A waitress with a high ponytail and three pens tucked into her apron pocket came by and handed us two laminated menus. “You folks here for dinner or just the important stuff?”
Austin glanced up at her. “We came for pie.”
She grinned. “Smart man. What kind?”
Austin looked at me.
I chewed the inside of my cheek, overwhelmed by choices that somehow all sounded like the right one. “What do you recommend?”
“Apple crumb, if you like classic,” she said. “But we’ve also got maple pecan and a seasonal one—pear with honey and rosemary. That one’s new.”
My brows lifted. “Pear and rosemary?”
She winked. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”
Austin reached across the table, placing his hand over mine. “Let’s get three slices. Try them all.”
“Three?” I laughed. “We are not getting three slices of pie.”
“Sure we are.” He leaned back in the booth, impossibly pleased with himself. “Live a little, Selene.”
The waitress chuckled as she scribbled on her pad. “I like him.”
“Me too,” I said, squeezing his hand.
By the time she brought the plates—each slice warmed just enough to let the filling ooze slightly onto the ceramic—I was already buzzed on endorphins and the way Austin kept looking at me like he couldn’t believe I was real.
He pushed the apple slice toward me. “Start with a classic.”
I took a bite, the tart-sweet crunch melting on my tongue, the crumble crisp and buttery.
“Oh my god,” I said around a mouthful. “That’s stupid good.”
He grinned and picked up a fork. “Now, try the pear.”
He fed me a bite over the table, his elbow on the edge as he watched my reaction like it was the only thing he cared about.
My eyes widened. “Okay, that’s unfair. That might be the best pie I’ve ever had.”
His lips curved. “Told you.”
I leaned forward, stealing a bite of the maple pecan from his plate. He made a noise of protest as I licked my fork, slow and smug.
“Rude,” he muttered, but he was smiling.
“You invited me on this date,” I teased. “You should’ve known pie thievery was inevitable.”
He tilted his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Honestly, I’m just glad you said yes.”
I froze, just for a second, then softened. “Me too.”
We took the last of the pie in to-go containers and walked across the street to the beach, shoes in hand, the light beginning to shift into something duskier, moodier. Lake Michigan was calm, glassy and gold, stretching out toward the horizon in a manner that made everything else fall away.
We found a quiet spot just off the path, tucked near a drift of tall dune grass. He shrugged off his hoodie and spread it across the sand for us to sit on.
I curled up beside him, the pie forgotten in my lap, my body leaned into his. A few gulls called overhead. Waves lapped lazily at the shore.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
