Sweet as Pie by Alicia Hunter Pace

Chapter Fourteen

The dining room of the historic Laurel Springs Inn had an old-fashioned, elegant, country-club feel to it, though the food was better than any country club Evans knew. Those places always worried too much about golf and liquor and not enough about food. She’d dropped her parents off here earlier, gone home to change, and was now back to meet them for dinner.

It was filled to the brim with hockey players eating with their families. At least she didn’t have to worry about seeing Jake here. By now, Christine was probably spoon-feeding him chicken pot pie.

Her gut tightened at the thought of that pie. She hadn’t intended to decorate it, hadn’t intended to go one extra inch, let alone an extra mile, for the man she was so mad at. But then it had looked plain compared to the other pies. It was professional integrity that made her add the crossed hockey sticks. Then, it needed a little something more, so she’d tried her hand at cutting out the Yellowhammer logo freehand. That had taken three tries, and during the process, she’d begun to think about why she was angry at Jake. She’d already faced that he hadn’t done anything wrong or behaved any differently than he always had.

She sometimes forgot that he’d been a good friend to her in a thousand ways—like the time their cotillion class had gone to a fancy Chinese restaurant and he’d quietly moved to sit beside her and help her when she couldn’t get the hang of using chopsticks.

He had simply failed to meet her expectations—and she was the only one responsible for her expectations. And she only had herself to thank for letting him push her into going to his condo to cook instead of Crust. If it had been Ava Grace or Hyacinth who’d behaved as he had, she wouldn’t have given it a thought. They were her friends—and so was Jake. That was all he would ever be.

Usually, when she talked herself out of her anger, she felt relieved and happy, but this time she was left feeling flat, empty, and sad. So she had kept embellishing the pie with his name, number, and stars, until it was decorated up like a Victorian side table.

Needing some distance before she talked to him again, she’d let Jake’s calls go to voice mail yesterday and she had not called him back. Too bad she couldn’t lock herself in her house until the team left on Sunday.

Keith Pemberton stood when she approached. Her father had been to Miss Violet’s cotillion classes, too. Then he smiled at her, like he always did, and he hadn’t learned that from Miss Violet. It came straight from the heart. Though no one had ever admitted it, Evans knew that, after two girls, she was the child who was supposed to be a boy—the one more try. They never acted like they regretted her, but she wondered how much they would have celebrated a boy.

He held her chair. “You look nice, Evie.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” She’d changed into a simple amber linen shift and even gone to the trouble of digging out a topaz bracelet. “You think this is an improvement over my chef’s jacket with flour all over it?” It had been splattered with chocolate, too.

“I’m proud of you for getting your hands dirty. I just wish you’d do it closer to home.”

Here we go.But she didn’t panic at the subject the way she used to. It had become a ritual for them to have the same conversation every time they saw each other.

Right on cue, her mother pitched in with, “There’s always room for you at the bakery,” but without any real conviction. If she’d had conviction, she would have brought it up the moment she’d entered Crust. That had happened before. The discussion had eventually taken on a lighthearted tone as her parents became more accepting of her decision to not return home. It had been a while since Anna-Blair had reminded her that they had sent her to culinary school with the expectation that she would go to work in the family bakery.

“Room for me—not so much for my way of doing things.” Evans looked around. She spotted Wingo with an incredibly attractive couple who looked too young to be his parents. Luka Zodorov strolled in and joined Logan Jensen and his family.

No Able. That was good. She was prepared to like him—did like him. But he was coming on entirely too strong. He’d called once yesterday and texted her twice today.

She had told him she’d go to that breakfast because she was angry with Jake, though she wanted to go. Of course she did. And there was no reason Jake should care. Therefore, there should be no awkwardness.

“I know.” Anna-Blair brought Evans back to the table. She put one hand out, palm forward, and took a sip of her wine. “You want to specialize—to make artisan pies, not cookies from a mix, plain old birthday cakes, and a thousand of my other sins.”

“Not a thousand.” Evans grinned at her mother. “More like a hundred.”

Keith laughed. “To be fair, Anna-Blair, you don’t sin as much as you direct the sinning.”

Anna-Blair grimaced. “That’s not true. I made brownies and thumbprint cookies when Carabeth had that stomach virus.”

“That must have been a real emergency,” Evans said, looking at the menu.

Anna-Blair’s voice took a serious turn. “If you ever decided you wanted to come home, I’d let you have it—run it like you wanted.” She swallowed. “Maybe. Mostly.”

