Sweet as Pie

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  Jake finished off his pie and reached for another.

  “Don’t you think you ought to eat some macaroni and cheese before you eat another one of those?” Wingo asked. He had catsup on his mouth.

  “I do not.” He bit into the pie, though Wingo was probably right. It was practically a law for hockey players to eat pasta before an important skate—and the first skate of the season was almost as important as a game.

  “You should carb up before you skate,” Wingo persisted.

  Jake pointed at the pie. “Plenty of carbs here. Potatoes, crust, maybe rutabagas. Do they have carbs?” He’d never had a rutabaga that he knew of.

  “But pasta—”

  Able cut Wingo off. “Wonder who that is. She’s a cute one.”

  Jake immediately knew who she was. Slowly, he raised his head and followed Able’s gaze. There she was, walking from table to table, smiling and making small talk. Just then, Miklos Novak, the forward from the Czech Republic, said something to her and she laughed, patting his shoulder lightly as she walked away.

  It was lightly, wasn’t it?

  “She looks nice,” Logan said without much commitment and went back to eating. Jake was somewhat annoyed that he hadn’t been more emphatic.

  “That’s the look I like,” Able said. No one could have argued with his enthusiasm, though Jake didn’t like that either—though he saw Able’s point.

  Unlike yesterday, Evie’s dark hair was down, shiny and swinging around her face. She wasn’t wearing clogs and chef’s pants today, but a black skirt with a scalloped hem that hit right above her knee, and a white cotton blouse with a collar and a pocket over her left breast.

  And on that pocket was a tiny bow, which made him think of the apron bow. Her shoes had enough of a heel to make you look at her legs without making you think she might break her neck.

  She continued to work the room, but she wasn’t getting any closer to their table. She didn’t look his way.

  “Do you suppose she’ll come over here?” Able was half out of his chair.

  “Whoa there, Killen.” Jake had been silent as long as he could. “I know that woman. She’s not a puck bunny.” She’s a Delta-born cotillion graduate who minds her manners, kneels for communion, says hotty toddy, and loves her mama. She is not for you.

  Able looked incensed. “I never thought she was. I lost interest in puck bunnies in juniors. I like real relationships. She’s my type. That’s all.”

  “How do you know? Have you had a conversation with her?” Jake asked.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Able asked. “And why do you care? Are you seeing her? Because if you are, just say—”

  “I’m not. But you need to stay away from her,” Jake said.

  “She’s Sparks’s childhood friend. Cousin of his ex.” Thanks for the help, Robbie.

  Able nodded and his good-natured manner returned. “I understand. So she’s like a sister to you?”

  No. “Yes.” A lie, but you don’t date your teammates’ sisters. That was part of the Bro Code. Everybody knew that. It was a lie well spent.

  “Good. She’s single, then, and fair game.”

  Jake nodded before he realized what Able had said. Then the words sunk in.

  Jake took a deep breath to clear his head. “What? No.” Apparently Able did not understand the Bro Code. “I don’t think you under—”

  The eyes that had been on him suddenly shifted above his head and Jake smelled cinnamon.

  “How is everything?” The voice behind him had the cadence and sound of the Delta. “Is your lunch to your liking? Do you have enough of everything?”

  Everyone sounded off at once, like a bunch of puppies trying to get attention.

  “Fantastic, Wonderful. Never had anything like this, but it’s great. Really good. Better than in the UP,” all tumbled out of their mouths at once. Not surprising. Hockey players worshipped those who fed them. He looked around. Able was the only one who appeared to be smitten in a way that had nothing to do with pie. He was looking at Evie, while the others looked back and forth between her and their plates.

  “How about you, Jake?” She laid a hand on his shoulder. He caught himself before he reached up to cover her hand with his. “Did you like the pasty?” It wasn’t lost on her that he hadn’t joined in the Greek chorus of pie praise.

  He turned and met her eyes—happy eyes. Really, her whole face was happy. That made him smile. “It was delicious. I ate two.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “As good as Mississippi mud?” Outstanding. Let them know he’d had her pie before.

