Two thousand dollars. For a pie. For Callie Thompson’s pie.
The mayor looks between us, his gavel raised. “Two thousand going once... twice...”
“Twenty-five hundred,” I say, because I’m not losing this.
“Three thousand,” Wyatt immediately responds.
We stare at each other across the room, and there’s something happening here that’s about more than pie. This is about claim. About declaration. About showing this entire town that Callie matters to us.
“Three thousand going once,” the mayor says. “Going twice... Sold! To Wyatt McCoy for three thousand dollars!”
The applause is scattered and confused. People don’t know whether to be scandalized or impressed. Mrs. Delaney looks like she might faint.
Wyatt walks up to collect his pie. He picks it up off the table, walks directly to Callie, and hands it to her.
“Yours,” he says quietly, but his voice carries in the silent room.
“I can’t,” she protests. “You paid?—”
“It was always yours,” he says simply, then walks back to his seat.
Callie stands there holding her pie, tears in her eyes, while the town watches. Then she does something nobody expects. She starts laughing.
“Three thousand dollars,” she says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You three spent three thousand dollars on a pie I made from grocery store apples and a recipe I got off the internet.”
“Worth it,” I call out.
“Worth every penny just to see you blush,” Boone adds.
“Worth more,” Wyatt says quietly.
The room doesn’t know what to do with this. The Thompson girl and the McCoy boys, being... whatever this is in front of everyone. Mrs. Patterson starts crying,though whether from romance or scandal, nobody can tell.
“Well,” the mayor says, clearly flustered. “That was... eventful. Moving on to Mrs. Patterson’s raisin pie...”
But nobody’s paying attention anymore. They’re all watching Callie walk toward us, still carrying her three-thousand-dollar pie, her chin up and a smile on her face that makes my chest tight.
“I can’t believe you guys. You’re out of control,” she tells us when she reaches our corner.
“Probably,” I agree.
“Definitely,” Boone says.
“Obviously,” Wyatt adds.
“Thank you,” she says simply.
And right there, in front of the entire town, she stands on her tiptoes and kisses Wyatt on the cheek. Then Boone. Then me.
The room explodes.
We endup at the creek again because it’s the only place in town where we can be together without people staring and whispering, or getting the stink eye from our families. Callie’s pie sits between us, four forks attacking it directly from the dish because we’re classy like that.
“Three thousand dollars,” Callie says for the hundredth time. “That’s rent money. That’s a used car. That’s?—”
“A bargain,” Wyatt interrupts. “For what we got.”
“What did you get?”
