Sweet as Pie

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  “I’ll have it ready.”

  And just then, the doorbell rang.

  “I look forward to seeing you, Christine. Be safe, but I have to go. There’s someone at my door.”

  “Oh! See you soon, sweetheart. Bye, now.”

  Evans did not expound on who was ringing the bell. Maybe he wouldn’t smell good. Maybe he wouldn’t look good.

  She would do well to remember that she’d been raised on sweet tea and Jesus.

  Chapter Eleven

  Evie answered the door wearing knee-length khaki shorts and a long-sleeved navy blue T-shirt. Something about her face was different, but he couldn’t tell what—didn’t care.

  “You look good, Evie.”

  “I do?” She brushed her finger against the corner of her eye. “Thank you.”

  She had put some little pumpkins and leaves on her mantel beside that pottery. “You’ve decorated for fall.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. Mama sent those things. I thought I’d better put them out before she gets here. How was practice today?”

  “I’ve had worse. I’ve had better. Everybody’s tired. Most are out of shape because they were lazy over the summer.”

  “How about you?” She sat on the edge of one of the chairs that flanked the fireplace, crossed her legs, and began to bounce her topsider-clad foot up and down. She’d always done that. Her daddy once said if she’d been on a bicycle, she’d be to state line in an hour. “Were you lazy over the summer?”

  “I could have been better if I hadn’t—” He plopped down on the couch and, all of a sudden, the television blared way louder than was healthy for the human ear and there was his face—bigger than life, swigging fancy water with that dopey music in the background. “How?” He jumped like a jack-in-the-box and shook his head like a wet dog trying to get dry. “What the fuck?” He said one of those words he didn’t usually say in front of women, but his brain and ears were on fire.

  Evie made a sound not unlike a dying animal as she lunged toward him, her mouth agape, eyes blazing.

  “No! I just have to—” And she was on her knees in front of him, one hand on his bare thigh, the other digging beneath the cushion under his butt.

  “Evie, what the hell?” He could feel her searching around under him while Endorsement Jake was talking about how he knew all about sparkling.

  “Raise up!” she demanded.

  The words did not compute. Raise up what? Himself? And if so, to where? If he got up, he’d knock her over into the coffee table, where she would hit her head and probably die.

  “Hellfire and brimstone! What’s going on here?” He raised his voice to drown out his television self, who was waxing eloquent about that ridiculous water.

  “Never mind.” She pulled her arm out from under him and came up with a remote, which she pointed at the TV, and—after several stabs and a bit of cursing under her breath—made Endorsement Jake go away.

  She stared at him looking for all the world like a not very bright mouth breather.

  “Sorry,” she finally said.

  “What the hell?” As the shock of the whole thing dissipated, Jake became aware of her hand—still on his thigh. In fact, it might have slipped a little farther up his shorts leg. She must have noticed at about the same time because—if possible—she looked even more horrified than before and let her eyes drop to the spot in question.

  “I swear.” It came out with a breathy sigh and she jerked her hand away. “Sorry. So, so sorry!”

  He pushed his hair out of his eyes. “What happened here?”

  “You sat on the remote.” She was still half lying and half kneeling at his feet, and her shirt had dipped to show the barest bit of cleavage. The sight of that and the memory of her hand on his thigh sent a shudder through him.

  He reluctantly took her hands, raised her up, and eased her onto the couch beside him. “I didn’t mean to sit on it.”

  “I know.” She rubbed what looked like a rug burn on her knee.

  He began to laugh. She smiled a little and then joined in—though she didn’t seem to be feeling it. Boy, she really did not like her TV being turned on by someone’s ass.

  “That was bizarre,” he said. “What are the odds? My commercial on at the exact minute it happened.”

  Her eyes went moon-shaped, but then she shrugged. “Yeah. What are the odds?”

  She stood up, crossed the room, and put the remote in the drawer of a little table. “Are you ready to make pie?”