“You’ve never done anything mostly in your life.” Evans laughed and tried to change the subject. “I might have the shrimp and grits.”

“You never know,” Anna-Blair said breezily. “I might be tired of the bakery business. I think I’ll have the shrimp and grits, too.”

“You’ll never be tired of having something to run. Since you’ve aged out of Junior League, the church flower guild can’t keep you busy enough. And rush only happens once a year.”

“Tell you what, baby girl. You just come on home.” Keith winked at her. He was a winker, always had been. “There’s a building down the street from the bakery. I’ll buy it for you. You and your mama can fight it out.”

“We’d be the talk of the Delta for sure,” Evans said.

“Might be good for business,” Anna-Blair said. “People would come from miles around to see it.”

“People would come from miles around to eat my pies,” Evans said.

“That’s my girl,” Keith said.

Just then, the server set a glass of wine down in front of Evans. “Merlot,” he said.

“I ordered that for you,” Keith said. “I thought you’d want steak. Would you rather have something white?”

She took a sip of her wine. “I’m secure enough to drink red wine with shrimp.” And she was, but right now, that seemed like the only thing she was secure about.

Keith nodded and addressed the waiter. “Shrimp and grits for the ladies, and I’ll have the filet, rare, with the blue cheese-stuffed baked potato. Caesar salads all around?” He looked from Evans to Anna-Blair.

“Sounds good,” Evans said, “and I’d like a side of the mushrooms with garlic and sherry.” If Jake had been here, she would have never ordered mushrooms. Though he’d never said so, his dislike for them was so intense she could tell it was hard for him to watch people eat them.

Keith brightened. “Good idea. I’ll have some of those, too. Anna-Blair, how about you?”

“No. I’ll just have a bite of yours.”

“Not likely.” He addressed the waiter. “Three orders of the mushrooms.”

She should have known better than to fall for a man who didn’t like mushrooms. Her daddy loved them. She ought to look for someone more like him.

Might as well take care of some housekeeping. “I thought that after dinner, you could take me home so you can use my car while you’re here.”

“Are you sure?” Keith asked. “I don’t want to leave you without a car.”

“I’m sure. I usually walk to work anyway.”

“Christine and I are going shopping tomorrow for some things Jake needs. I still can’t believe Channing threw him out with the clothes on his back.”

And I can’t believe, after all we bought at Williams-Sonoma, that there’s a thing left that Jake needs.

“Now, Anna-Blair,” Keith said. “I think it was Jake’s choice to leave without his things and Channing sent a truckload of stuff to Christine and Marc’s. So it wasn’t quite like that.”

“Close enough. Anyway, Evans, don’t you want to go shopping with us?”

Yes, Mama, that’s absolutely what I want to do—go shopping for Jake Champagne. That would really cheer me up.

“I can’t. Crust is open.”

“So is Anna-Blair’s, but I’m here. Don’t you trust your employees?”

“I do, but I have to work,” she said firmly. She wasn’t going to have this discussion and she wasn’t going shopping. “Since y’all are going shopping, all the more reason to leave Daddy my car—so he and Marc won’t be stranded. You can pick me up for the hockey game.”

“Of course,” Anna-Blair said. “Christine is already planning for us to all go together. Then, we’re meeting Jake and Robbie afterward at some sports bar. Hammer Down?”

“Hammer Time,” Evans corrected.

“Christine tells me you aren’t going to the Yellowhammer breakfast Sunday morning,” Anna-Blair said.

Oh, hell. Was it any wonder she didn’t want to live in Cottonwood where those two conferred on every single detail of the lives of everyone in their own private universe?

“We thought you would. Your daddy and I can opt out and have breakfast with you,” Anna-Blair carried on.

“Actually, turns out, I am going,” Evans said.

Anna-Blair nodded. “I thought Jake must have misunderstood when he said you wanted to sleep late. The only time you’ve ever slept past six in your life was when you had the flu. Did you tell him in time to get you added to his guest list?” Evans had long suspected that her mother communed weekly with the late great Emily Post via Ouija board.

“No.” She gulped her wine and mumbled the rest into her glass. “Someone else invited me. I’m on his list.”

Keith, who had not seemed to be particularly interested in what was unfolding around him, whipped his head around to meet Evans’s eyes.

“Well, that’s nice,” Anna-Blair said. Did she have to sound so surprised? Though to be fair, Evans hadn’t set the dating scene on fire lately.

“Is he a hockey player?” Keith demanded. “What’s his name?”

