by Gina Henning
“Lauren, this is really good.” Megan shovels another bite into her mouth.
“Nice one, Lauren…better watch out Megan, she might take your place.” Luke laughs as he shovels another large bite into his mouth.
“Thank you.” I lock eyes with Jack as he spoons some of the pie into his mouth. His full lips have a tiny piece of filling on them. I want to reach over and lick it off. In the company of my family I use my napkin instead.
He raises his eyebrows at me and squeezes my thigh under the table. I’m in heaven. The pie is a pure success and I’ve got an extremely hot guy seated next to me toying for my attention. I take in all of Jack. Is this the guy for me? Is geography a big enough point of contention to avoid those icy blues that melt me into a puddle of weakness? I knead my lips and stand up.
Jack and I gather the plates from the table in unison. We make a great team. In typical Hauser family style, the cleanup is ignored. Though this year, I’m not bothered by the lack of familial assistance.
“Would you like to go on a non-icy holiday walk with me?” Jack asks me as he places the dishes in the sink.
I study his face and then the clock. It’s ten minutes past eight. “Non-icy—that’s a bummer. Let me tell my mom we’re leaving.”
I return to the dining room. All eyes are on me. What is everyone’s deal?
“Did you scare him off already?” Luke laughs.
I stick my tongue out at him. “Mom, we’re going to go for a walk. Okay?”
“Okay, honey. Just be careful. It’s dark out,” she says.
Some things never change, I suppose, which isn’t a bad thing when it’s your mother caring about your well-being.
My dad frowns and gives my mom a look I know all too well. It’s his “Are you sure about this?” face. My mom pats my father’s hand to let him know she is okay with us going on a walk.
I leave the dining room. I don’t need any more quips from my family. Jack is waiting for me in the kitchen, without his apron. He’s a stylish dresser. I could get used to seeing someone so put together on a routine basis. But, I’ve only got three days before I return to Baltimore.
“Ready.” I follow him out the door. It’s only a walk but it seems like something more and though I’ve said ready, I’m not sure if I am. I roll my lips together.
“Are you going to be okay without a jacket?” He places both of his hands on my shoulders. He kisses my head and whispers in my ear, “Or would you prefer I keep you warm?”
Little fireworks are exploding down my spine. I inhale and say, “I think you’d make a nice blanket.”
“A blanket? Like what—a meat blanket? Am I just a piece of meat to you?” Jack says in a sarcastic tone. He wraps his strong arms around me and pulls me in close.
“A meat blanket.” I laugh at the idea. “No, I think if you were a type of food blanket, I’d prefer some sort of dessert.” I beam up at him.
His eyebrow lifts and he twirls a lock of my hair with his finger. My head is tingling and little bumps are popping up along my arms. I’m not cold. It’s not the temperature.
The drinks at dinner and Jack are more than enough to keep me toasty for this stroll.
The sky is cloudy with a bit of a haze, and I’m thankful my mind is not. The brisk air is keeping my feet on the ground. I’m focused. Even though walking with Jack, or anything with Jack, is like driving fast in a tunnel, knowing there is only one way out. I snuggle in closer to him. I can handle this. It’s just a walk in my parents’ neighborhood, not down the aisle.
Jack is quiet. What is he thinking about? Most likely not walking. Or maybe he is. The walk was his suggestion. We stroll toward the neighborhood park—a good destination. During the day the park would be filled with kids on the swings, slide, monkey bars, and the merry go round, I’m on a merry go round when I’m around Jack. I’m spinning. I roll my lips.
“Your family is nice.” Jack takes my hand in his firm grip. The enclosure is like an unspoken agreement.
“Yes, maybe a first impression. But, if you ever saw them again, you might not feel that way.” My lips wrinkle up to the side.
“I’d like to see you again, Lauren. Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?” Jack kisses my knuckles softly and stares down at me.
I sigh. “I’ll have to check my schedule. This is bit short notice.”
“Please tell me you haven’t scheduled a pie-making session with someone else,” Jack says, dropping my hand. I want him to reach back, grab it, and pull me in, but he doesn’t. He picks up a lock of my hair and tugs on it. “You know, if it wasn’t for your grandmother, we wouldn’t have met.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she gave me the recipe several weeks ago, and then yesterday she came to me with the laminated copy and was pretty upset. This happens with age, so I didn’t think anything of it. She was very insistent that I go to Tibor’s Farm to get the pecans for the pies. Your grandmother can be extremely compelling. Anyways, I’d already bought pecans from the grocery store. She saw them and dumped them in the trash. I had no choice but to get the pecans from Tibor’s.” He takes both of my hands and holds them up to his lips. “I’m sure I wasn’t the kindest when we first met, it’s just I was a little perturbed.”
