Chapter 13 #3
“I just love pie in general,” I tell her. “Apple, pumpkin, peach, chocolate. I’m like a raccoon, and I’ll eat it all.”
“Great! I think I’m going to bake one,” she tells me as I get out of the car.
“Can’t wait to try it.”
She leans over before I shut the door. “Are you going to reach out to Jamie?”
I ignore the question.
“Anyway, thanks for inviting me. Today was so much fun,” I say, giving her a wave.
“You are so stubborn! Jump that man’s bones before someone else does.”
I move into the shop and spend the afternoon counting inventory and prepping for the weekend rush.
I keep my hands busy, bundling rosemary and cedar until the back room smells like a forest. I restock the tea wall, trying to stop thinking about the woman in the white puffer vest. I don’t know if he gave her his number, and truthfully, it doesn’t matter.
Winter watches me work between customers, but she doesn’t say much because we get slammed the last three hours of the shift.
“My back hurts. I’m getting old,” Winter says, leaning over the counter.
When we lock up at six, we’re both exhausted. Winter and I stroll down the sidewalk, and I tell her about the orchard, conveniently leaving out all mentions of Jamie.
The manor smells like cinnamon and joy. I follow Winter down the hallway, only to find flour on the counter, on my cousin’s cheek, and somehow on Charlie, who sits at a safe distance, watching what might be a disaster. Josie looks happy, so maybe not.
“It smells amazing!” Winter says, dipping her finger into the large bowl of apple filling sitting on the counter.
“Hopefully, it turns out okay! I’ve watched ten different YouTube videos and read a few articles.”
As soon as she finishes her sentence, the oven beeps. Josie grabs a thick oven mitt and pulls out a pie. It’s crooked, bubbled over on one side, but it looks like it was made with love.
“I hope it tastes better than it looks,” she mutters.
“Who cares? It all comes out the same,” Winter tells her with a pat on the back.
Josie grabs three forks and hands one to each of us. We each dig a bite out, and it’s steaming. I blow on it, then test it with my tongue before eating it.
“Wow!” I say, with my mouth open because it’s still hot as fuck. “This is so good.”
“Josie, you should learn how to make it look better, then submit a pie for the contest at the carnival. I think it happens the second weekend of October,” Winter suggests.
“Yes! You absolutely should.”
Josie beams. “You’re just saying that.”
“I don’t give pity compliments,” I remind her. “If it sucked, I’d be like, Oh, hmm, maybe try again. But this? Wow. It’s not pretty, but it tastes beautiful.”
She wipes her cheek with the back of her hand and laughs. “I adjusted the recipes to make it not quite as sweet, and I added vanilla.”
“The vanilla was the right call,” Winter says, already scooping out a second bite with a big, chunky apple.
Charlie reaches his claws out and scratches my legs.
“Buddy, you can’t have any of this. I’m sorry!”
I take another forkful and let it sit on my tongue. Under the cinnamon and the butter lingers a warmth that has nothing to do with temperature.
“You know what this tastes like? Intention. Home. It’s cozy and the epitome of fall. People would pay great money to experience this. If it keeps coming out ugly, put it in a jar with a lid.”
“You’re serious?” Josie asks.
“Yes! You could tie a bow around the lid and absolutely sell it in the shop. Charmed Cauldron will be your first retail buyer. I mean, if you want to.”
Josie’s whole face lights up. “Wait. Really? You think I could sell this?”
“I swear, it’s so good,” Winter says, taking another bite. “I volunteer to be your official taste tester.”
We demolish half of the pie, and Josie makes us swear we’re not lying.
Then she forces us to promise we’ll give real opinions while she practices for the contest. It’s the easiest thing to agree to.
After ten, they head upstairs, arguing about whether the ghosts will haunt tonight or not.
I pet Charlie under his chin, and then he rushes to follow Josie like he’s keeping tabs on her.
I take the world’s fastest shower, towel-dry my hair, and pull on one of my favorite black silk robes.
Then I return it to the hook on my bathroom door because I get in my head about it being too much.
I throw the thought in the trash and put it on anyway.
He’s already seen everything I am. And if this is too much, he can go find someone else to fling with.
Being sexy and having fun is the point, isn’t it?
At eleven, I lie across my bed and pull up his contact. My thumb hovers over the keyboard, and I type a message.
Blaire
Still on for tonight?
I delete it and type another.
Blaire
Thanks for today. Did you give that pretty woman your number?
Delete.
I set the phone face down on the nightstand and stretch out in the dark, listening to the old house settle around me. The hint of cinnamon and sugar still lingers.
Jamie will show up at midnight, or he won’t. I don’t know why I’m so worried.