“How much are they?”
“I charge twenty-five for the chocolate peanut butter and twenty for the others.”
“How much do the supplies cost you?”
“The chocolate peanut butter is close to seven dollars, since I use crushed up Oreos for the crust, but the others are more like four or five.”
“Nice profit margin but you’re not making a ton of extra money based on your limited supply.”
“Nothing I can do without another oven.”
“Can’t you bake at the restaurant?”
“No, we’re too busy.”
“And renovating the kitchen would probably cost a lot.”
“Around fifteen thousand. Believe me, I’ve done the research. But I’m saving up. Anyway, where the heck is our dinner? I’m starving.” The last thing I want to talk about is my lack of finances. Especially to him.
“I think I got a notification that it’s here.” He opens the app on my phone.
“Oh, my God.” I stare at him in horror. “Did they knock while we were…busy?”
“Did they?” He grimaces before heading for the front door.
Sure enough, he comes back with two big bags of food.
“I am never ordering from them again!” I whisper, heat searing my cheeks.
“It’s not like they could see us,” he protests, putting the bags on the edge of the counter since most of it is taken up with the pie crusts I’m rolling. “Now, come on, let’s take a break and eat before this gets cold.”
“My friend’s brother is their delivery guy—I will never hear the end of it if he saw or heard something.”
“You’re an adult. What is there to say?”
“You have no idea how gossip runs through a small town.” I get plates and silverware, and we bring everything to the formal dining room.
“We used to have huge Thanksgiving dinners in here,” I say thoughtfully, sinking into a chair. “Before my dad left, and when my grandparents were still alive. The whole family would come.”
“Not anymore?” he asks softly.
“The family is kind of all over the place now. When my grandmother died, it’s like all the traditions died with her. Dad started a new family, Mom got sick, and everyone else kind of took sides in the divorce, you know? It happens.”
“That still seems shitty, but I get it.”
“It’s okay. You have the family you’re born into and the family you choose and believe me, my chosen family is awesome. Dolly hosts Friends-giving every year at the diner. Free of charge. Anyone who comes in between two and seven can just get a plate, hang out, watch whatever football game is on TV. I bake the pies, Dolly provides the turkey, ham, and drinks, and everyone else brings side dishes. And don’t get it twisted—there’s always enough food to feed an army.”
“That sounds nice. Reminds me of my relationship with the band. We’re more like brothers than just bandmates, you know?”
“I prefer my chosen family anyway.” I cut a piece of veal parmesan and put it in my mouth. “Oh, this is good.”
“The penne is good too.” He spoons a little onto my plate.
“Tell me about your family,” I say.
He lifts one shoulder dismissively. “Nothing to tell. I’m the big disappointment. I play that devil music instead of using my God-given talents for good. That kind of thing.”
“Really? Even with a platinum album now?”
