Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Andi
Dear Diary,
He kissed me. God help me…Zane McKade kissed me and—damn it—that single simple kiss might’ve been more dangerous than any grand romantic gesture.
Because right before it happened, I reminded him (and reminded myself, too) that I’m not staying.
That this is temporary. I’ve been working so hard to choose me and to stop making decisions based on what other people want.
But that kiss? It made me question everything.
It made me wonder if I even know what I want anymore.
Or worse, if I’ve already found it and I’m still planning to walk away.
There’s something cruel about the timing of all of this—about meeting someone like Zane just when I’ve decided to put myself first. Because falling for him feels inevitable, and letting him go might just be the cost of keeping the promises I made to myself.
I don’t know what happens next. I just know that saying goodbye to him—to all of them—is going to hurt like hell. Maybe more than I’m ready for.
But for now? I think I just want to feel what it’s like to be truly wanted. Even if it can’t last.
“Mmm, what smells so good?” I’d barely made it two steps into Lindy McKade’s kitchen before the smell hit me—warm, buttery, and sweet. Like a slice of comfort wrapped in cinnamon and sugar.
Lindy turned from the oven with a hot pie in her oven-mitt-covered hand—face flushed from the heat.
“Just testing out a few new pie recipes for the fair. I’m torn between my famous Sweet Heat Pecan Pie,” she said, gesturing with it before placing it carefully on a cooling rack.
“Or the peach bourbon one I’m about to make.
Either way, I think I’ll win this year.”
Norah scoffed behind me, making a beeline for the fridge and pouring herself a glass of sweet tea. “You win every year.”
“Not every year,” Lindy said with a grin that held a hint of mischief behind it. “Ruthie Simmons managed to snag a win from me one year with an over-hyped blackberry pie that tasted like she’d scooped it out of a jar. The victory didn’t last long, though.” Her grin turned pure devious.
“What happened?” I asked, taking a seat in one of the barstools across the island from her.
She lifted her heel, catching the oven door and closing it shut before bracing both hands on the counter and leaning in like she was about to share a secret.
“She got caught on her knees behind the quilts with one of the judges. Can you imagine? All that for a damn ribbon and a twenty-five-dollar gift card to the Feed & Seed.”
I bit back a shocked laugh as Norah choked on her tea. “Mother!”
“Don’t ‘mother’ me, Norah. I’m not the one who got caught with her skirt up and standards down. Poor Ruthie, bless her cheap little heart, sold herself short and overbaked the crust.”
Norah shot her mother a look that was half mortified, half amused. “Please stop.”
I, on the other hand, was completely amused as I watched the two of them—locked in their familiar battle of sass and affection—and something inside me warmed.
This wasn’t just a kitchen or a pie contest. This was small-town life in all its messy, real glory.
And I was really starting to fall in love with it.
“What’s all this about a fair?” I asked, curious but at the same time—as hilarious as Lindy was—trying to save Norah the embarrassment by changing the subject.
Norah wiped her hands on her jeans and leaned against the counter. “It’s our town’s Fourth of July celebration. Biggest event of the summer. There’s the rodeo, a band, food, craft vendors, fireworks…and of course, the pie contest. Everyone looks forward to it.”
Lindy nodded. “It’s friendly competition…mostly.”
“Mostly,” Norah echoed with a warning glance at her mom before turning her attention back to me. “Think you’ll be around for it?”
I gave a small, tired laugh. “Yeah, I’ll be around. Willy’s still working on my car.”
It turned out driving on a flat for an extended amount of time did more damage than I thought.
Last time I talked to Willy, he said the new tire finally came in, but I’d messed up the rim pretty bad.
He had to order a new one from a specialty parts retailer and, since I drove on it for too long, now it’s out of balance, too.
So…yeah. I was stuck here for a while longer.
I didn’t like being trapped, even if it was temporary. I didn’t plan on staying in this town longer than I had to. But the weird thing was, it wasn’t as terrible as I expected.
The people were…nice—like genuinely nice. The pace was slower. It was quiet. Safe.
And then there was Zane.
We hadn’t really talked since that kiss. It had become this unspoken thing sitting between us. We’d kind of danced around each other since then, like we were both pretending it hadn’t happened.
I liked it, though. And, damn it, I liked him.
But I couldn’t get close to him—not when I wasn’t staying. It wouldn’t be fair. Not after what he had already been through with someone who walked away. And I wasn’t looking to hurt anyone, especially not him.
So I was here. Waiting on a car that was taking too long to fix. Trying not to settle in too much. And doing my best not to fall any harder for someone I probably shouldn’t have kissed in the first place.
“Well, it’s settled then!” Norah chirped.
I blinked, my mind still tangled in thoughts of Zane and rim damage and everything else I wasn’t saying out loud. “Sorry… What’s settled?”
“You’re coming to the fair with us,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You can cheer me and the boys on during the rodeo.”