  “Sure. Let’s get to it. How long do you think it’s going to take?”

  Her face clouded over. “Do you have to be somewhere else?”

  “No, but I was hoping to eat soon.”

  She brightened up a little. “Since we’re using those pie crusts in a box, probably no more than an hour.”

  An hour? He’d be dead in an hour. “Well, let’s get to it.” Maybe she’d give him a snack.

  “I’ve got everything we need ready to go. Just let me get it, and we’ll be on our way.”

  On their way? “Where are we going?”

  “Crust.” Her voice had an of course sound to it.

  That made no sense. “You said to meet you here. I thought we were cooking here.”

  She shook her head. “Since I didn’t know when you’d be finished, it seemed easier to have you come here first.”

  He didn’t want to go to Crust, the scene of Armageddon. He was hoping they could watch Clerks or Chasing Amy while they ate chicken pot pie. Maybe it would be cool enough to turn on the fire.

  “Can’t we do it here?”

  She laughed. “Have you seen my kitchen?”

  “No, though I thought I’d be seeing it tonight.”

  She pointed to the door. “Have a look.”

  He expected her to follow but he soon saw why she didn’t. It wasn’t much bigger than a closet—and he wasn’t talking about a walk-in closet either. There was barely enough room for one person to stand in front of the counter, with the sink and a microwave to the right. To the left there was a stove like you might find in a camper and a refrigerator the size of the one in the wet bar of his new condo.

  When he turned around, Evans was leaning on the doorframe. “Do you see why we can’t have a cooking lesson here? I can put together something simple, but that’s about all.”

  “Why would they do this?” he asked. “It’s such a nice little house.”

  “The houses on this street were built in the 1940s for the textile mill management, who only lived in Laurel Springs during the week. I guess the men who lived here didn’t need much of a kitchen. This suits me fine. After all, who has a better kitchen than Crust?”

  I do.

  No way was he going to Crust. Unless he missed his guess, Able was on the hunt for Evie tonight and Crust was the first place he’d look. Jake didn’t need him busting up in there, delaying when he was going to get to eat. Of course he’d do the dishes. He’d proven that.

  “Why don’t we go to my place?” he asked. “I’ve got plenty of room.” She looked interested. “I want you to see it anyway.”

  She smiled. “Well, sure. We can do that. Hand me that bag by the sink and get the one from the refrigerator.”

  * * *

  Evans was still shaking inside when Jake punched in the code for his keypad lock. What a nightmare. She was deleting that recording as soon as she got home. If she had the need to watch that commercial again, she’d just have to watch it on YouTube.

  “I don’t have any furniture yet,” he said as the door swung open. “Glaz put me in touch with an interior designer friend of his wife’s. Supposedly, everything is on schedule to get it all fixed up on Friday before my parents get here.”

  “You’re cutting it close.”

  He nodded and led her through a little foyer into the almost empty living room. It wa
s nice—wood floors, built-in bookcases, marble fireplace, and multi-paned windows.

  “It’s beautiful. Do you want to show me the rest, or get started?” she asked.

  “I’d rather show you once I have something more than a couch and TV. Besides, I’m starving.”

  “You mentioned that. Where’s the kitchen?”

  “This way.” He led her to a central hallway and through what she supposed would be a dining nook into the kitchen.

  He was right about one thing. There was plenty of room. Claire had outdone herself—custom cabinets, upscale appliances, quartz countertops that looked like they’d been set with jewels. She had to smile at the built-in wine refrigerator. Maybe he could store his beer in it.

  Or the wine he would keep for his girlfriends. There hadn’t been anything on The Face Off Grapevine lately, but it was just a matter of time.

  “Are you all right?” Jake looked at her oddly. “Don’t you like the kitchen?”

  Snap out of it, Evans! “I do! It’s great. I was just considering where to set up.”

  “Whatever you think’s best. You know more about that than I do.” He opened a stainless steel door under the cabinet. “This is the best part. I’ve got one of those icemakers that makes that good ice like Sonic has. Do you want some?”

