowing.” She reached for his plate. “But if you don’t want it...”
“Leave my pie alone, woman.” He pretended to stab at her with his fork. “Those were good times.”
“They were. We did a lot of homework at that picnic table.”
He grimaced. “Well, it wasn’t the homework I was thinking about. I’d have never passed a math class without you.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.”
“I do.” He shook his head and let his eyes wander to the ceiling like he always did when he wanted to change the subject. “What about the beach this summer. How was it?”
The question took Evans aback. Jake hadn’t been on the annual Champagne-Pemberton beach trip since Channing came on the scene. She was surprised he even thought about them anymore.
“Sandy. Wet. Salty,” she quipped. “Like always.”
He grinned. “Must have been a little too sandy, wet, and salty for you. I hear you only stayed two days.”
“Lots to do around here.” She gestured to the shop.
He let his eyes go to a squint and his grin relaxed into that crooked smile. “Too much sorority talk?”
“I swear, it never stops.” She slapped her palm against the table. All the women in that beach house—Evans’s mother and two older sisters and Jake’s mother and younger sister—were proud alumnae of Ole Miss and Omega Beta Gamma, the most revered and exclusive sorority on campus. Addison, Jake’s sister, had recently made the ultimate commitment to her Omega sisters by taking a job at the sorority’s national headquarters.
Jake took a sip of his milk and chuckled. “I hear you. Especially with rush coming up.”
“It’s like being in a room full of teachers who won’t talk about anything except test scores and discipline problems. You just get tired of it.” But it was more than that. Legacy or not, Evans would have never made the Omega cut had she gone to Ole Miss instead of culinary school. She wasn’t tall, blond, and sparkly enough. She loved those women—every one of them—but she had always been a little out of step with them. Plus, living with all that sparkle could be hard on the nerves.
Jake laughed. “Well, they have to do their part to keep Omega on top, where it belongs.”
“Sorority blood runs deep and thick in Mississippi,” Evans said. “Sisters for life.”
Jake went from amused to grim. “I don’t think Mama and Addison feel very sisterly toward Channing anymore.”
Channing had, of course, been the poster child for Omega. “For what it’s worth, my mother and sisters don’t either.” And I don’t feel very cousinly toward her. Not that I ever did.
He shrugged. “I’ve moved on—not quite as fast as she did, of course. Miss Mississippi, hockey wife, music producer wife, all in the space of eight months. I suppose you’ve heard she’s pregnant?”
“Yes.” The baby would probably have mud-colored eyes like Mr. Music Producer, when it could have had the bluest eyes in the world. Baffling.
“But I’m better off,” Jake went on.
She studied his face and decided he meant it. “I’m glad you know it. You’re better than that, Jake. You deserve better.”
Jake looked at his pie, and back at her again. “You remembered my favorite pie and that I’m not a coffee drinker?”
Thank goodness for the change of subject. “How could I not remember? You always asked for Mississippi mud pie when you came into the bakery at home.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m glad to see you, Evie.”
“I’m glad to see you,” she echoed. And she was. But something was niggling deep in her gut. It seemed Glad and Mad were running around inside her, neither one able to get complete control. She beat back Mad and embraced Glad. It was impossible to control most emotions, but mad wasn’t one of them. She had always believed that if you didn’t want to be mad, you didn’t have to be. So what if he’d only come to see her because Crust was near his lunch spot? They had history. That was what was important. And he’d been through a lot: divorce, Blake’s death, a new town and team, and—well, she didn’t know what else, but wasn’t that enough?
“I probably don’t deserve for you to be glad to see me, but I appreciate it.” Oh, hell. He was going to try to get negative now, just when she’d talked herself into a good place. She would not allow it. The only thing she was better at than turning out a perfect puff pastry was turning a situation around.
“Why wouldn’t I be glad to see you?” She smiled like she meant it, and she did. Everybody always said you had to clear the air before you could move on. As far as she was concerned, that was way overrated. Sometimes it was better to just let it go. Saying yes when others might say no sometimes made life go smoother.
“Let’s not pretend I don’t owe you an apology.” He cocked his head to the side and widened his eyes. What was the point of that? She’d already forgiven him.
“Jake, there is no need for all of this.”
“There is. I haven’t been the friend to you I should have been. I guess when I met Channing, I didn’t think about anything except her and hockey. I know I texted that to you a few months ago, but I wanted to say it in person.” He lifted one corner of his mouth. “I did come by before I took Olivia and the kids to Europe, but you weren’t here.”
“I was in New York.”
“I know. Please say you forgive me.”
