3. The Science of Pie
Chapter three
The Science of Pie
Day four. A knock on the door.
My laptop was balanced on my knees, the Morrison logo on-screen. A sudden knock startled me so badly that I nearly dropped the computer, my heart rate spiking the way it always did at unexpected sounds.
It's not him, I told myself, even as my hands went cold. He doesn't know where you are.
I set the laptop aside. Crossed to the door. Made myself look through the peephole instead of just throwing the deadbolt and pretending I wasn't home.
The brother from the window, the one that had winked, stood on my landing, up close and even more devastating than I'd imagined.
Dark curls fell across his forehead in deliberate disarray, the kind of artful messiness that took either no effort or considerable effort, depending on the hair.
His eyes were whiskey-warm, amber shot through with gold, framed by lashes that were frankly unfair on a man.
His face was magazine-cover beautiful, all sharp angles and perfect symmetry.
He knew exactly how good-looking he was. It showed in the way he held himself, the easy confidence of someone who'd learned early that his face opened doors.
He was holding a pie.
I opened the door.
"I was in the neighborhood," he said, with a grin that suggested he knew exactly how ridiculous that sounded, given that we lived on the same property. "Thought you might not have unpacked your kitchen yet. I'm Jasper, by the way. The handsome one."
"The modest one, clearly."
His grin widened, showing teeth that were white, perfect, and entirely normal. No strange sharpness, no flicker of something wrong. Just a man with a beautiful smile and a baked good.
"I like you already," he said.
He was wearing a white henley that clung to shoulders slightly narrower than the brother with the axe but no less defined; the sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms that flexed as he held out the pie.
I found myself cataloguing the details the way I catalogued design elements: the contrast of the white fabric against his tan skin, the way the afternoon light caught the fine dark hair on his arms, the easy strength in his hands.
My eyes caught on his chest, the muscle definition, the trail of dark hair. When I dragged them back up to his face, his grin had turned knowing.
"Are you going to invite me in," he asked, "or should I just eat this on your doorstep? Because I will. I have absolutely no shame."
"I believe you."
"You should. I once ate an entire casserole standing at the kitchen counter because Callum said I wouldn't." He tilted his head, studying me with an openness that felt deliberate, like he was showing me he had nothing to hide.
Like transparency was a choice he was making, a gift he was offering.
"So what's it going to be? Doorstep pie or civilized company? "
I should have said no.
I didn't know this man. I didn't know anyone here, really, and months of looking over my shoulder had taught me that charming men were often the most dangerous kind.
Marcus had been charming. Marcus had been all smiles and easy warmth right up until he wasn't, right up until the charm became a weapon, a way of making me doubt my own perceptions because how could someone so charming be cruel?
But something about Jasper's transparency, the way he acknowledged his own ridiculousness, the way he wasn't trying to be anything other than exactly what he appeared to be, made me step back from the door.
"The porch," I said. "Compromise."
"I'll take it."
We settled into the mismatched chairs I'd found at a thrift store in town, the pie dish balanced on the railing between us.
The view from up here was better than I'd expected: the magnolia tree dominating the foreground, its white blooms catching the afternoon light, and beyond it the preserve stretching toward the horizon like a green and shadowed sea.
The pie was peach. Homemade, clearly, with a lattice crust that was almost too pretty to cut. He produced a knife and two forks from somewhere, served me a slice on a paper plate, He watched me take the first bite, his eyes tracking my reaction with intensity that made my breath catch.
The filling was sweet but not overly so; the peaches soft but not mushy, seasoned with something I couldn't quite identify. Cinnamon, yes, but something else too. The damn pie tasted like summer itself.
"Good?" he asked.
"Where did you learn to bake?"
"Mom taught all of us. Said it was a useful life skill.
" He stretched out his legs, crossing his ankles, and I tried not to notice how his jeans fit.
Tried and failed. "Callum's actually the best at it, but he'll never admit it.
Too busy being stoic and serious. Eli prefers savory foods.
Put him in a kitchen and he'll make you the best gumbo you've ever had, but ask him to make a dessert and he looks at you like you've given him homework. "
I took another bite, filing away the information. Eli. The third brother, the one I hadn't seen yet. The one who preferred savory and apparently found desserts distasteful.