  “No, thanks. Not right now.” She took the recipe out her bag and handed it to him. “Read over that while I unpack the ingredients.” She set the bag she carried on the island and lined up everything in the order they would need it. “Okay. Let’s get started. To begin with, I need a knife and cutting board. Go ahead and get me a skillet.”

  “Oh, no,” he said. His head was cocked to the side, but not in that “surrender to my will” kind of way. It wasn’t a look she remembered seeing before. “I don’t have a skillet.”

  “No skillet? What about a saucepan?” That would do, if push came to shove.

  He shook his head. “I thought you said you had everything we needed.”

  “I have the ingredients. I thought we were going to Crust, where there is plenty of equipment. Do you have any equipment?”

  “I have a can opener. A Keurig. My mother bought that. And a corkscrew.”

  Evie closed her eyes and massaged her forehead. Of course he would have a corkscrew. Couldn’t serve screw-top wine to his women.

  “Maybe we need to go out and get me a skillet and a knife?” There was a hopeful tone to his voice.

  “Jake...” She didn’t even know what to suggest. “The hardware store is closed. There’s a Williams-Sonoma and a Sur Le Table at the Summit, but that’s twenty minutes away—if the traffic is light. You’re hungry. I just don’t see how... We need to go to Crust.”

  “Tell you what.” Head cock. Smile. “Let’s forget this cooking lesson tonight. Let’s go to the Summit. We’ll get dinner. Then you can help me buy what I need.”

  Looked like they were going to the Summit. This time she didn’t even want to say no.

  Chapter Twelve

  Most men claimed to hate shopping, but Jake didn’t believe it. All you had to do was consider the amount of money spent every minute that ticked away in every first world country on the map to know that wasn’t true. Women weren’t the only ones spending all that money. To be fair he didn’t know exactly—or remotely—what that amount was, but he was sure if he looked it up, the data would support his presumption. So no. It was just a matter of the merchandise in question. While he would rather eat rocks than spend one second in a store dedicated to smelly candles, fruity bath products, and wine charms, a car dealership or electronics emporium was a different matter entirely.

  He expected this kitchen store to be a necessary evil, but he wasn’t feeling too bad about it since he now had a full belly, having just eaten eggrolls, Cajun jambalaya pasta, and tiramisu cheesecake. That’s what he liked about the Cheesecake Factory. You could eat from all the countries.

  As they entered Williams-Sonoma, Evie was listing off the things he would need. “A saucepan, a skillet, a couple of knives. A pie pan, of course. You’re going to want to buy those here because you need quality products. Things like measuring cups and whisks, you can get cheaper at Target.”

  “But we aren’t at Target,” he pointed out.

  “No,” she agreed. “But—”

  “If they have that stuff here, let’s just get it.”

  “Are you sure?” She frowned.

  “I’m sure. Just imagine you’re making chicken pot pie in your head. Get everything you would use. While you’re at it, pretend to scramble some eggs.” He could scramble eggs. Not having a skillet, he hadn’t in a while, but he was sure nothing had changed about the process. “Let’s get a toaster and a microwave bacon pan, too.” Before he knew it, he’d be able to cook a whole meal.

  “All right. I’m also going to insist on a rolling pin. I haven’t given up on your learning to make pastry.” The door closed behind them.

  “Whatever it takes to get you through the day,” he said. “I guess stranger things have happened.”

  “It’s really not that hard. If you can run around the rink balanced on what amounts to a knife blade you can—” She stopped short, focused on something behind him, and her eyes glazed over. “Oh.” She sounded in awe.

  Clearly, she forgot all about him, walked right away from him like a recently dead soul going toward the light—only, in this case, the light was a giant display of copper pots. By the time he caught up with her, she was caressing a little round pan the same way Addison had caressed that high-priced pocketbook he’d bought her last Christmas.

