Chapter Chapter Three #3
“I get it. Anyway, to change the subject... did you get all the seven hundred ingredients for the pie?” she teased. It was a lot of stuff, but fortunately, the store had it all, plus a pie pan.
“I did, actually.”
She raised a brow. “Really? I thought you were asking me for the list in jest.”
“I wasn’t. I really want to make the pie.”
“You went shopping?” She folded her arms over her chest.
“No. I never really go out to shop for groceries. I just order them online and have them delivered.”
She laughed. “Of course you do.”
She headed straight to the kitchen, putting her margarita down on the counter. She still had half of it left. I took the ingredients out of the pantry and the fridge and laid everything on the island.
Her eyes widened. “You’ve got everything!”
“You sound surprised.”
She looked at me with a grin. “Well, what can I say? Cooking’s never been your forte—or buying food, for that matter.”
“Hey, don’t judge. We can’t all be cooking mavens like you.”
“To be fair, I only like baking.”
“By the way, there was no dough on your list of ingredients. I didn’t know what kind you’d want, or I’d have ordered it, but I can still get some.”
She waved me off. “I’ve been making it by hand lately.
It’s more work, but I love it. My grandma taught me how to make the perfect dough when I was a kid, but I got lazy over the years.
A few months ago, I was making a pie and realized I didn’t buy dough, so I made it by hand instead.
I haven’t looked back since.” She put flour, salt, and butter in a bowl.
With a fork, she cut the fat into the flour.
She kept sprinkling water in it, murmuring, “It’s got to have the right consistency.
I nodded appreciatively as I watched her. “You’re good at this.”
“Practice makes perfect. I bake about three times a week.”
“Interesting.”
“I take pot pies to school a lot. There’s a young girl on a scholarship who can’t afford lunch, so I bring her a little extra of what I’m having.”
Amy always had a big heart, but this was something else entirely. “And she believes your story, every day?”
“Yes. Well, so far. She’s still at that adorable age where they blindly believe in the adults they trust. She’s probably going to realize the truth one day when she’s older, but for now, she has a full belly, which is all that matters.”
I shook my head. “That’s not right. Kids not having lunch.”
“I know.” She divided the dough into two discs and started rolling them out. “You don’t mind a mess, do you?”
I laughed. “You’re asking me after you’ve completely messed my counter up?”
“Sorry, I didn’t think about asking.”
“Don’t worry, Amy. It’s all good. The marble cleans super fast. By the way, you never told me much about your grandmother.”
She cocked a brow. “Spoken like a man.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve told you about my gran several times. I always had the feeling you weren’t listening, and it turns out I was correct.”
“Fuck. Sorry. That does sound like me.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not mad.”
“You’re not?”
“No. Your heart is in the right place—even though your ears might not be.”
Or my eyes. I couldn’t look away from her gorgeous body. Especially the way her breasts moved as she rolled the dough. She’d been my friend for years, but I couldn’t stop fantasizing about her.
Finn’s words came back to me: “Maybe he’ll be one of those people who has an accident and then decides to reconsider their whole life.”
But that wasn’t true. Even that morning at my parents’ house, I remember feeling so fucking bothered when she said she was going on a date.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked me. “You have a rather feral look in your eyes.”
That was exactly how I’d felt at the thought of her going on a date. Feral. Possessive, even. I was shocked at my own thoughts.
“Never mind,” I said.
She cocked a brow, then shrugged and went back to making the pie. She gave me strict instructions about what to do when. I knew within minutes that I was never going to be able to replicate this.
Baking together was surprisingly fulfilling. I’d been restless the entire day, not knowing what to do with myself, but now I felt perfectly at ease. Though I was more convinced that it had more to do with Amy’s presence than the act of baking.
While we let the dough “rest”, as she called it, we worked on the filling. Frankly, it took forever.
After we finally put the pie in the oven, she tapped her empty glass and said, “Make me another one.”
“Right away.”
I moved to the bar, quickly preparing her second margarita. I was done in no time, so I made myself a drink too.
She glanced once at the oven before coming to me.
“Hey, you said you weren’t allowed to drink.” She pointed to my glass.
“It’s a virgin margarita, which I never thought I’d drink in my life. On the bright side, I guess it’s healthy.”
She laughed. “I like the way you winced on the word ‘healthy.’”
She grabbed her glass, and we clinked them together. “To you getting better and finally turning over a new leaf.”
“Meaning?”
Was she going to pull a Finn on me?
“Meaning that you should always wear a seat belt.”
I smirked. “You better believe I will from now on.”