Sweet as Pie by Alicia Hunter Pace

Chapter Nine

“You are such a liar, Jake Champagne,” Evans said after she let Jake help her into the passenger seat of his car—a car that looked like it belonged on some European racetrack instead of the streets of Laurel Springs, Alabama. The doors opened the wrong way, making the car look like a giant green insect with its wings spread. She hated to think about what it must have cost. She wouldn’t have agreed to let him drive her home if she hadn’t wanted to take up this ghost story business with him—probably. “You totally made up those ghost stories.”

“Are you sure about that?” He slid into the driver’s seat and started the car.

“Of course I’m sure.” Kind of sure. Ok, so she’d never really paid much mind to ghost stories. “You made that whole thing up. Invented it on the spot.”

“Where is this Bungalow Circle?” he asked.

Damn. She’d already let him go past the turn. They’d have to backtrack, but he wouldn’t know the difference. “Turn right at the next traffic light. Go two blocks, turn right again and we’re there.”

“Seems like,” he said as he made the turn, “we should have turned a block sooner.”

So he had a good sense of direction. “Seems like we should do a lot of things—like tell the truth.”

“Here?” he asked. “Is this the turn?”

“Yes. Mine is the gray house with the white trim.”

He parked in front. “Is that your Honda CRV in the driveway?”

That rattled her a little. She had an agenda and he was making small talk. “Yes. Why?”

“No reason. There doesn’t have to be a reason for everything. Why did you pick blue?”

“I didn’t pick blue. It was the one on the lot with the other features I wanted.”

“Hmm.” She knew what that sound meant—that it wasn’t what he would have done. “I picked green. You should never settle, Evie.”

She could have pointed out that if she had paid as much as he must have for a car, she would have chosen the color, but this was a pointless conversation. She had an agenda to get back to.

“I didn’t settle. I like blue just fine.”

“Never settle for ‘just fine.’ Get things you love.”

“Have you always done that?” Did you do that when you picked Channing? She would never have said that part, but he knew what she meant and the question hung between them just the same.

He shrugged. “I’ve done my damnedest. I’ve taken a wrong road or six, but I have never settled—even when my choice wasn’t the best. But I own that I need to make better choices. I’m trying to do that.”

She took a deep breath. Enough of that. She intended to have this fall fest business out with him here and now. “Look, Jake. Implying that you’re an experienced storyteller, when we both know you are not, might be fun for you, but Ava Grace is trying to establish a business. She hasn’t been open a year yet.” She would not tell him that Ava Grace was struggling. That wasn’t hers to tell. “She can’t have a lame fall fest activity.”

He didn’t answer her right then. He hopped out, ran around the front of the car, and opened the insect wing door. So much for the here and now. “Who said it would be lame?”

Evans made no move to unbuckle her seatbelt. “You know what I mean.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I really don’t.”

“You were just kidding around tonight. I’m not going to let you jerk Ava Grace around.”

A frown set in between his eyes. “Can we discuss this inside? I’m cold. The team didn’t pack us any long pants and I haven’t been home.” She hesitated, but then he did it—widened his eyes, cocked his head to the side, and bit his bottom lip. “Come on, Evie. Don’t be tired of me.”

“That’s a tall order. You’re about as tiresome as an all-night infomercial, and going all wide-eyed on me won’t change that.” She climbed out of the car.

He laughed out loud. “That’s my Evie.”

And it was. As a teenager, she’d always thrown that kind of banter at him when her feelings started marching toward her, intent on eating her alive. Not that she felt that now. Old habits die hard—or, in her case, maybe not at all. She turned on the lamps.

“Nice,” he said. “Cozy.”

“My mother did it,” she admitted. Though she seldom thought of it, Evans picked up the remote from the mantel, pressed the button, and the logs in the fireplace came to life. “I’m not very good at decorating.”

He stepped in front of the fire and rubbed his hands together. “But you’re great at building a fire.”