“Yes. Able Killen.” And I don’t know who his people are, so don’t ask.

Keith nodded, and his eyes started to move rapidly from side to side. It was a bizarre sight for someone who hadn’t seen it before, but Evans knew what was happening. Keith had total recall for everything he read, and he had called something up from his brain and was reading it. “Able Killen. Number twenty-five. Defense. Birthday January second. Six feet, four inches. Two hundred twelve pounds. Born in Idaho Falls.”

Apparently, Keith had read the Yellowhammer roster. He knew more about Able than Evans did. She never had gotten around to googling him.

“Is he a nice boy? Tell us about him.” Anna-Blair gave her a little conspiratorial smile. “Have you been out with him before or will this be the first date? Is he cute?”

Hell. She was in hell. And it would get worse. The Cottonwood Mississippi Inquisition was in session. The Spanish had nothing on them.

“He’s nice. I don’t really have anything to tell. I don’t know him very well. I haven’t been out with him, and I’m not sure this breakfast counts as a date, so much as just ‘come have some eggs.’”

“It counts,” Anna-Blair said.

“Jake asked me and that wouldn’t have been a date.”

“That’s different.” Anna-Blair flipped her hand. Of course it was. It always had been. Evans had just fully realized it. Did fully realizing something always equate to giving up hope? “Who are his people? I knew a girl from Idaho at Ole Miss. Karen Chastaine.”

What a coincidence, Mama. That’s Able’s mother!If she’d said that out loud, she’d have been sent to stand in the corner. Anna-Blair did not like sarcasm unless she was the one dishing it out.

“I don’t know who his people are,” Evans said. “For all I know, he may not have any.”

“Everybody’s got people,” Anna-Blair said. “Even if they’re dead.”

“Is this guy a friend of Jake’s?” Keith asked.

It was hard to keep a neutral face. No, Daddy. Jake seems to have somewhat of a case of the ass for him—though not as much so as for Wingo.

“I’m not sure Jake has been here long enough to establish who his friends are—apart from Robbie, of course.”

“Hmm.” Keith finished his bourbon and signaled the waiter for another. “I suppose I’ll meet him soon enough and form my own opinion.” Not if Evans could help it. “Is his father a potato farmer?”

“I don’t know, but everyone in Idaho isn’t a potato farmer any more than everyone in the Delta is a cotton farmer and a duck hunter.”

“I’m a cotton farmer and a duck hunter,” he said, like she didn’t know. “What do you know about Idaho?”

She thought for a moment. “They raise a lot of potatoes there?”

They laughed together and she got the sense that Keith had stopped mentally loading his duck-and hockey-player-killing gun.

“Speaking of Jake,” Anna-Blair said.

Oh, Mama, let’s not!

“There’s going to be a baby shower for Channing next Sunday. It’s in the afternoon.”

“What’s that got to do with Jake?” Evans asked. “More to the point, what’s it got to do with me?” But she knew.

“I’d like you to go and represent the family.”

“Mama!”

“I know,” Anna-Blair said. “It’s a lot to ask, but it’s the same weekend as Cassandra’s dance recital.” She named Evans’s six-year-old niece. “Obviously Layne, Ellis, and I can’t go.”

“It’s obvious that Layne can’t go, given that Cassandra is her child. It isn’t so obvious why you and Ellis can’t go.”

Anna-Blair closed her eyes and shook her head. “Be fair. We need to go and support Cassandra. I am her mimi.” As far as Evans could recall, Anna-Blair had never referred to herself as grandmother. “Layne always goes to Ellis’s boys’ baseball games. It would be great if you could come to the recital, but I understand that, given the distance and your work schedule, it’s not a reasonable expectation. On the other hand, Nashville is a short drive for you.”

“Not that short,” Evans grumbled. “Besides, I wasn’t invited.”

“Shorter for you than for us, by a lot. And you were invited. They sent the invitation to our house.”

“Because clearly, I still live there.” Wasn’t that just like Channing? Far be it from her to go to the trouble to get a current mailing address.

“It’ll always be your home,” Keith spoke up, “whether or not you ever spend another night there.” He leveled his gaze on her. “Evie, you don’t have to go, of course, but I hope you’ll consider it.”

So, that was that. “All right, all right,” she surrendered. “I’ll go.”

“Good,” Anna-Blair said. “I brought gifts for you to take. They’re wrapped and ready to go.”

Of course they were.

No need to ask good old Evie before wrapping them and schlepping them over. She’ll do it.