Chapter 10
Amelia
Thursday morning in our town is usually bustling, but today, it’s downright chaotic. Dr. Whisperer has wasted no time putting out a headline about Thanksgiving, stirring up the town’s excitement.
Thanksgiving Morning Chaos: Missing Turkeys
The town’s entire flock of turkeys has vanished overnight, including our beloved Russell. Did someone steal them? And where could dozens of turkeys hide?
Dr. Whisperer
We stand in line outside the diner, the crisp autumn air biting at my cheeks, my breath visible in small puffs. The line snakes around the corner, people chatting, shifting on their feet, wrapped in coats and scarves, all here for one thing… Genevieve’s famous pies.
I don’t care what flavor I get. I just need two. One for my family and, more importantly, one for Adrian. He agreed to the fundraiser, sure, but I need this article to be damn good. It can’t be half-assed. It must be perfect. If that means eating literal humble pie, so be it.
My younger sister, Hazel, is with me. I wasn’t about to stand in this line alone, and I sure as hell didn’t want to add more to Violet’s plate today. She’s working a few hours to cover this story before heading to her boyfriend’s parents’ place.
Inside, I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet, nerves eating at me as the line inches forward. It takes a full hour before we finally step inside, and when we do, the smell nearly knocks me off my feet. Warm sugar, melted butter, nutmeg, cinnamon, pastry. It’s heaven.
My eyes snap to the glass cases, scanning the selection, and my stomach clenches. There aren’t many left.
Heart pounding, I step up to the counter. “Genevieve, I need one pecan pie and a sweet potato pie.”
She smiles, her hands dusted with flour, her apron slightly askew. “Lucky you, love. I’ve got pecan.” Relief washes over me, even as she follows up with. “Sweet potato’s gone, though.”
Damn. That one was for the kids, but anything will do.
“Can we get the chocolate cream one?” Hazel asks.
“Of course.”
She boxes them, whistling.
“You’re doing amazing, Genevieve,” I tell her, handing over the cash as Hazel grabs a pie.
She grins. “Only once a year. Gotta make it count.”
Pies in hand, we leave the diner, clutching them like someone might snatch them away. The line outside has only grown, winding farther down the street. There’s no way there are enough pies left for all these people.
Spotting Violet through the crowd taking photos, I wave goodbye before heading straight home.
Back at the house, the mess is already in full swing. Felix is running through the halls, screeching in his little Thanksgiving sugar rush from this morning’s Lucky Charms. The kitchen is warm, rich with the scent of roasted turkey, buttery mashed potatoes, and freshly baked bread.
Mom sits on the recliner, looking exhausted but content. “That took a while,” she notes, her voice light with amusement.
“The line was insane,” I say as we settle the pies safely on the counter. “But we got them. Oh, and I’m heading over to drop one off at Keith’s.”
She nods. “All right, love. I’ll be here, resting up. Need my energy for the game tonight.”
The annual Thanksgiving game. Scrabble. It’s loud, competitive, and full of laughter. One of the last things my mom held on to after Dad left. No prizes, just bragging rights. Last year, I won.
This year? Not so sure.
I check the time, then rush to shower. I throw on a pair of high-waisted flare jeans, sneakers, white sweater, and a coat. Comfortable but nice. Blow-drying my hair, I let it fall naturally, and add a touch of makeup. Nothing dramatic, but just enough to look put together.
When I come back downstairs, I scan the house one last time. Everything looks good, minus the kids causing havoc. My brother, Atlas, is glued to the Nintendo Switch, Jasper on his phone, both completely oblivious, while Felix is tearing through the living room like a tiny tornado.
I sigh. Not my problem right now. Hazel is on babysitting duties until I get back.
Grabbing the pecan pie, I head for the door.
I have a delivery to make.
I take the familiar drive to Keith’s, my hands gripping the wheel tightly as I navigate each turn with extra care.
The pie rests on the passenger seat like it’s fragile.
Because it is. The pie that I had to wait in line for an hour to get.
The best pecan pie in town. The pie that could very well be my peace offering.
Keith’s house comes into view, his porch decorated with a simple fall wreath. I park, hold my breath as I unbuckle, and carefully lift the pie. My steps are measured, as if any sudden movement might ruin my entrance.
I ring the doorbell, and a few moments later, Keith swings the door open.
“Oh, hi, Amelia. Happy Thanksgiving,” he greets, eyes dropping to the pie in my hands.
“Happy Thanksgiving.” I thrust it toward him like an offering, watching as his face lights up.
He inclines his head inside, and I step through the doorway, the house surprisingly quiet, the faint scent of something savory lingering in the air. My eyes scan the dining table, and my heart clenches when I see only two sets of silverware neatly placed on either side.
Just the two of them.
Adrian is at the table, lowering the last fork into place with quiet efficiency. He doesn’t notice me, giving me a chance to take in his fitted black pants and red and black shirt. I swear I saw this style on the ‘look of the season for men’ in blogs this week.