It would have been easier to downplay the whole thing and say it didn’t matter. But no one was going to believe that, so she did the next best thing. “It’s in the past. Our friendship goes back far and deep. It can withstand a storm or two.” The truth of that lightened her heart.
Jake looked relieved, happy even. Maybe she did matter to him. “I shouldn’t have let our friendship slip away—let you slip away.”
The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Slip away? With that, Mad slammed a boxing glove into Glad’s face and a foot on to its fallen body.
Why had he had to go and say that? She hadn’t slipped away. She had gone kicking and screaming. It was true that she hadn’t contacted him for a month after that Christmas—the Christmas of Channing—but wasn’t she entitled to that, considering how things went down? And he damn sure hadn’t bothered with her.
Evans had been home from culina
ry school for the holidays, and Jake from the University of North Dakota. They hadn’t seen each other since summer, so they’d filled their plates with Anna-Blair’s fancy canapés and found a corner to catch up—though catching up wasn’t really necessary, because back then they talked and messaged each other at least three times a week. But they laughed and talked and she thought she’d finally seen the spark she’d felt for twenty years reflected in his eyes. He almost confirmed it when he said, “You know, Evie, my fraternity spring formal is going to be in New Orleans, and I was thinking that—”
But she’d never know for absolute certain what he had been thinking. Maybe he wasn’t going to invite her. Maybe he was only going to ask her for a ride from the airport or advice about where to get the best gumbo.
Channing’s family seldom made the trip from Memphis to Cottonwood and never for Christmas—but they had that year. And Channing chose that precise moment to sail in, looking like Vogue and smelling like Chanel. Or maybe it was Joy. Who the hell knew? It damned sure wasn’t vanilla extract. Whatever it was, Evans had gotten a good whiff when Channing swooped in and hugged her—something Evans could never recall happening before. Of course, Channing had never walked in on Evans in conversation with someone who looked like Jake before either. “Well, cousin, who do you have here?” Channing had asked. Evans had introduced them, and then it was all over but the crying.
And Evans had cried—for a month. But what purpose would it serve to go into all that with Jake? It was over. It didn’t matter—except it did. Strange that it only occurred to her now that if Jake had been planning to ask her to the dance, maybe it was because she was going to school in New Orleans anyway—convenient.
“You know, Jake, I didn’t slip away.” She took down her ponytail and put it back up again. “I didn’t go easily.” After that month had passed, she’d batted back the humiliation and put on her big girl panties. Still, no matter how many times she’d called or texted, he never had time for her. Even if he answered, he was somewhere else. The next time she’d seen him had been in New Orleans the morning after that dance, when she’d met him and Channing at Brennan’s for breakfast. Channing had brought the nosegay of white roses and succulents that Jake had bought her for the dance and held hands with him under the table. Evans had cursed herself for saying yes to that breakfast invitation, when she should have said no. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. “I fought for our friendship.”
The moment the words cleared her mouth, she was sorry. He’d apologized. What more did she want? Jake’s face went white and he put his fork down. Understandable. He probably didn’t want to eat any more of her pie after what she’d said. Why hadn’t she just left it alone?
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” she said hurriedly.
“Why? It’s true.” There was real hurt on his face.
“Nonetheless. You apologized, and I wasn’t gracious about it. And after all you’ve been through. It’s behind us. Let’s move forward.”
He looked skeptical, but nodded. “That’s all I want. And you’ve been gracious to forgive me at all.” Eyes wide. Head cocked. Lip bite. “I’ll make it up to you.”
He had never, as far as she could remember, had to get to the lip biting with her before. “There’s nothing to make up.”
He picked up his fork again. “I disagree, though it may not be possible. But I will say this: for a while there, I forgot what was important. After the divorce, I forgot my raising. But after Blake... It made me stop and think. I won’t forget again. I’m going to be a better man—a better friend.”
He covered her hand with his, and her heart dropped like a fallen star.
“We’re good.” What was wrong with being convenient anyway?
Then he nodded and smiled like he was pleased. Pleasing Jake Champagne had once been her life’s work.
She supposed she was glad she had finally accomplished it.
Chapter Two
Jake’s phone had been vibrating against his thigh like a jackhammer on concrete for twenty minutes, yet here he was eating Mississippi mud pie like it was his job. Robbie was usually patient and easygoing, though anyone would be annoyed at being kept waiting this long. But the apology was done and the air was clear between him and Evie. They wouldn’t have to go there again.
He put the last bite of chocolate heaven into his mouth. He’d ordered this pie in restaurants many times, but he’d never had any that was right—that tasted like home—outside the Delta until now.
“Would you like another piece?” Evie asked.
No, I really have to go meet Robbie, but I’ll see you soon. That’s what he opened his mouth to say.