  “That’s a hard question. I guess I’d just have to say it’s a whole different part of my mouth. There’s room for all pies.”

  She opened her mouth to reply but, damn it all to hell, Killen jumped to his feet.

  “I’m Able Killen. Defense. I really enjoyed the pasty. I played in the Yooper and you could teach them a thing or two.”

  “That’s very kind, Able.” She looked pleased, but there didn’t appear to be any sparks flying. That was important. He owed it to her parents to see to it that she didn’t get involved with the wrong guy. The Delta Queens, as he thought of Evie’s mother and his own, would have plenty to say if he let Evie get involved with an unsavory sort. Able seemed like a good guy, but that’s what the neighbors always said about serial killers.

  And things were just getting better and better. Robbie was either trying to help him out or didn’t want to be outdone because he was on his feet, giving Evie that smile he mostly used in bars.

  “I’m Robbie McTavish.” He leaned forward, just a little. Jake knew that move, too. He was going to have to kill his best friend. “Of Kennamara. Near Inverness. In the Highlands.” He gestured to the table. “These are our other teammates: Logan Jensen, Luka Zadorov, and Dietrich Wingo.”

  They all stood and made polite greetings—and a damned good thing.

  Jake was about to bring this little meeting to a close and help Evie move on, but Robbie wasn’t done.

  “Really good pie that Sparks brought home last night.”

  “Are you two living together?” Evie asked.

  “No!” Robbie and Jake said at the same time.

  “No,” Robbie repeated. “We’re across the hall from each other at The Mill, but I’m staying with Sparks until I get a bed. We ate all the pie.”

  She looked amused and cut her eyes at Jake. Her dimples deepened. “Oh, you did? All? I hope it didn’t make you sick.”

  “Could nectar of the gods make a man sick?” Robbie asked.

  She laughed. “Is that what it was? I thought it was Mississippi mud. Maybe I’ll change the name to nectar of the gods.”

  “I’ve never heard of it,” Wingo piped up. And why not? It had been a while since he’d heard the sound of his own voice.

  “It’s a chocolate pie,” Evie said. “Some say it originated in our home—the Mississippi Delta.” Their home. A warm feeling came over Jake. “Some say not. I like to think it did.”

  “My nana says it did, and that’s good enough for me,” Jake said.

  Evie laughed, so joyful sounding, and put her hand on his shoulder again. “If Miss Althea says so, that’s good enough for me, too. No one would dare argue with her.”

  “Is her pie as good as Evans’s?” Able asked.

  Jake and Evans looked at each other and burst out laughing. No one else joined in. Why would they? Only he and Evie knew how ludicrous the very thought was.

  “Nana doesn’t make pie,” Jake said. “She directs someone else to make pie.”

  Evans brushed her hair back. “She has more important things to do—like take her hats to the florist to have them decorated with fresh flowers before every bridge club, luncheon, and church service.”

  Jake hadn’t exactly forgotten that about Nana, but he hadn’t thought ab
out it in a long time either. He suspected that he and Evie were visualizing something very similar right now: Nana’s Lincoln parked in front of the Flower Cart—the same shop that had provided flowers for every dance, wedding, and funeral in Cottonwood all their lives and before.

  “Well.” Evie closed her eyes and shook her head. “If I can’t get you anything else, I’ll move along. I want to make sure your peach cobbler gets served while it’s still warm. It was nice to meet y’all.”

  With the exception of Luka and Jake, everyone at the table made noises like baby birds who were about to be fed.

  “Will there be ice cream?” Wingo asked.

  “Is there any other way to serve peach cobbler? I hope you’ll all stop by Crust and see me,” she said as she walked away.

  “Aye,” Robbie said. “Pie makes every day better.”

  “For sure,” Wingo said.

  “Absolutely,” Logan said.

  “Of course,” Luka said, though he didn’t sound sincere.