I tried to react in a way that showed how thankful I was for the inclusion, but something about the way she said it made my chest feel tight. “I don’t know…”
Norah tilted her head. “Why not?”
I glanced around the kitchen—at the pie on the rack, at the easy way she and Lindy moved around each other, filling the room with inside jokes and long-time comfort. This was their rhythm. Their tradition. And I was just…borrowing time in their orbit.
“It just seems like a family thing,” I said hesitantly. “I don’t want to intrude.”
Lindy snorted. “Honey, if we didn’t want you here, you’d have known it the second you walked through that door.”
I laughed under my breath as I twisted my finger around the ends of my hair.
Norah stepped closer, picking up a slice of a peach that Lindy had just cut.
“You’re not intruding, Andi.” She bit into the peach slice.
“I know you didn’t exactly plan to end up here, but…
maybe it’s okay to let things happen that weren’t on the schedule.
” She shrugged. “Have some fun through the mishaps.”
I looked down at the scuffed toes of my boots, the sting of those words sharper than she probably meant them to be in this casual conversation.
Because, yeah, none of this was part of the plan.
Not the detour. Not the breakdown. Definitely not the way this town was starting to feel like something I might miss when I was gone.
Still, when Norah smiled and nudged my shoulder with hers, it was hard not to smile back.
“Maybe you can even enter the pie contest,” she taunted playfully. “Give my mom an honest run for her money.”
Lindy gave a bark of laughter. “You hear that? My daughter’s a comedian.”
I shook my head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’ve never made a pie in my life.”
“I feel a baking lesson coming on,” Norah said, sipping her tea with a smirk.
Something fluttered in my chest. Excitement. Hope.
I turned to Lindy. “Would you?” I asked before I could talk myself out of it. “Show me how?”
Lindy raised a brow, clearly enjoying herself. “You want me to help the competition?”
I shrugged. “If it helps, I’d probably ruin it before it even hits the oven.”
She tilted her head, pretending to think it over. “Well…I suppose, as long as you promise not to flirt with the judges or sneak off behind the quilts with one of them.”
Norah groaned. “Mom…”
“I’m just saying,” Lindy went on, totally unfazed. “I’ve been burned before, and I won’t lose another blue ribbon to a bad pie and young knees.”
I laughed out loud, nearly choking on air.
“I’m only teasing, hon,” Lindy added with a wink, her voice softening as she tossed me a dish towel. “You’re welcome in my kitchen anytime.” She pointed to a door across the room. “Wash your hands and grab an apron. Once you slip that on you can help me peel and slice these peaches.”
Nodding, I moved toward the door but hesitated when I reached it, my hand brushing the fabric of the apron as I pulled it out. It was worn soft from use, the neck loop faded from the wash. Something about that small detail snagged on me.
My mom used to wear aprons like this. Not often like Lindy did, but when she did, it meant she was trying—trying to be domestic, to hold it together, and to keep things feeling normal without my dad around.
After he died, she went inward in this way that made me feel like I was watching someone perform a version of themselves.
Like she was pretending to be okay for as long as she could stand it.
Baking wasn’t something she did often, but when she did, it wasn’t for joy.
It was like it was for survival—a way to prove to herself that she was still capable of life’s simple joys.
I could count on one hand the number of times she let me help her in the kitchen after he died, and most of those ended in tension and takeout.
I hated how the bad memories surfaced more than the good, because she wasn’t a bad mom. She was just…lost.
The knot that quickly formed in my throat surprised me, but I cleared it away as I slipped the apron over my head and tied it clumsily behind my back.
“Everything okay?” Lindy asked.
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “Just...I don’t know. This feels weird, that’s all.”
Lindy nodded, like some motherly instinct had her understanding what I hadn’t said out loud. “Don’t overthink it. First rule of pie-making,” she held up her index finger, “don’t be afraid to make a mess. That’s how the good stuff happens.”
She then handed me a paring knife and nudged a bowl of peaches toward me. “Start slicing. We’ll ease you in.”
I picked up a peach and did my best to mimic her technique.
I wasn’t as elegant as she looked doing it, but Lindy didn’t comment.
She just kept working beside me, humming under her breath and tossing the slices into a mixing bowl.
It wasn’t long before the counter was dusted in flour, and the beginnings of a laugh rose in my chest—loosening something inside me.
Maybe it was the smell, or the way Lindy looked so at home in her kitchen. Or maybe it was the fact that no one expected anything from me except that I try.
I hadn’t realized how much I missed this kind of warmth. Not the baking, but the being invited in. The casual welcome. The way they just made room.
A thump at the screen door pulled my attention. Zane stepped inside, brushing his hand through his hair, his T-shirt damp from sweat and his expression unreadable.
He looked at me, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward just slightly.
I quickly turned back to the cutting board, pretending not to notice the way my heart picked up pace. There’d be time to unpack that later.
Lindy gestured at the growing mess I’d made. “Not bad for a first timer. We’ll make a Texan out of you yet.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I muttered.
But I smiled as I said it.