Page 12 of Last Slice of Pie

“No. I know whatever you make will taste amazing.”

His eyes have found their way back to watching me across the large kitchen island. His kind words mess with my insides, and I rub my hands over the flour on the workspace to ground me before pressing the dough evenly into the bottom and sides of the dish.

My eyes flip up to his. “I watched your interview.”

“You did?” His brows rise.

“Yep. Smart decision on your part to answer that you prefer pie over cake.” I flash him a smile as I turn to walk into what I’ve officially started calling the gift shop and grab a large pie filling jar labeled Meyer Lemon Shaker Pie. As a kid, Bryan always loved citrus fruits, so I think this bright lemon marmalade will be perfect for him. Plus, it’s not a pie you regularly find on a restaurant menu. With six mature lemon trees outside that tend to gift me fruit year-round, it has become one of my more popular sellers.

“Well . . .” He chuckles. “It’s the truth. I really like what you’ve done with the kitchen.”

“Thanks. I love how the updates have turned out,” I say while popping the seal on the jar and walking back to the workstation.

My eyes briefly flit to him. It’s so strange to see him sitting at the kitchen island. He’s watching me, and I have a hard time looking back at him. It’s not that I’m overly embarrassed anymore from earlier—well, maybe a tiny bit; I just feel overwhelmed and a little like this whole scenario is surreal.

How many times have I dreamt about him sitting right here, in that specific spot, talking to me while I bake? Too many times to admit.

“James talks a lot about how successful your business is. I’m really proud of you.” He smiles, and the dimple makes an appearance. It’s so warm and genuine, my cheeks flush. Hearing him say he’s proud of me . . . it feels good, but also bittersweet.

Before GiGi died, I worked under the name Lexi’s Pies. After all, that was all I made. It wasn’t until a few years ago that Firefly Kitchen became a business concept. I went to Charleston to visit Meg and Shelby, my friends from culinary school, and I stopped in at their new restaurant, OBA, short for Orange Blossom Avenue. To celebrate, I brought a few pies for them to serve free of charge, and one particular guest asked how they could purchase a pie to take home. I hadn’t brought any extra pies, so on a whim, I offered to mail her the pie filling. She was delighted and became my first non-local customer.

Since then, the business has become known for its five unique pie fillings, along with seasonal flavors, jams, jellies, salsas, and honey, too. Marie keeps the website up to date with what we have in stock in the gift shop, and she maintains inventory in eclectic boutiques and kitchen stores all around the south. We also ship online orders all over the world weekly.

“When’s the last time you saw him?” I ask.

“Over the summer, up at Zach’s winery.” He picks up his glass, and I watch as he takes a sip.

“Yeah, I was sorry to miss everyone there. I had planned on going, but the water pipe that connects the well pump to the house got a crack in it. Apparently, it had been that way for a little while because the ground was flooded and the pump had been running constantly and overworking itself. It was a mess.”

He frowns. “I bet. I see you have roofers here, too.”

“Yep, loose nails, which in turn caused a ceiling leak in my old bedroom. I rarely go in there, so not sure how long it’s been leaking. Tomorrow, I have someone coming out to repair the ceiling.”

“That sucks.” He shifts on the chair, and the muscles under his shirt noticeably ripple.

“It does. Do you live in a house?” I seal the top layer of dough by rippling the edge, and then I cut patterned slits across the top.

“I do. Some of my teammates live in a condo building downtown, but I opted for a house on the river instead.”

A house on the river . . . I don’t know why, but this surprises me. I always pictured him somewhere urban, living in something modern, sleek. Maybe that’s just what I wanted to believe because it made it seem like he and I have even less in common, which would explain why he never bothered coming back.

“Does it cause you constant headaches like mine?” I grin.

He smiles. “No, but it’s a new construction, so I’m hoping nothing happens for a while.”

Well, there you go. He prefers new homes, whereas I live in an old one.

“Do you like living in Tampa?”

“I do. I honestly couldn’t ask for a better city or a better team to play for. You know if you ever want to come to a game, I’ll get you tickets.”

“Oh, thanks, but I’ve been to one of your games.” Internally I cringe. Why, just why did I say that?

“Really? Which one?” Surprise lights up his face.

“Umm, your first game. Marie and I drove down for it.”

He pauses as the delight slips off his face and he frowns again. “I wish I had known that.”