“Look what Amelia brought us.” Keith’s voice grabs his attention
Adrian straightens and walks over. His gaze meets mine, and something inside me flutters. It’s nerves mixed with hope, wanting this to go well.
He drops his gaze to the pie. “What is it?”
I lift my chin slightly. “Genevieve’s pecan pie.”
“The best one.” Keith grins.
I beam with pride, waiting for Adrian’s response.
“I don’t like pie.” His face flattens.
My heart drops.
But before I can fully process the sting, his lips curl. “Kidding. You think that low of me that I wouldn’t even like pecan pie? Everyone likes pecan pie. “
I force a laugh, but it’s weak. “Yeah. Keith could’ve had it all, though.” I try to sound nonchalant, brushing it off like it didn’t get to me. But it did.
Something about the way they’re just sitting here, alone on Thanksgiving, tugs at me. My family is chaotic, but it’s never lonely.
This?
This is lonely.
And even though Adrian is as closed off as ever, Keith is such a sweetheart. He shouldn’t be spending Thanksgiving like this. Neither should Adrian.
“Thanks,” Adrian says finally. “For the pie.”
I shift on my feet. “Well, later, if you’re free, we play Scrabble as a family.
” My voice is casual, but I’m holding my breath, hoping.
I need Adrian to see the good side of me, to let his walls down just a little.
Maybe over dessert, we can talk about the fundraiser, start bouncing around some ideas.
“You don’t have to come for dinner, but maybe come for dessert?”
Adrian crosses his arms. “Didn’t you get a pie for yourself?”
“I did,” I admit. “Chocolate cream. But I didn’t get another pecan.”
Keith looks at me, surprised. “You didn’t want to get too many?”
I shrug. “You know how it is.”
He nods. “Honestly, I’m surprised you secured one at all.”
“Me and my sister got there early.” I glance at Adrian again. “I wanted to get one for you guys.”
Adrian rubs a hand over his jaw, and for the first time tonight, his posture softens.
Keith grins. “Well, you know what? We’d love to come after dinner and share the pecan pie.”
Relief washes over me, and I smile, genuinely this time.
“So, I’ll see you later for Scrabble?” I say, hopeful.
“No,” Adrian replies at the same time Keith says, “Yes.”
Keith flashes me a quick wink behind Adrian’s back. He’s got me. He’ll make sure Adrian’s there.
Adrian doesn’t want to spend time with me. I get it. I’m the enemy.
But enemy or not, no one should be alone on Thanksgiving.
I clear my throat. “All right, I better get going. I need to get dinner on the table. I’ll see you soon.”
“Don’t count on it,” Adrian mutters.
“Can’t wait,” Keith counters with a grin.
I shake my head, smiling as I step out and drive home.
Getting back, the house is as noisy as ever when I walk through the door.
“Mom,” I call out, hanging my coat on the rack, “we’ve got two coming over for Scrabble later.”
“Who?” Mom asks from the recliner.
“Wait. Two?” Hazel calls from beside her.
“Keith and Adrian,” I reply.
My siblings immediately start plotting how to crush our guests in the game.
I head to the living room to set up another table with extra space for drinks and snacks, then scan the house. The usual mess isn’t terrible, but I make sure everything is at least presentable… The bathrooms clean, the furniture straightened, the kitchen counters wiped down.
Mom joins me in the kitchen, helping put the final touches on dinner. The food is spread across the table, steaming and ready, and when I call everyone over, they come rushing in like a stampede.
We sit together, passing bowls of mashed potatoes, sharing what we’re grateful for, talking about ways to be better versions of ourselves. Unfortunately, Aurora wasn’t able to make it because she came down with the flu and didn’t want to get Mom sick.
Felix drops food on the floor. Sophia and Jasper start bickering, and I can see the makings of an all-out food fight brewing.
I narrow my eyes. “Everyone, eat your dinner, or there’ll be no pie.”
That gets their attention.
“Yeah, and we got the chocolate cream pie this time,” Hazel announces.
Suddenly, they’re all enthusiastic about finishing their plates.
Mom squeezes my hand under the table. “Thanks, love,” she whispers.
Dinner winds down, and as expected, half the kids scatter, leaving me with the mess.
Before I can even think about tackling it, the doorbell rings.
I check the time. Damn. That went by fast.
Wiping my hands on a kitchen towel, I head for the door.
Sophia beats me to it, throwing it open, and there stands Adrian.
He hasn’t changed, still in the same clothes as earlier. Like he had no intention of trying for this.
I smile. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“You already said that,” Adrian replies dryly.
Keith steps up beside him, nudging him lightly. “Be nice.”
“Yeah, be nice,” I echo, smiling.
Adrian grunts, but his lips twitch like he’s the tiniest bit amused.
I’ll take that as a win.