Sweet as Pie by Alicia Hunter Pace

Chapter Thirty-One

It had been two weeks since Evans had sent Jake away.

Now she was on Claire’s doorstep with no idea why she’d been summoned. Not where she needed to be with twenty-four hours until fall fest.

She was fairly sure Claire didn’t know about her confronting Jake in Hammer Time or she would have heard about it by now. Maybe she was going to be chastised for failing to attend hockey games. If so, that was just too damn bad. She could not sit in that arena right now and watch Jake play hockey. Possibly after the first of the year—or never.

“Come in, Evans,” Claire said warmly. Maybe she wasn’t going to chastise her. It could be a surprise catering job. Evans would rather be chastised.

Evans handed Claire the bakery box she carried. “We’re doing a test run on the miniature pies for the fall festival Saturday. I brought you a little sample.”

Claire opened the box, looked at the four tiny pies. “Evans, these are exquisite.”

“There’s cranberry pear, honey apple, chocolate chess, and pumpkin with candied ginger.”

“They are almost too pretty to eat. You did a beautiful job, as always.” They were decorated with scarecrows, pumpkins, leaves, and witches riding brooms.

“I can’t take credit. Ariel decorated them. She has a real knack and she’s fast.”

“You’re letting Quentin and Ariel make crusts?” Claire looked pleased—and surprised. “Are theirs as good as yours?”

Evans laughed. “I’m not going to give up my title as crust queen, but they’re good. I should have done this a long time ago. They have great ideas. We’ve added slab pies and rustic tarts to our rotation, and Quentin is a genius at recipe development.”

“That’s great to hear.” Clair held up the box. “Shall I brew some coffee to go with these?”

“None for me,” Evans said. “I’ve sampled enough new recipes lately to put me off pie forever.”

“Then I think I’ll just save them for a treat later.” She set the box on the foyer table. “Come on in.”

As usual, a fire blazed in the living room. Claire wasn’t above cranking up the air to offset the heat because she enjoyed the ambiance of a fire, but she didn’t need it today. It was so beautiful and crisp out that no one would have guessed it was raining in Evans’s soul.

“Can I get you anything?” Claire asked.

Just the reason for being here when I have pies to make. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

“All right.” Claire sat in her usual chair and reached for her planner. Oh, hell. It was going to be a catering job. She knew it.

Evans sat across from her on the sofa.

“I’ll get right to the point,” Claire said. “I ran into John Hollingsworth at Rotary.”

Claire paused a moment to let it sink in, but it was a moment Evans didn’t need. Frozen pie hell had come home to roost.

“I see,” she said.

“He mentioned that his reps were having no luck in getting you to return their calls about a deal to mass produce a couple of your pie recipes. He wondered if you were being evasive, hoping for a more lucrative offer.”

This was bad—worse than she could have imagined. Did the universe have to bludgeon her with everything at once?

“That must have been embarrassing for you. I’m sorry.”

“No. Not embarrassing. I’m seldom embarrassed. Especially when it comes to money.

“I told him that, while I do know you well, I didn’t know what your thinking was on this. Which I do not, of course, because I have been given to believe that no one from the company has tried to contact you.”

Claire waited. Evans tried and failed to read her. That woman ought to be in Vegas playing poker.

Finally, Evans spoke, weighing her words as she went. “I shouldn’t have been evasive with you, and I’m sorry. But it’s not the money. This isn’t something I feel good about. I don’t want to do it for any amount.”

Claire frowned. “I’m not sure I heard you right.” But she carried on anyway. “Art for art’s sake is one thing, but you make pie. Why would you not want to be all that you can be? You’re not lazy. You work as hard as anybody I know. You deserve the payoff—and it’s sitting right there for the taking.”

Evans almost looked at the floor, wanted to cover her face with her hands. But something stopped her. It was now or never, and she was tired of not speaking her mind. She didn’t have the energy to play dodgeball anymore.

She met Claire’s eyes head-on. “Yes, Claire, I do make pie—pie that you buy on a regular basis to serve your guests. And your standards are not what I’d consider low.”

“My point exactly. Your pies are perfection.”

