Page 11 of Last Slice of Pie

I wanted away from this place so bad, for so many reasons, mainly because Cole was here and I never wanted to see him again, but I think my prejudices and ambitions skewed the reality of what I thought this home represented. When looking at it now, it’s not discomfort I see—it’s contentment.

Approaching the house, I see Lexi sitting out on the front steps. She must have heard me coming up the drive, or maybe Marie called her, and although I’ve had ten years to think about what I’m going to say to her, I find myself suddenly nervous and at a loss.

Occasionally, photos of her would show up or James would share one with me, but none of them prepared me for the woman she is now. In many ways, she was still a girl when I left, but not anymore.

I park next to another truck off to the side and see a decal on the driver’s side door that says, Tadlock Roofing Company. I glance up at the house, and sure enough, there on the back side, two guys are working. I can’t imagine how much it costs her to maintain this house.

Climbing out, I follow through with a ritual I’ve done for as long as I can remember to calm my nerves. I take two deep breaths and swallow once. I don’t know why I’m so nervous, but I am.

As I approach her, she looks up, and her beautiful light eyes lock with mine. Something deep inside me shifts and settles. I feel like for years I have been running—running from the pain of my mother’s death, running from my childhood memories with Cole, and well . . . just running from here. I don’t even really know where I was trying to run to, and it doesn’t really matter. I just needed something different, somewhere different, and it wasn’t going to be here.

For so long I have been trying to find a place of acceptance, a place for me. Yes, everyone knows I’m a great football player, and everyone loves that guy. It was a perfect means to an end to get the hell out of here, but seeing Lexi again, a peace I have been searching for so desperately trickles through my veins. I knew it was her; it’s always been her, and it’s my fault we have this huge gap of missed time.

I can’t read the expression on her face. In the midst of all this, I was hoping she would be happy to see me, but maybe she’s not. I feel the air being sucked out of my lungs the longer we stand facing each other. I am actually beginning to think it was a really bad idea coming back here, but then again, I had to face her at some point. It’s been too long.

Watching her beautiful face, I see her chin quiver slightly, and then her eyes fill with unshed tears. My stomach drops. Oh man. I have no idea what to say or do. I can’t read her anymore. Is she happy I’m here or is she mad? Does she want me to stay or go? All I can do is stare at her, say nothing, and wait for her to take the lead.

“Hey, Bryan,” she finally whispers, letting out a deep sigh and blinking to clear her eyes.

“Hey, you,” I calmly say back.

She clasps her hands in front of her, propping her elbows on her thighs. She’s changed her clothes, now wearing cutoff denim shorts with a Firefly Kitchen T-shirt, and her hair is pulled up into a ponytail. She looks casual; she looks perfect.

“Congratulations on your award. What you’ve done for our community means a lot to the people around here.”

Taking compliments has never been my thing, so I just shrug my shoulders and then change the subject.

“I like what you’ve done with the place.” I look around and see she recently painted the house, refinished the porch, and has several pots overflowing with flowers. It’s so Lexi.

“Thanks. How long are you in town for?” she asks, and my eyes slide back to her.

“Just today. We fly out in the morning.”

“Right,” she says, standing and brushing off her shorts. “Well, you came all this way, so you may as well come on in and have a slice of pie.”

Homemade Southern Barbecue Sauce

I CAN’T BELIEVE he’s here. In. My. Home.

I can’t believe I almost cried.

And I don’t even know why. It’s like years and years of pent-up emotions over him, losing GiGi, James being gone, me embarrassing myself at the ceremony—all of it just bubbled to the top and tried to spill over. I’m sure he thinks I’m just a stupid girl. After all, I did see the look of horror-turned-pity on his face.

Oh well. I am who I am.

As I move around the kitchen, I do my best to play it cool, to look calm and collected, but all I can think about is how he’s here, finally here, in my house, and he looks so much better than I could have ever imagined.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m still angry. I can’t believe for so long I allowed myself to have hearts in my eyes and claimed unrequited love, because now that just feels childish and dumb. We’re grown adults, and adults know better . . . right? He may be here now, checking in on me to report back to James, but he’ll leave, just like he’s always done. Only this time, I refuse to be hurt by him, or should I say, by myself. He’s never promised me anything, so technically he’s never done anything wrong. This fantasy, the illusion of us—I clearly built that up in my head and it’s clearly one-sided, so I’m done. I’m done making this into something more than it is.

“It’s strange not seeing GiGi here,” Bryan says quietly, his fingers playing with the glass of sweet tea I set in front of him. His voice is deep and resonates with a dormant familiarity. If my soul were to awaken, I imagine it would feel something like this, and I don’t welcome the sensation. I don’t want it to recognize anything; there’s no point.

Stealing a glance at him, I see he’s looking around the kitchen. It’s vastly different from when he was here before, what he remembers.

Once Firefly Kitchen became a real business where I began selling items to people other than the locals in town, I had to update and make changes in order to obtain certification to be a commercial kitchen. All of the appliances are new along with the countertops and even the flooring, the biggest change being that business food must remain separate from personal food. As such, I gutted the mudroom off the back of the kitchen, expanded it, and added a large commercial refrigerator, freezer, and built-in shelving for storing our jarred pie fillings, jams, jellies, and honey. I love the setup and have made no secret of the fact that I love going to work every day. I’m proud of it and proud of myself. It’s my dream kitchen. Anything that’s left over, we store in the barn.

“Yeah, I know. Every now and then, during different times of the year, something will trigger a memory, and I expect to turn around and see her standing there, only she’s not.” I shrug one shoulder and go back to rolling out the dough in front of me. I have a slice in the refrigerator that I could have served him—I always do—but since I have dough ready and plenty of fillings to choose from, a fresh-baked pie seems like the better choice. Plus, he can take the leftovers with him when he goes.

“Any specific flavor you’re craving today?” I ask as I shift the rolling pin so it lifts the dough off the counter, and then I transfer it to a white ceramic pie dish.