"I'm the pie specialist." Jasper gestured at the dish with evident pride.
"Crusts are my thing. There's a whole technique: cold butter, minimal handling, the right ratio of water to flour.
Eli thinks it's more art than science. He's wrong.
It's entirely science; I just happen to have good instincts. "
The crust was flaky, buttery, perfect. It shattered against my tongue and melted into something rich and golden.
"Your instincts are apparently excellent."
"I know." No false modesty. Just a cocky grin that landed somewhere between confidence and self-awareness.
"It's nice to have someone appreciate it.
Callum eats everything like it's fuel. Doesn't matter if it's a masterpiece or a gas station sandwich, he consumes it with the same mechanical efficiency. Very discouraging for the chef."
"And Eli?"
"Eli takes notes." Jasper's expression shifted into something between fond and exasperated. "Actual notes. On pie. Flavor profiles, texture analysis, comparative rankings against previous iterations."
"Notes on pie."
"He's been doing it since we were twelve.
Has a whole spreadsheet somewhere. Cross-references seasonal variations, tracks which orchards produced the best fruit in which years, notes the ambient temperature during baking and whether it affected the rise.
" Jasper shook his head, but he was smiling.
"I'd be offended if it wasn't so thoroughly Eli. "
I laughed. Actually laughed, the sound startling in my own ears. I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed like that. Surprised. Unguarded. Like something had caught me off-balance in a good way, for once.
Jasper's expression softened when he heard it. Something flickered in those whiskey-warm eyes, something that looked almost like wonder.
Like my laughter was something worth paying attention to.
"The triplets who cook," I said, recovering. "Let me guess: Callum's the strong silent type, you're the charmer, and Eli's..."
"The smart one." He didn't seem offended. "Classic triple trope. We learned to lean into it early. Easier than fighting against expectations."
"And you don't mind being the charmer?"
He actually thought about it. Not just produce a ready-made answer, but turn the question over like it mattered. Like I'd asked him something worth examining.
"Someone has to make people feel comfortable," he said finally.
"Callum's too intense. He walks into a room and everyone goes quiet.
Not because they're scared, exactly, but because his presence is so much.
Takes up all the air. And Eli gets lost in his own head.
He'll be standing right in front of you, making eye contact, and you can tell he's actually thinking about something that happened three hundred years ago. "
"Three hundred years?"
"He's into local history. Archives, genealogy, old maps, older documents.
If it's dusty and written in cursive and requires special gloves to handle, Eli wants to catalog it.
" Jasper's smile was fond, protective, the expression of someone who had spent a lifetime watching out for the people he loved.
"Which leaves me. Someone has to remember to ask people about their day.
Someone has to notice when things get too serious and crack a joke.
Someone has to—" He stopped, shrugged like it didn't matter.
"I don't know. Make the space feel safe. "
Make the space feel safe.
The words landed somewhere in my chest and stayed there. Lodged themselves in a place I'd thought was empty, or at least too scarred to feel anything.
"That's not just charm," I murmured. "That's labor."
His eyes met mine, and something shifted in them. A flicker of seriousness beneath the warmth—a depth I hadn't expected. For a moment, the easy charm fell away, and I caught a glimpse of something else. A loneliness so clear it ached to look at.
"Most people don't see it that way," he said.
"Most people aren't paying attention."
The words hung between us. The evening air was thick with magnolia and something else, honeysuckle maybe, or jasmine, the layered perfume of a Louisiana summer settling around us like a blanket.
From somewhere in the preserve, a bird called out, and another answered.
The light was going golden, then amber, shadows lengthening across the yard.
Jasper held my gaze, and I had the sudden, disorienting feeling that he was seeing me more clearly than anyone had in a very long time.
Not the surface version of me, the careful construction I'd learned to present.
The real thing underneath. The scared, scarred, stubborn thing that had somehow survived the last three years.
Then he smiled, and the intensity broke like a wave pulling back from the shore.
"This town can be... a lot for newcomers," he said. "Especially those running from something."