She laughed despite her annoyance. “This kind anyway. Putting furniture and rugs together, not so much.”

“That’s not always a bad thing. Do what you’re good at. Let somebody else do what you’re not. I don’t recommend that you take up hockey and I damn sure have no business taking up pie baking.”

“Two totally different things. I could teach you to bake a pie,” she said. “You’d have good chicken pot pie for the rest of your life. But, as you well know, I can’t even ice skate.”

When she was twelve, he’d tried to teach her. It had been a disaster.

“I wasn’t much of a teacher back then. I’d do better now.”

Evans folded her wrap over the back of a wing chair. “Sit down, Jake. We need to talk about the fall festival.” She sat on the wing chair and gestured to the club chair across from her. He ignored her and sat on the end of the sofa, close enough to her that their knees almost touched.

“I don’t intend to jerk Ava Grace around.” He let his eyes bore into hers. “Evie, I don’t jerk people around.” His lips were chapped.

“But this is a lark for you. The Laurel Springs Fall Festival is a tradition. People expect a quality event. Sure, it’s a little hokey, but that’s part of the charm. Ava Grace is going to spend a lot of money on decorations and refreshments. She’ll advertise that she’s having ghost stories told by Yellowhammer player Jake Champagne. You can’t flop in there, flying by the seat of your pants, flashing your pretty eyes and counting on your good looks to keep people from realizing you’re making it up as you go.”

He smiled when she mentioned his pretty eyes and good looks. If she could have, she would have jerked those words back like a catfish on a cane pole, but it was too late. She wondered if he had lip balm.

“I’m not going to do that, Evie.” He drew a cross over his heart. “I know I’m not as smart as you are, but—”

Not that again. It was true he wasn’t a quick study or an A student like she’d been, but his grades had always been good enough to keep him hockey eligible. “Don’t start that. You did well enough when you wanted to.” She’d assured him enough over the years. Besides, she’d never really bought that he felt inferior to her intellectually, or any other way.

“Well, whatever.” He shrugged. “But it’s not like I don’t have any communication skills. I’ve been taught how to speak to the press, and let’s not forget Miss Violet’s instructions.”

Miss Violet had been the teacher at the cotillion classes Anna-Blair and Christine had made Evans and Jake attend. Did he know about the warm feelings that encased her heart when he brought up a shared memory? Probably.

“I know storytelling is different,” he went on, “but I promise. I’ll get online, find some books.” He reached for her hand and squeezed. The warmth in her heart raced down her arm to where their fingers met. “I promise I’ll study up. It’s not like I think I can skim a couple of stories and skate through.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Though I am a better than the average skater.”

He withdrew his hand and ran it through his hair. Her hand felt lonely.

“You are that.” She had to laugh. “I know it seems like I don’t trust you...”

“You don’t.” He widened his eyes, but not in that come-hither way. “I’ve earned that. But I’ll earn my way back into your trust. I know I’ve had a weird few years, but I used to be a man people could count on. I’m trying to be that man again.”

It hurt her heart to see him so raw. “Seems like you were a man Olivia and the kids could count on this past summer.” It was only fair.

“I tried.” Pleasure crossed his face and it gladdened her to know she’d been the cause of it.

“Okay. I won’t question you any more about fall fest.” But there was another sticky wicket. “There’s something else you should know. Ava Grace isn’t available.”

He frowned and picked at his chapped lower lip. “Available for what?”

“Available—as in single. She’s been dating the same guy since she was a teenager. Everyone says they’ll get engaged at the Christmas Gala in December. So if you’re doing this for her because...” She let her voice trail off.

“No.” He shook his head. “That never occurred to me. I’m not interested in Ava Grace. If you’ll remember, I said I could tell ghost stories before I knew who wanted them, or why.”

That was true—which brought up an interesting question. “Why did you offer to do it?”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “I wanted to please you.”

“Me?”Her heart turned over.

