Grabbing the pecan pie, I head for the door.
I have a delivery to make.
I take the familiar drive to Keith’s, my hands gripping the wheel tightly as I navigate each turn with extra care.The pie rests on the passenger seat like it’s fragile.Because it is.The pie that I had to wait in line for an hour to get.The best pecan pie in town.The pie that could very well be my peace offering.
Keith’s house comes into view, his porch decorated with a simple fall wreath.I park, hold my breath as I unbuckle, and carefully lift the pie.My steps are measured, as if any sudden movement might ruin my entrance.
I ring the doorbell, and a few moments later, Keith swings the door open.
“Oh, hi, Amelia.Happy Thanksgiving,” he greets, eyes dropping to the pie in my hands.
“Happy Thanksgiving.”I thrust it toward him like an offering, watching as his face lights up.
He inclines his head inside, and I step through the doorway, the house surprisingly quiet, the faint scent of something savory lingering in the air.My eyes scan the dining table, and my heart clenches when I see only two sets of silverware neatly placed on either side.
Just the two of them.
Adrian is at the table, lowering the last fork into place with quiet efficiency.He doesn’t notice me, giving me a chance to take in his fitted black pants and red and black shirt.I swear I saw this style on the ‘look of the season for men’ in blogs this week.
“Look what Amelia brought us.”Keith’s voice grabs his attention
Adrian straightens and walks over.His gaze meets mine, and something inside me flutters.It’s nerves mixed with hope, wanting this to go well.
He drops his gaze to the pie.“What is it?”
I lift my chin slightly.“Genevieve’s pecan pie.”
“The best one.”Keith grins.
I beam with pride, waiting for Adrian’s response.
“I don’t like pie.”His face flattens.
My heart drops.
But before I can fully process the sting, his lips curl.“Kidding.You think that low of me that I wouldn’t even like pecan pie?Everyone likes pecan pie.“
I force a laugh, but it’s weak.“Yeah.Keith could’ve had it all, though.”I try to sound nonchalant, brushing it off like it didn’t get to me.But it did.
Something about the way they’re just sitting here, alone on Thanksgiving, tugs at me.My family is chaotic, but it’s never lonely.
This?
This is lonely.
And even though Adrian is as closed off as ever, Keith is such a sweetheart.He shouldn’t be spending Thanksgiving like this.Neither should Adrian.
“Thanks,” Adrian says finally.“For the pie.”
I shift on my feet.“Well, later, if you’re free, we play Scrabble as a family.”My voice is casual, but I’m holding my breath, hoping.I need Adrian to see the good side of me, to let his walls down just a little.Maybe over dessert, we can talk about the fundraiser, start bouncing around some ideas.
“You don’t have to come for dinner, but maybe come for dessert?”
Adrian crosses his arms.“Didn’t you get a pie for yourself?”
“I did,” I admit.“Chocolate cream.But I didn’t get another pecan.”
Keith looks at me, surprised.“You didn’t want to get too many?”