  “You can depend on it.” Able sounded exceedingly sincere.

  Jake didn’t say anything. He just watched her go.

  * * *

  The cobbler had been served and Evans’s feet were beginning to ache from her heels. Noting that Claire, who had been sitting beside her uncle, had disappeared, Evans surveyed the table where the brass was sitting, but didn’t interrupt. They didn’t appear to need anything and were in deep, intense conversation.

  It was over. There was nothing left to do but clean up, and Claire had said the Hammer Time staff would do that. She’d see about things in the prep kitchen, get her purse, and head home to change before going back to Crust.

  She reached in her skirt pocket for her phone to check the time just as it vibrated. There was a text message from Ariel.

  Sarah Jane Cathcart wants ten apple pies because the PTA is having Apple of My Eye Day tomorrow at the high school for the teachers. She needs to pick them up at 7:30 am because they are serving pie and coffee in three shifts starting at 8. What should I tell her?

  How about that, as pie makers, we don’t advocate serving pie at that time of morning?

  Did no one think ahead? But what else was she going to say, but yes? They were in the pie business. It was reasonable that Sarah Jane should expect to be able to buy pies from them—no matter what time she wanted to serve them. It wasn’t Sarah Jane’s fault that Evans had used her time unwisely this week.

  Evans quickly typed: Tell her we’ll have them ready. I’m on my way and I’ll get them knocked out.

  In the interest of optimum freshness, she debated on getting the pies oven ready and baking them early in the morning, but they might be too warm to cut. She’d have to go for fresh enough and pies that wouldn’t fall apart.

  Ariel replied: Should I measure out the flour for you and grate the cheese for the pastry?

  Evans considered. It would be nice to be a step ahead before she got there, but Ariel had said measure the flour and Evans baked by weight. And what if she didn’t use the small holes of the grater for the cheese? There was no time for mistakes today.

  Evans texted back:

  That’s okay, but you can peel and slice the apples.

  Ariel knew she liked the apples almost paper thin and would put them in lemon water to keep them from discoloring.

  But she didn’t answer—maybe because she was disappointed, maybe because her brain had moved into a different universe.

  Evans stepped quickly toward the kitchen, intent on asking Joy and Dory to pack up their equipment and meet her back at Crust. But Claire popped out of the kitchen before Evans could pop in.

  “That went well, wouldn’t you say?” Claire looked pleased.

  “I would say that,” Evans agreed. Jake had eaten two pasties and the last time she’d sneaked a peep at him, he’d been wolfing down peach cobbler.

  “I have some excellent news for you.”

  Oh, hell. Evans got the feeling that the news was not going to be excellent at all.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nate was really impressed with your food.”

  “Nate?”

  “Nathan Ayers. The general manager,” Claire said with exaggerated patience, like she did when Evans suspected she really wanted to add, “Keep up!”

  “They have a team chef, but Nate would like for us to do some catering for special events.”

  Not excellent. Not even good. Just plain bad. She lifted her shoulders. She needed to say so. She’d had a half dozen pissed-off customers yesterday because they couldn’t have the pie they wanted and now there were ten apple pies breathing down her neck.

  “That sounds...amazing. And—to be honest—a little overwhelming.”

  “I have faith in you,” Claire said. “It’s a great opportunity. And you wouldn’t be doing it for free in the future.”

  But at what cost?

  Evans knew she ought to flat-out tell her she didn’t want to cater, but she didn’t have the time or energy. Or gumption. Couldn’t leave that out.

  She put on a bright smile. “That’s amazing!”

  Claire nodded. “It’s certainly a start.” She paused a beat. “Still nothing from Hollingsworth, I take it?”

  “No.”

  Claire nodded. “Well. Have a good afternoon,” she said as she walked away, leaving Evans with her guilt over the half-truth, anxiety over impending catering jobs, and dread of producing ten apple pies because of everything she’d let slide today for this lunch.

  But even with all that on her mind, she didn’t forget to glance back at Jake before she left. To her surprise, his gaze was on her. They didn’t wave, but their smiles met in the middle.

