Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“I won’t hurt you with it.” I wish that were true with every fiber of my being. I don’t want him to have to endure more pain. “Your pies were probably as magical as this.” I wave my hand over the best meal I’ve ever eaten.
He shakes his head. “They’d be the opposite of magic.”
“It might be therapeutic.”
“Therapy hurts. The physical kind, at any rate.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. None of this was your fault. You can come back tomorrow, but you have to promise you won’t apologize to me again.”
“Can I watch your crows?” I blurt out.
His lips twitch. “Maybe. They might have something to say about it.”
“Can I bring something for the pie?” I offer.
“What kind do you want to make?”
“Rhubarb cherry?”
“That’s oddly specific.”
“I’ve had a craving.” His eyes bore into me, not intrusively, but I still squirm in my chair, almost panicking that he picked out something in my face that would identify me as a liar despite my heavy makeup. Maybe the fact that I look a lot like my parents, for one. “Do you read?” I blurt. When I’m under stress, things get more random. By the way, I’m sorry to anyone and everyone who had to do group presentations with me in college.
“Pretty much anything and everything,” he answers.
“Do you listen to music?”
“It would be painfully quiet around here if I didn’t.”
“What music are you passionate about?”
“Punk rock, mostly.”
I nearly fall right out of my chair. And it’s a very nice chair. I’m just now noticing the tiger oak in it. It’s very crafty. “Oh my god! Seriously? That’s such an odd type of music to like.”
“Is it?”
“Past or present?”
“Both.”
“Holy shit,” I gasp. “How many pairs of suspenders do you own?”
“A few.”
“Safety pins?”
“Sadly, I had to retire them a long time ago,” he replies.
“Do you still customize your clothing?”
“I’m old now.”
I wave that off. If he’s old, then I’m learning something new about myself. I like old. Too much. Way too much. Old is my jam, and I’m not talking about what one puts on toast, although if I could spread him on toast, I might just… erm, yeah, okay.
“Music is universal. It transcends the boundaries of age. It’s for everyone to enjoy. That’s the magic of it. It can pull you out of the shittiest moment. It’s amazing how songs can just speak right to the heart of you.”
“Are you an optimist?” he asks without any snark.
“I want to think joy can find you in the most unexpected moments. I look for something good every single day, and I hold on to it. Even if it’s small, it’s the small things that matter most.”
“What’s today’s?”
“That’s easy. You,” I reply without hesitation.
“No.”
“Yes! Definitely!”
He keeps looking at me skeptically for a minute. And another, and another, until it almost gets awkward. I hold my breath. I think he’s holding his too. I literally can’t see him breathing.
He lets it out first. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“I’ll prove it tomorrow when we make the world’s most kick-ass pie.”
He debates with himself, and I just about go into round two of my lungs bursting, but he saves me. “How’s one?”
I sit here and try not to give one of the happiest grins of my life. That would turn the corner to aggressive smiling too fast. But there’s nothing fake about my happiness.
“Should I wear a bag over my head?” He’s joking this time. He wasn’t joking before, so that already feels like progress. I should be totally removed from this, but already, my whole objective has changed. I have to remember why I came here.
But can’t healing my dad and healing Luca be all wrapped up together?
“Only if I can wear one too.”
He laughs softly, and when my whole body clenches at the sound, I know I’m so in trouble. I might not be obsessed with him, but I certainly am with his laughter, his smiles, and his whole bleeding heart. And isn’t that the same thing, really?
I’m in trouble. My family’s in trouble.
Only pie can save us, so I had better make it the best it can be. The best I’ve ever made. Ever. All while continuing this insane charade before probably crushing Luca with the truth.
No pressure or anything.
I can hope all I want that this doesn’t turn into a mess, but it already is.
Chapter four
Dulcie
My game plan walking into the cabin castle for round two is to stick to the plan.
Unfortunately for me, my plan is still total shit. Before, it was get in and then… figure it out. Now, it’s just basically wing it, make pie, and somehow get Luca to listen to me for three point one four genuine seconds when he has every right to be fully and righteously pissed off about my cloak-and-dagger slash creepy stalkerish actions.
Fuggeting fuggets. It’s my special blend of fucking nuggets, because seriously, can there be a worse curse than that, with just the right blend of hilarious cuteness? Sometimes pie puns just won’t do.