“Yes. You were talking about ghost stories. I said I could do it to get in the conversation. Then when I found out your friend needed ghost stories for the fall fest, I said I’d do it to please you—win points.”

She was baffled—struck dumb. He wanted to please her? Once she found her voice, she said, “This has nothing to do with me.”

“It must, or we wouldn’t be talking about it now. I acted like an ass that night at Crust. You were madder than I’ve ever seen you.”

“I was mad? You picked up on that?” She smiled to take some of the sting out of the sarcasm.

“Yeah. I’m perceptive that way. It came to me when you wouldn’t let me run the Hobart.”

“You don’t know how to run a Hobart.”

“The church had one when we were growing up.”

“That doesn’t mean you knew how to run it.” She leaned back and crossed her legs.

“I am sorry—not for my ineptness with a Hobart, but for trying to throw my weight around with you. I had no right.”

She rubbed the back of her neck. “Well. I’m not lily-white in that little altercation. It wasn’t fair for me to bring up the past after I had said it was behind us. I accept your apology. I’m sorry, too.”

He smiled. “I guess we can start over from here—again.”

Againwas a comforting word.

“I guess you’ve heard our parents are coming for your first game,” Evans said.

He nodded. “Mine are staying with me. I’ve got to buy a bed this week.”

“That should make things more pleasant for them. And it’ll definitely be more pleasant for everyone if they don’t show up to find us sniping at each other.”

“No kidding.” He shook his head. “I can hear my dad now. ‘Boy, where are your manners? I didn’t raise you to act like this.’”

They laughed quietly together for a moment and his laugh trailed off in a yawn.

“Someone’s tired.”

“Yeah.” He stood. “I’d better go. Early on the ice tomorrow.”

“And I start making pies at five a.m.” She walked him to the door.

“Ouch.” He gave her a one-armed hug—the kind meant to be a friendly exchange of affection between pals. But it didn’t feel friendly—not to her. The tingle started in her gut and worked its way through her body, leaving her knees weak and her heart pounding. She jerked her head up in surprise and found herself looking into those all-night-long blue eyes. Was it her imagination or did he look as surprised as she felt? If so, was he having the same reaction? Or could it be that he wasn’t, but sensed what she felt? Either way, he rotated his body and turned the hug into a full-on frontal embrace.

This must be what it felt like to rest in a warm cloud. She worked to keep her breath even, but let her arms slip around to hug him back.

“Evie, Evie, Evie.” He sighed into her neck, and she would surely turn into warm butterscotch syrup and melt all over the floor. “It’s good to be with you, even if you do know I’m afraid of clowns. Or maybe that’s why it’s good to be with you.”

That long-ago birthday party where Jake had gone screaming from the room reminded Evans of another birthday party—Hollis Allen’s fifteenth. Jake had refused to go because Evans hadn’t been invited. The sweetness of that memory flowed through her, and she relaxed against him a bit more.

And then, abruptly, the embrace was over. She wasn’t butterscotch syrup and she’d made too much of it.

“Get some rest.” She opened the door for him.

“Good night, Evie.” He was almost out when he turned back. “Let’s just suppose—for the sake of argument—that I took you up on your offer to teach me to make chicken pot pie—”

What?“Uh...yeah?”

“Could we start with bought crusts?”

Evans’s mouth flew open. He couldn’t have surprised her more if he’d produced a doll who had dug her way out of a grave.

“I know it goes against your pie-in-the-sky ideals, but a man has to start somewhere.”

“I...” She had no doubt he would forget this had even crossed his mind by the time he stepped off her porch. She ought to brush him off, say no. “Well, yes. We could do that.”

He nodded and winked. “Good. In return, I won’t expect you to stand up on your own on your first skating lesson.” He strolled out on the porch.

Holy hell. “Hey! Who said anything about skating lessons?”

He turned back and sparkled at her. “Me. I said it. I’ll call you.”

And he got into his insect car and drove away.

She watched him go and tried not to think of the promised call that might not come.