  Chapter Six

  Jake took off his helmet and stored it on the shelf of his new stall. He knew the stall was his because it had a flat-screen TV mounted above, complete with the training camp schedule and scrolling messages.

  Welcome, #8 Jake Champagne!

  Yellowhammers, Hustle and Heart!

  Skate Hard, Win Big!

  The locker room was sweet. The lounge, hydration bar, weight room, and team meeting room were pretty standard, but there was nothing standard about the stalls—at least none Jake had ever had. His own personal TV aside, he’d never had one that hadn’t been defiled by some former player’s hockey stink—and that was just the beginning. There were USB ports, a ventilation system, and fans for drying skates, gloves, and helmets. Jake found the compartment with a keypad lock a little sad. He’d never use that. Teammates wouldn’t steal from each other.

  But then again...

  He opened the compartment and put his lucky puck inside. Teammates might not steal from each other, but they would jerk the hell out of your chain.

  “Locking up my puck, are you?” Beside him, Robbie sat down and began to unlace his skates.

  “It’s not your puck.” Jake stripped his upper body down to his sweaty Under Armour, sat, and began to unlace his own skates.

  “It will be.” Robbie shucked his jersey and pads.

  Jake opened his mouth to reply, but was stopped.

  “Silence!” Glaz belted out. The noise in the locker room ceased and those who were still shedding their newly sweat-christened gear stilled. “That was somewhat acceptable, though you look like hill of ants in rainstorm. Is expected. You know nothing of each other. Soon you will dance together as one. In ten days is first preseason game. It will not end in a loss to the Northern Lights. Understood?”

  “Understood!” rang out.

  “Good.” Coach nodded. “Team meeting first thing in the morning.” Yep. At eight o’clock. It said so on Able Killen’s TV, which was right across from Jake. “That’s all.” And Glaz disappeared through the door.

  “I’m starving.” That came from Miklos Novak, the Czech defenseman seated on the other side of Robbi
e.

  “Me, too,” Robbie said.

  They all were. No matter how much they ate before, everyone came off the ice ravenous.

  “Anyone want to go to Hammer Time?” Logan wandered up.

  “Ne,” Novak said. “I would like more of what we had earlier. I am going to that pie shop.”

  The hair on the back of Jake’s neck stood on end. Novak had made Evie laugh at the lunch. What was that about? So far, Jake hadn’t noticed anything funny about him.

  Able sauntered across the room, careful not to step on the logo. “I’ll go with you, Magic Man,” Able said.

  Magic man? That was his nickname? Why? It couldn’t be because his given name—Miklos—sounded like it. Ought to be milkman.

  Ryan Bell called out. “I’ll go, too. The pie was okay, but did you see the tits on the pie maker? Wouldn’t mind getting my hands on those.”

  Jakes insides turned to concrete and his mouth went dry. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come.

  Able, however, didn’t have any trouble speaking. “Hands off.”

  “You will not—” Jake was surprised that his voice didn’t come out louder.

  “Sparks.” Robbie laid a hand on his arm and stopped him. “Not cool, Bell. The lass is Sparks’s pal from childhood.”

  “Oh,” Ryan said. “Sorry, man. It’s just talk.”

  Jake forced himself to dial it back. What Bell had said, they’d all said—and much worse. He wasn’t going to tell him it was all right, but he did nod in his direction.

  Robbie cut his eyes at Jake and grinned. “Let’s all go to Hammer Time. You know. Decent steak, maybe some decent cleavage.”

  “To hell with steak and tits,” Novak said stubbornly. “I will have that meat pie.”

  “See you there.” Able took off for the shower.

  Jake finished undressing as quickly as a fifteen-year-old virgin who’d just been offered a roll in the hay. He needed to get to Crust first.

  “Champagne!” Jake turned toward the sound of his name to see the equipment manager, Leland Puckett. “Come by my office before you shower.” And he was gone.