Page 72 of Last Slice of Pie

“You should come with a warning label,” I tell him.

His lips twitch as his eyes wander over the length of me, and my heart stutters.

Moving to the cabinet, he grabs a glass, fills it with water from the sink, and chugs it down. He isn’t trying to be sexy, but he definitely is. Placing the glass on the counter, he turns to look at me and licks his lips.

“I need to tell you something.” There’s worry on his face, and I feel slightly alarmed.

“Okay, what?” I ask, wiping my hands across my apron.

“A tree branch fell into the backside of the barn, and it, umm . . . it caused some damage.” He grits his teeth in a don’t shoot the messenger type way.

“What! You’ve got to be kidding me.” Untying the apron, I throw it on the counter and storm outside.

He follows.

Great. Just great.

The air isn’t as cool as it has been, but the clouds overhead are dark and indicate something is coming. I do love a good cold front, but with that means rain. I keep overflow of the jarred pie fillings in the barn, and the last thing I need is them getting ruined.

Rounding the side of the house, I see what he’s talking about and suck in a huge gasp of air.

“No,” I whisper to myself, but I know he hears.

Running into the barn, I stare up at the ceiling and see the sky.

Why? Just why can’t I catch a break? Is it that hard, Universe, to pick on someone else for a while? And this isn’t just a little damage—it’s huge! A ginormous branch from the oak tree that hangs over it fell, tore off at least half of the roof, and damaged one wall. My mouth hangs open and I just shake my head.

I can’t stop shaking my head.

Looking around, I see nothing seems too damaged on the inside; there’s just debris everywhere. My jars are kept in durable storage cabinets, and my one saving grace is that I’ll be able to file this one with my homeowners insurance. Only, I still have to pay the deductible, and right now I just don’t have it.

Pacing around, I cover my face with my hands and do my best not to cry. Bryan doesn’t need to see me have a level-ten meltdown over this, even though that’s what is happening on the inside.

He calls my name to get my attention, and I stop, turning to look at him. He’s standing in the doorway, and his arms are crossed over his chest. At whatever he sees on my face, his expression shifts to one of understanding, and his arms drop. How could he understand? He has no idea.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this.” He widens his eyes like I should know what’s coming. “And although I’m sure you have your reasons for not telling me about all the many problems you’ve had with the house lately, I didn’t like hearing about it from my friends. Not cool. I’ll be paying for this.” He nods toward the back of the barn.

Thinking back, I know the only person I said anything to was Camille, and even then, it wasn’t all at once, just tidbits here and there. So, yeah, whatever—he may have heard about it, but he’s out of his mind if he thinks this is happening the way he wants it to.

I prop my hands on my waist and glare at him. “Like hell you will. This is my house. I’ll take care of it.” My eyes blur with angry tears.

I’m so mad—mad about the fact I have another financial problem, annoyed that he knows about all the other problems, and frustrated that he now thinks he can just come in here and do as he pleases.

He tilts his head and watches me. “You should have told me,” he says calmly.

“No, I should not have. This is my problem, not yours. I’ve been doing things on my own for quite a while now, and I’m doing just fine. Also, I didn’t think it necessary to tell you when you had other things—more important things to worry about. Did you suddenly forget about that?”

“Why would you think these things that’ve been happening to you wouldn’t be important to me?”

“It never was before, not to you or James.” I cross my arms over my chest, and he rubs his hand back and forth through his hair.

“Wow. Okay, shots fired. I’ll take that one, but you’re wrong, and you know that now. You’ve always been important to me, everything about you, and whether you believe it or not, should you have ever needed anything and reached out, I would have been here in a heartbeat.”

I know he’s right, and I do need to move past him leaving me—twice—because at the end of the day, I truly believe the sincerity behind his words. Still, this is my house, my business, my problems.

“I’m paying off any expenses you’ve incurred with this house,” he says, so matter-of-factly.

“No, you are not!” I yell at him.