“Yes. And that’s what I want—to be the best. I don’t need to be the biggest. I’m proud of what I do, of what I’m teaching my employees to do. If I put my name on some mass-produced product, I might get a big paycheck, but I won’t be proud of it anymore since the quality won’t be there. Because you can be damned sure they won’t use European butter and locally grown fruit.” If Claire withdrew her support, so be it. “And one more thing. I don’t want to cater.”

Claire was a hard one to surprise, but Evans had accomplished it. “And you’ve always felt this way?”

“Yes.”

“Then, why? Every time I’ve suggested something, you’ve said yes or put me off, saying it was a great idea for the future.”

Yes.There was that word again.

“I said no to the pastry press,” Evans pointed out.

“And, if you’ll recall, I accepted your decision without question.”

Evans took a deep breath. “You did, and I should have given you more credit, but I know you want me to expand and I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“It’s immaterial to me whether you expand or not, Evans. You have led me to believe that’s what you want—the catering, the deal with Hollingsworth. I have simply been trying to guide you in that direction.”

“The irony is,” Evans said slowly, letting the realization set in, “that I was too controlling in the Crust kitchen, thinking I had to do everything myself while, at the same time, I wasn’t willing to step up and control any other aspect of my life.” She sat up straighter. “But I’ve been working on that—less control in the kitchen, more control in my life.”

Claire nodded, but said nothing.

“You gave me a chance and helped me do what I could have never done at my age without your backing. I wanted to repay you by being successful.”

Claire shrugged. “And you think expanding equals success?”

“That’s what you’ve done and you’re the most successful woman I’ve ever known. You’re always trying something new and making it work.”

Claire shook her head. “Evans, what I wanted was a unique, top-quality bakeshop in Laurel Springs. I’ve got that. As long as you’re making a living to keep yourself in the manner that meets your standards and are content and fulfilled in your work, isn’t that success?”

“That’s what I think,” Evans admitted.

“Then I have to wonder why you want to please me so much? Why do you try to guess what pleases me?”

Yet again, the yes girl was trying to get good girl points.

“I’m sorry. I am content with my work. Would I like to earn more? Of course. And I expect to. But I’m no fool. I know I’m incredibly lucky to be turning the kind of profit I am after being in business for this length of time.”

Claire smiled. “I think it has more to do with ability and hard work than luck, but that’s a philosophical point and a topic for another time. Have you given any thought to what you might like to do to grow your business?”

“Some,” Evans admitted, “but mostly rambling incomplete ideas about things that I end up deciding wouldn’t work anyway. Unless I’ve got a rolling pin in my hand, it seems I’ve never been enough for myself.”

Claire paused before she spoke again. “Most people have a hard time being honest with themselves about what they want, but I think you know exactly what you want, always have.”

You could preach a sermon on that, Sister Claire.

“It’s other people you need to be honest with. How can your expectations be met if you never voice them?”

Good advice.

If a little too late.

“So.” Claire picked up her pen. “It’s time for you to be honest with me about what you want and I’ll be honest with you about whether I can help you get it.”

“I do want to expand, but in my own way,” Evans said.

“That’s the only thing that will work,” Claire agreed.

“I don’t want my pies mass produced and sold in grocery stores. I want to make special, artisan pies of the best quality.”

“That’s what you’re doing.”

“While catering was too time-consuming and kept me from what I love to do, I would like to do more large special orders—like the Fairchilds’ Christmas Gala. I might even want to provide pies for some restaurants down the line.”

“Those are good ambitions.” Claire wrote in her book. “I assume you feel better equipped to do those things since Quentin and Ariel have taken on some of the work.”

“Yes. I’m even willing to think about delivering.”

“Delivery would be essential if you want to supply restaurants. That’s a good plan for us to work on.” Claire closed her book. “I’ll call John Hollingsworth and explain.”

“No,” Evans said. “I should do it. I need to apologize for dodging his reps.”

Claire nodded and a ghost of a smile crept into her eyes. “Yes, Evans. You never want to burn a bridge.”

Evans got the idea she’d passed a test.

They said their goodbyes and Evans stepped on to the porch feeling lighter. At least this aspect of her life had taken a turn for the better.

“Evans?”

When she looked back, there was a worried expression on Claire’s face. “I hope you’ll try to apply this lesson to other aspects of your life. Be enough for yourself and don’t sit around wishing.”

“I’ll try,” Evans said, but she knew trying wasn’t always the answer.