“I need those crusts that just came out of the oven,” Joey said, and Adam moved down to the cooling rack to get them for her.
She poured the chocolate custard into the four chocolate cookie crumb crusts he’d already done, and he followed behind her with a roll of plastic wrap, so he could press it over the hot pudding before it formed a skin.
Industrial plastic wrap was like wrestling with a sticky feather, and he managed to get the first two pies done while Joey took the pot over to the sink and filled it with water. But when he tried to rip the third piece, somehow a corner of it got stuck to his elbow and then seemed to suction to his whole forearm.
He shook his arm as he tried to get it off, and it wouldn’t go. He finally peeled it off in a long strip of stuck-together plastic wrap, which he flung away from him with disgust. He tried again, and this time he ripped a too-long piece, and it folded on itself before he could float it over the top of the pie.
He growled as the fold touched the pudding before he could pull it back. Joey giggled at the same time he said, “I need help here.”
She stepped to his side. “It’s just plastic wrap, cowboy.”
Yes, Adam wore his hat in the kitchen that day, and he glowered at her from underneath the brim of it. “This stuff is like super sticky paper that’s attracted to itself,” he said. “I don’t know how anyone uses this.”
Joey ripped off a piece effortlessly and floated it over the pie the way she’d shown him, easily pressing itdown onto the pudding all the way around to the edge of the cookie crumb. She repeated the task as easy as breathing for her, while Adam stood there, still holding the folded piece of plastic wrap with the line of chocolate pudding on it and wondering what to do with it.
The timer went off, and Joey went to get the pie crusts out. “I need those cookie ones,” she said. “Can you handle it?”
“Yes,” he barked at her. “I’ve already done eight.”
He pressed the cookie crumbs into the tins while she put the baked crusts on the cooling rack and went to get a couple of more regular pie crusts. She helped him finish up the last two, and then she slid those into the oven.
“These chocolate pies go in the fridge.”
“Why is your smile so big?” he asked, picking up one of the pies. He didn’t dare carry two, in case he suddenly couldn’t walk and hold something in his hand, and he dropped them both.
“I just think it’s funny how inept you are in the kitchen,” she said.
“We all can’t be baking superheroes,” he grumbled. He opened the fridge and slid his pie in and then turned to take the ones she brought over to him. That done, he closed the fridge and looked at her, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
“Thank you for being here to help me,” Joey said, her smile morphing from teasing and playful to beautiful and genuine. “It really means a lot to me, Adam.”
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” he said, and he meant every word.
Joey nodded, and Adam thought he saw the slightest wobble of her chin. Then someone said, “Howdy-hey, I’ve got a pie pickup.”
He automatically stepped in front of her to shield her from whoever had arrived. “Yes,” he said. “Welcome to Rooelle Pies. I’m Adam. What did you have?”
He went to take care of the customer, who left smiling with his apple streusel pie. By the time Adam turned back to the kitchen, Joey was bent over her list, consulting it to see what she needed to make next. He watched her for a moment, and when she looked up at him, beautiful, unspoken things were said—so many that Adam ducked his cowboy hat to break their connection.
Joey giggled. “That’s what you use a cowboy hat for, all right.”
He grinned, feeling happier with himself than he had in a while. This new version of Adam Harmon was part country boy, part band manager, and falling all the way in love with Joey Young.
He wasn’t sure who he’d be on the other side of everything, but he knew the Young family and Joey were changing him in the best ways possible.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Joey set the lid over the pot of potatoes on the stove, and then turned her attention to filling the pressure cooker with the remaining cubes. Yes, Thanksgiving dinner was really coming together now, and she stepped out of the way as Georgia reached to open the oven.
“I think this turkey is done,” she said. “Yep, look, it’s popped.”
Joey turned to the island to put down some potholders for her. Georgia slid the turkey out of the oven and onto the counter.
“I’ll go check the rolls,” Joey said, already moving toward the dining room table, where she’d put the dough to rise earlier. “Once we bake these,” she said, finding them properly proofed and ready to bake. “We’ll be able to set the table.”
“OJ and Anaya can do that,” Georgia said. Joey’syounger brother poked his head up over the top of the couch.
