Sweet as Pie by Alicia Hunter Pace
Epilogue
Thanksgiving afternoon
“You cannot still be hungry,” Evans said when Jake pulled his new Suburban into the parking lot of Fat Joe’s. He’d said he wanted to “get away for a minute” since they’d barely had a second alone all day.
“Yeah, well.” He parked, cut the engine, and turned to sparkle at her, but it wasn’t his old sparkle—the kind he still used on everybody else. It was her own special sparkle. “I have to make the most of this quick trip. Hockey pays no mind to Thanksgiving.”
They’d left Birmingham last night—with Robbie, Hyacinth, and eight pies in tow—and had to head back first thing in the morning because the Yellowhammers had an afternoon practice and a game on Saturday.
“Who knows when we’ll have turkey day in the Delta again?” Jake reached across the space and took her hand. We’ll, he said, like he believed they would always have Thanksgiving together. It had been a little more than a month now, and Evans had come to believe it, too.
“It’s been a fun trip.”
Jake let his mouth land in a pout. “One thing I did not like...”
“What?” Evans asked, but she knew.
“It was bad enough sleeping by myself last night, but you were in a whole different house. First night we’ve spent apart since the fall fest.” They’d never made it to the party that night. They’d had unfinished business to take care of—glorious business they’d been taking care of ever since.
Evans laughed. “It is not. How many road games have you had?” They’d made a lot of pregame chicken pot pie, too. Sometimes he made it. Sometimes she made it. Sometimes they made it together.
“That doesn’t count,” he grumbled. “Those couldn’t be helped.”
“You knew it would be this way. Just because the Delta Queens are happy about us doesn’t mean they were going to ‘let us sleep together under their roof.’”
“I guess I just forgot there for a minute that I’m a grown-ass man.”
Evans hid her smile. “Not in Christine’s house, you’re not. Are you saying you wanted to sit across the breakfast table from my daddy with bedhead?”
He shuddered a little. “Well, when you put it that way.”
“They did go to some trouble to have a combined holiday meal, so we didn’t have split up for that.”
“That,” Jake said emphatically, “was not going to happen.” He looked at her, all soft. “You’re a miracle.”
“That’s what I am!” She grinned at him.
“Well, my lady”—he opened the door—“your table awaits.”
She opened her door, but he was there to help her down. “I don’t know how you can eat tamales after all that turkey.”
“I’m going to try.” He led her to the picnic table they had sat at for so many hours, so many times.
“What’s this?” There was already a sack of Fat Joe’s red-hot tamales and two Abita beers on the table. “I’ve never known Joe to serve a table.”
“I called ahead.” This time—for the very first time—Jake sat down beside Evans instead of across from her. The spirit of her sixteen-year-old self appeared and whispered, “You go, girl.”
“Joe’s mellowed, making exceptions for big hockey stars.”
“Are you kidding?” Jake slipped an arm around her. “What I want cuts no ice with Joe. He only did it because I told him I was bringing you here for a little reminiscing and romance. Said it was about time.”
“I’m not having sex with you on this picnic table.”
“That wasn’t the kind of romance I was talking about.” He looked heavenward. “Although...”
She laughed. “Just a couple more days.”
“I guess,” he grumbled. “I brought you a present.” He laid a small box on the table.
“What’s this?”
“Open it and see.”
What was inside left her speechless. “Your puck?” The letters were almost worn away, but it was the Miracle on Ice puck.
He nodded. “After finding out Blake had given it to me, Robbie’s been relentless—but so have I. I forfeited fair and square, and I wouldn’t take it.”
“Then how?” She held up the puck.
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “He brought it to my mother for a hostess gift. Can you believe it?” Evans began to laugh. “And I am here to tell you, Robbie is one thing, but Christine is another. There’s no telling her no.”
“Why are you giving it to me?”
“I’ve sworn off magic and good luck charms, but I believe in miracles. You’re my miracle, so I thought you should have the Miracle on Ice puck.”
Her heart warmed like the late fall Delta sun on her face. “That’s very sweet, but can’t you just think of it as a memento from Blake?” She pushed the puck toward him.
He looked at the puck, then back at her. “Maybe it could be community property,” he said in a whisper, with all the hope in the world in those blue eyes.
It took a beat for it to sink in. “But community property is—” she began.
He nodded. “Assets shared by a husband and wife.”
She waited for the fear, the doubt, the panic to move in. But it didn’t.
He put his hand over hers. “I don’t mean to rush you. I didn’t even come here to propose. I just wanted to sit at this table again with my friend, who is now also my whole heart. It just came out. Evie, I don’t want to be without you—ever. Maybe you could just begin to consider...”
“Yes,” she said.
His eyes were wide with confusion. “What? You’ll consider? Or—”
“Or.” That sixteen-year-old Evie was doing cartwheels. “I’m saying yes. Right now.”
“Right now?” He pulled her closer.
“Let’s go back and tell everybody,” she said.
“Or not...” he whispered in her ear.
She pulled away. “What?”
“Or not.” He smiled. “We could not go back to that place where we have to sleep in different houses. We could go back to Laurel Springs right now and be at the courthouse first thing in the morning. Saturday night, my wife could watch me play hockey.”
His wife. It wasn’t like she hadn’t imagined it a million times, but the word had never come out of his mouth before. “That’s crazy,” she said, but everything inside her screamed yes!
“Is it?” he asked. “Do we need to know each other longer? When we come back here next month, do we want to wake up Christmas morning in different houses?”
It was sounding less and less crazy. “But how would Robbie and Hyacinth get home? Hyacinth only agreed to come because we promised she’d be back by midday on Black Friday.”
Jake shrugged. “Somebody’ll lend them a farm vehicle or broker a business company car. I think my old Pilot is still kicking around. Or Robbie can rent—” He stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry. I got carried away. It’s probably too soon for you.”
Was it? Was it too soon to have everything she’d ever wanted?
She rose. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Home—home to Laurel Springs.”
He got a faraway look in his eyes. “Yeah. Home.”
“Don’t forget the tamales.” And she held out her hand to him.
“Not a chance.”
And they ran back to the car, toward their new life, taking the smell of tamales with them.