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Nope.

It still took them two hours to make two pies, but at least it was fun to have someone to talk to while she worked. Grandma was no help. Her baking skills only covered bread, cinnamon rolls, and cookies, but she occasionally wandered over to offer helpful pieces of advice like, “You’re supposed to roll the crust into a circle. That’s more like one of those one-celled organisms you see under a microscope.” And, “You know you can buy apple pie filling at the store, right?”

Oh, they knew, and Marlowe silently cursed Mrs. Clark’s pie snobbery. Seriously, would the bazaar people really care that the pies weren’t made from scratch? But Marlowe had eaten Mrs. Clark’s apple pie at the family dinner, and yeah, it was amazing. So there was absolutely a difference.

Finally, the pies went into the oven. Curly pieces of apple skin lay strewn and piled all over the counter, and the kitchen looked like a flour bomb had gone off in it. And they were only halfway done. She needed to make two more apple pies after these ones.

While the pies cooked, Marlowe and Delancey ate dinner and worked on coring and peeling the next batch of apples. Delancey wanted to slice a piece of one of the pies in the oven to make sure it was good before they made more. “Crust can be tricky,” she said. “I made it for quiche once, and it ended up being way too soggy. It’s the reason I’ve never cooked quiche again.”

Even though it would mean making another pie, Marlowe agreed that they ought to sample one, and not just because she felt like they should get some pie for all their efforts. The pies had to be perfect in case a member of the Clark family bought one.

When Marlowe took the pies out of the oven, they smelled amazing. Rich and cinnamony. The crust was the right amount of golden. It was also slightly uneven, but that just proved it was homemade.

When the pie cooled, Marlowe cut a slice. As she lifted the piece, parts of it fell off the spatula.

Delancey’s brows furrowed. “That’s not supposed to happen.”

Marlowe hurried to put the rest on a plate. “Maybe it just hasn’t cooled off enough.”

Delancey cut into the pie and took a bite. She looked off into the distance, nibbling like a judge on some baking show where they yelled at hopeful participants.

“The top tastes good,” she said. “Just enough sweetness and spiciness. But the bottom…” she pressed her lips together like she wasn’t sure how to break the bad news.

Marlowe dipped her fork into the pie to see for herself. The crust wasn’t raw; she knew that. They had cooked it before putting the apple mixture into it. But anyone who ate this pie would not be convinced of this fact.

As Marlowe chewed the soggy crust, panic bloomed in her chest. She’d just wasted three hours of the day making pie she couldn’t use. “Is there a way to save it?”

Delancey hesitated like she wished she had a better answer. “This is why we did a test run. I’ll try a different recipe for the crust next time.”

“Is there one that doesn’t require it to be chilled first?”

“You’re not going to like the answer to that question.”

Delancey was right about that. Marlowe didn’t like the answer. All the recipes required the piecrust to stay in the fridge for a minimum of one hour. Two to four hours was best for flaky crust.

Four hours.

Why was crust so temperamental? It was mostly just flour and butter.

Marlowe decided right then that the crust didn’t need to be flaky. It only needed to not be soggy.

It was around this time that Jace messaged her. Mom wanted me to remind you that the pies are supposed to be at the bazaar by nine. How is the baking going?

It was perhaps an unnecessary reminder since he knew Delancey was over helping her bake. She wrote back: We’re busy working on them now.

His message circled for a moment. How many have you finished so far?

She was probably too honest. Zero.

Zero because they’re in the oven?

Zero because we’re starting over.

He didn’t answer after that, which might be for the best because what else could he say besides, I told you so.

It was nearing ten o’clock when they took the next two apple pies from the oven. The crust recipe claimed it never failed. They had made it thicker, cooked it longer, and wrapped aluminum foil around the edges when they added the apple mixture so it wouldn’t get overcooked.

The rim of the pie had managed to get darker than she would have liked despite being covered in a shield of aluminum foil, but that was a small price to pay if the rest of the pie was perfect.