  “So gorgeous,” she muttered under her breath, and—as pots went—he supposed it was. This cookware was a damn sight better looking than that pocketbook with somebody else’s initials plastered all over it. There must have been twenty pieces, not counting the lids. Each one had brass handles and knobs decorated with different things—acorns, lemons, leaves, pumpkins, and little birds. There were even a couple of pieces with turkeys that were probably meant to get you in the spirit of Thanksgiving.

  In all the years he’d known Evie, he’d never seen her so taken with anything.

  A sales clerk approached. “Hi. I’m Millicent. Can I help you folks?”

  His first inclination was to buy it for Evie. Then he remembered the size of her kitchen.

  “No,” Evie said. “We’re just looking.”

  Looking? They had not come to look. Looking was a waste of time. Maybe that was the difference in the male and female versions of shopping.

  “We’ll take this.” He gestured to the display.

  “What?” Evie said, clearly surprised. “No.” She emphatically shook her head.

  “Really?” Millicent looked gleeful. Maybe she got commission. “Which pieces?”

  “All of it,” he said. At least Evie could look at it at his house—maybe even cook with it. He made a mental note to buy her a set when she got married.

  At that thought, his mouth went dry and, suddenly, a movie of the future materialized in his head. Evie was taking that big ass pan with the turkey on top out of the oven. Oddly, the movie was set in his kitchen. Then, none other than Able Killen materialized beside her, took the heavy pan, and set it on the counter. “I’ll wash the dishes,” he said, leaning in to kiss her.

  Jake did not like that movie; he quickly deleted it from his brain before the kiss could happen. Evie didn’t have to be married to get a gift. Most of this didn’t seem to have much to do with pie making, or he’d buy it for her now. Maybe later when she got a proper kitchen. He tried to visualize her in her future kitchen, but couldn’t come up with what it would look like.

  “Jake, no,” Evie said. “This isn’t necessary.”

  “What do you mean? You said we needed some pots.” And these make you happy.

  “I did, but I was thinking of some high-quality stainless ste
el. Look.” She turned over the piece she held and showed him the price.

  Wow, he didn’t know pots cost so much. Still, not that bad. There was a lot of it. Surely, that wasn’t for one pan. But the clerk had asked which pieces.

  “Do you get it all for that price?” Millicent bit her lip and looked at the floor, but Evie just went ahead and laughed out loud.

  “No,” Evie said. “You get this piece for that price.”

  “The lid is included,” Millicent said, hopefully.

  That was a lot of money. He was about to say lead on to the stainless steel, but when Evie set the pan back on the display, she ran her finger over the little leaves on the handle and sighed happily.

  That did it. What the hell? He’d spent a lot more than this at a certain jewelry store in Paris on his honeymoon.

  “Wrap it up,” he said to the clerk. “We’ll take it all.”

  Evie’s eyes widened. “Jake, I can’t let you do this. It’s insane! It won’t even fit in your car. The turkey roaster alone...” Her voice trailed off and she let her eyes rest on the pan from his movie. It was big enough to bathe a Labrador retriever.

  She had a point. The Lamborghini had been built for speed, power, and style—not for hauling cookware or much of anything else. Then the solution came to him. “No problem. Lucy Kincaid has a crew coming in Friday to set up the condo. I’ll ask her to pick it up. Millicent, you can have it ready for her then, can’t you?” He reached into his wallet and gave her Lucy’s business card. “That’s who’ll be picking it up.”

  She nodded so fast that he was surprised her head didn’t fly off. “Absolutely. Shall I ring it up or will there be anything else?”

  “Wait.” Evie clasped his wrist. “If you really want a piece of this...” She picked up a round pan with apples on the handle. “Get this pie plate.”

  “We’ll take two of those, Millicent.” Maybe he could get Evie to make him a Mississippi mud pie, too. “And the rest of it. We also need—what was it, Evie? A pancake turner and some spoons? What else?”