“No thank you, but I would like some more milk.” What? Was there some milk-loving demon alien in him—one that didn’t care that he had to go?
“Sure.” She smiled and her dimples waved at him.
She rose from her chair and sashayed away with his milk glass.
He watched her go.
With her peachy skin, dark shiny hair, and compact little body, Evie was lovely. The thought jolted him. He’d never used the word lovely in his life. He was more of a hot or a babe guy, but those things seemed a little too aggressive for Evie’s quiet kind of beauty. She wasn’t his type, of course. He went for tall, blond bombshells, though there hadn’t been any lately.
The bow from Evie’s apron sat low on the small of her back. That was an interesting look. In his experience, bombshells didn’t do a lot of apron-wearing. They might if they knew what a good accessory the bow would be.
Evie was coming toward him again, smiling and speaking to people as she walked. People liked her. And why not? She was nice and she had pie, good pie. Plus she was so smart, way smarter than he was. Now she was laughing at something a teenage girl had said. If she could bottle and sell that laugh, she could get out of the pie business. Though she probably didn’t want out. She was happy.
Happy. How long had it been since he’d been in the company of a truly happy woman?
It would be good to be around some joy—with someone who wasn’t looking for romance, or sex, or a game-worn jersey. His phone vibrated again. He really did have to go.
Jake almost rose to do just that, but then Evie set the milk down in front of him. Right. The milk-loving demon had asked for milk.
“Thank you.” He drained it in one gulp and stood up. “I should let you get back to work.”
“And you have lunch waiting.” She was on to him. She always had been.
“Can’t be as good as this pie. I believe I’ll take one with me—a whole one.” He reached for his wallet.
“No.” Evie put a hand on his wrist. “Your money is no good here.” She led him to the counter. “Tell Joy to box up whatever you want. I insist. We’re family.”
“Not anymore,” he pointed out.
She half closed her eyes and shook her head. “Of course we are, Jake. Delta family. We were that long before you married my cousin.”
Home. Family.
“Let’s get together soon,” he rushed to say when she turned to go.
Evie gave him a smile over her shoulder as she walked toward the kitchen door. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m catering the team training camp lunch.”
He got the feeling he’d landed exactly where he needed to be.
* * *
With pumpkins and scarecrows decorating storefronts, the streets of Laurel Springs looked like fall, but felt like summer. His phone vibrated again. Robbie—just as he’d thought. He didn’t answer, but hurried his steps. He was forty-five minutes late and, clearly, Robbie was uncharacteristically agitated—and for good reason. If not for Jake, Robbie wouldn’t have uprooted himself from Nashville. Jake had been astounded when Robbie had asked for the trade. He claimed that he, too, wanted a chance to skate first line, but Jake knew Robbie had made the change because of th
e bond between the two of them. They were a couple of guys who’d made it to the major league despite hailing from places that weren’t exactly hotbeds of ice hockey—Mississippi and Scotland.
If Robbie’s decision hadn’t been surprising enough, another Sound family member had made the switch to the Hammers, too. Former center Nickolai Glazov had retired and immediately signed on as an assistant coach with the new team. Jake wondered what had brought that on, but doubted if he’d ever know. If the former Sound captain ever explained his motives, it wouldn’t be to anyone he called “wet behind the ears baby dogs” like Jake and Robbie.
Jake quickened his pace as he scanned the buildings for Hammer Time. Ah. There. He saw Robbie’s silver Corvette—illegally parked—out front before he saw the restaurant sign. As glad as he was that Robbie had made the move, he was not looking forward to telling his former partner in bad behavior that he was cleaning up his act. Jake had not wavered from his convictions that came on the heels of Blake’s death. There would be no drunken partying and no indiscriminate sex.
He stepped from the steamy, hot mid-September afternoon into the dark, cool building. Sure that Robbie already had a table, Jake opened his mouth to tell the hostess he was meeting someone when he saw Robbie sitting on an upholstered bench, aggressively stabbing at the keyboard on his phone—which was odd for the easygoing Scot, Jake’s lack of punctuality aside.
“Sorry I’m late, but—” Jake began.
Robbie looked up and jumped to his feet. “Sparks!” He used Jake’s nickname. “Where’ve you been? We’ve got to go. Glaz wants us.”
Ah, hell. When he’d been their captain, they’d said, “How high and how often?” when Glaz had said, “Jump.” Now that he was one of their coaches, it was bound to get worse.
“What does he want?”
“Do you think I asked?” Robbie started for the door.
Jake looked down at the bag from Crust he carried. “Do you suppose you can put this in the refrigerator for me?” he asked the hostess. “I’ll pick it up later.”
Sweet as Pie Page 3