Wow. I’m a bit taken aback at my grandmother’s grandiose attempt to meddle in my love life, or really, lack thereof.
“Yes, my grandmother can be quite demanding. And you definitely didn’t win me over with your charm at the pecan farm.” I flitter my eyelashes at him.
“I suppose not, but when did I win you over, was it with my dance moves?” He kisses my knuckles again.
I laugh. “No, I think it was probably your warm car.”
“Ah, I should have figured you were only after my car.” Jack shakes his head.
“Hey, it wasn’t so much your car but rather the warmth of it.” I toss my hair over my shoulder.
“You do seem like the type of woman that likes things hot…from the oven.” Jack wiggles his eyebrows at me.
“Maybe, but I don’t intend on making any pies for a long time. And I fly out on Sunday.” I sigh.
Jack hasn’t released his hold on my fingers or my attention. I glance towards the yellow slide, the plastic is reflecting the moon light. It’s almost like a final warning sign for me to slow down. I’m not sure where this road leads or if I want to go. Am I willing to risk the fall? There are no pies that need cooling to temper this situation.
Remembering all the things I have to do when I get home anchors me back to reality. My grandmother’s intervening is too much for me to dissect right now. Jack alone is cumbersome. Focus on the little things: dry-clean collecting, sorting through my mail, watering my plants—definitely a long list.
“Well, then I have until Sunday to show you my finest tango moves.” Jack lifts my chin and kisses me softly.
My mind has been swiped of any finite details. I try to catch my breath.
“Hmm, you might be moving in the right direction. But I don’t remember that particular step.”
“Let me show you again.” Jack repeats the kiss, which drifts me further from my dock of sensibility.
His mouth presses against mine. I don’t want a PG-rated kiss. He must sense this as he slides his tongue in. It’s firm and on a mission. His mouth is fresh. Did he slip in a breath mint along the way?
My tongue latches onto his. Together they swirl with a hunger for something more.
I pull back. “Intriguing tempo, but you might need to work on your finish.”
My fingers are clasped around his back, stretching tight. He’s holding me in his arms. I can fall at this moment, and I know I won’t hit the ground.
“Good thing that wasn’t my finish.” Jack lightly kisses me. “You’re a tough critic.”
He moves in and our tongues meet again. They whirl around and around. An electric cord is short-circuiting all over my body, sending fiery pulses out like a search party, not one shot into the dark night sky b
ut rather a blast of chain lightning. His teeth tug on my tongue. My eyes open. He releases his hold and pulls his head back from me.
My eyelashes flitter. I knew there was something between us but that kiss. I’m breathless.
“I must say, Lauren, you bake a perfect pecan pie. It’s the best I’ve ever tasted,” Jack says, rubbing his lips together.
I want to taste more of him. I’ve gone to a point of no return. Being with Jack and kissing him is something I don’t want to end.
“That’s quite the compliment coming from a pecan hoarder.” I push his shoulder. He doesn’t budge.
“A pecan hoarder you can’t keep your eyes off of.” Jack smiles a cocky grin.
He’s right. I don’t want to turn away.
“Well, you wouldn’t know where my eyes were if you weren’t watching me like a hawk.” I toss back my hair.
I know my response is somewhere between late elementary to middle school level, but I don’t care. We’re at the park, so the setting reflects my level of maturity accurately.
“Like a hawk.” Jack runs his finger down the side of my face and over my lips. He’s gazing at me as if he finds me amusing or maybe immature.
“Yes, like a hawk.” I have to stand by this description now.
“I’ve been called worse. But if I’m a hawk, then what does that make you? A little brown field mouse or… No, I think you’re a wild hare.” Jack runs his fingers through my hair. He pulls it together at the nape of my neck.
“A wild hare? Why didn’t you say a rabbit?”
“I think wild hare suits you better.”
“Maybe.”
His mouth meets mine again. The ground is disappearing beneath me. I’m dancing in the air, twirling around. There’s no gravity. I want this song playing on an endless loop. This melody reels in so many of my emotions.
Sunday is only a few days away. Seventy-two hours, four thousand three hundred twenty minutes, two hundred fifty-nine thousand two hundred seconds—so many numbers. I'm not a math person. I don’t want to add numbers. This isn’t about calculations. This is something more than math. This is real. This is pulsating, knocking me off my feet—it’s mesmerizing. I can hardly catch my breath because of these zinging vibrations that ignite from my lips to my fingertips. Maybe it’s possible for this—this non-math, this realness, this unexpected genuine emotion—to turn this kiss into something more than pecan pie.
CARINA™
ISBN: 978 1 474 02025 1
How to Bake the Perfect Pecan Pie
Copyright © 2014 Gina Henning
Published in Great Britain (2014)
by Carina, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
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