My whole body went still. "I'm not—"
"Everyone's running from something." His voice dropped, intimate, careful. "You've got that look. The one that says you check exits before you sit down. Count strangers in a room. Notice everyone's hands."
He'd stripped my camouflage away with the casual precision of someone who saw more than he let on. All my careful invisibility, all my practiced normalcy, and he'd seen through it in four days.
"I won't ask," he continued. "It's your business, and you'll tell us when you're ready. Or you won't, and that's fine too." A smile, softer this time. Genuine. "But if you need anything, anything at all, we're just downstairs. The Thornwood pack takes care of its own."
"Your mom used that word too."
"Which word?"
"Pack." I tried to keep my expression more casual than I felt.
The word hung between us. His expression flickered, surprise quickly masked, and I saw him realize what he'd said.
"Pack, clan, family, whatever you want to call it." The recovery was smooth, almost seamless, but I'd seen the slip. The first crack in the easy transparency. "Small-town Louisiana thing. Everyone's connected to everyone."
"Is that what it is?"
"That's what it is." But his eyes slid away from mine when he said it, and I filed that away. The first thing Jasper Voss didn't want me to see. The first door he'd closed instead of opened.
I could have pushed. Part of me wanted to, the part that had learned the hard way that secrets were dangerous, that the things people didn't tell you were usually the things that mattered most. But I was tired.
And the pie was good. And despite everything, I didn't want to ruin this strange, warm, unexpected thing that had walked up my stairs holding a baked good and a smile.
"Okay," I said.
He looked at me. "Okay?"
"Okay. Pack, clan, family. Small-town Louisiana thing." I took another bite of the pie. Let the sweetness melt on my tongue. "I can work with that."
The tension in his shoulders eased. "You're kind of great, you know that?"
"I've been told."
"Oh yeah? By who?"
"Me. I tell myself regularly. Very important for self-esteem."
He laughed, head tipping back, the sound rich and genuine. Something loosened in my chest that I hadn't realized was tight.
We sat there until the sun finished its descent, trading pieces of ourselves back and forth.
He told me about the preserve, thousands of acres of protected land that had been in his family for generations.
He told me about the Founder's Festival next month, and the crawfish boil I absolutely had to try, and how if I needed a date, he was available.
"That's very forward," I said.
"I prefer 'efficient.'" He waggled his eyebrows in a way that should have been ridiculous and somehow wasn't. "Why waste time with subtlety when we both know I'm delightful?"
"The confidence is really something."
"It's one of my best features. Top three, easily."
"What are the other two?"
He grinned. "You'll have to stick around to find out."
He left when it got dark, with the empty pie dish and a reminder that I could knock on the door of the main house anytime I needed anything. At the threshold, he paused. Turned back.
"The full moon's coming up soon," he said. "Things get a little... energetic around here. If you hear anything in the preserve at night, it's just wildlife. Don't worry about it."
Questions scattered before I could voice them, then he was gone.
I watched him cross the yard to the main house. Watched the lights come on in the windows below. Sat on the porch for a while longer, looking at the magnolia tree in the fading light, its blooms ghostly white against the darkening sky.
I wasn't thinking about anything in particular. That was the strange thing. My brain, which had been running at anxiety-speed for months, had gone quiet. Just me, the tree, and the sounds of evening settling in. Crickets starting up. Something rustling in the preserve. The distant call of an owl.
The Thornwood pack takes care of its own.
I didn't know what that meant. I didn't know what any of this meant: the too-beautiful brothers, the knowing looks from strangers, the warnings about full moons and wildlife.
But sitting there with the taste of peach pie still sweet on my tongue and Jasper's laugh still warm in my memory, I found I didn't mind the mystery.
For the first time in months, curiosity felt stronger than fear.
When I finally went inside, I was smiling.
I completely forgot to check the locks.
But something made me pause at the window before bed, looking out at the preserve. The moon was rising, fat and silver, and beneath its light I could see movement at the tree line. Three shapes, large and dark, moving in formation through the shadows.
Too big for dogs. Too coordinated for deer.
I watched them disappear into the darkness, and I thought about Jasper's warning. Things get energetic around here during the full moon.
The howling started ten minutes later.