Page 34 of Where She Belongs

“I’ll take them,” Rylee said. “The chicks. But I’m buying the feed.”

“Rylee—”

“That’s the deal.” She leaned further over the railing until they were nearly eye to eye. “You brought them here, I feed them. If you tell me no, I’ll drive out to the co-op in the morning and buy it anyway, and you’ll have wasted a trip.”

Tate opened his mouth. Closed it. There wasn’t any good ground to stand on and they both knew it. “Feed’s yours,” he said.

“Good.” She dropped her chin, and the rest of it cost her to get out. “Thank you for the coop.”

This shouldn’t feel like flirting, but it did. His grin was uncontrollable as they stared into each other’s eyes. He liked this place they’d gotten to. It felt comfortable—familiar. And just the thought of her leaving at the end of the summer put a stone in his gut.

No, he wouldn’t think about that. He’d do what he could to get her to stay. He’d help her see that she belonged in Rocky Ridge just like she always had.

Rylee jerked her chin toward the stairs. “I made some pie. You want to come in?”

He quirked a brow. “Pie? I didn’t know you rich girls knew how to cook. Don’t you have fancy chefs to do that for you?”

She gasped. “Tate Dennison! Take that back right now.”

Tate laughed as he took the steps two at a time then nearly tumbled backward when she gave him a playful shove. He shot her a wary look. “Careful, Ry-Ry. You’re playing with fire.”

With a roll of her eyes, she pushed her hair back off her face and headed inside. The sound of her quiet laughter pulled him inside after her.

They sat across from one another with a slice of apple pie and the memories hit him all at once. Memories that had been long since buried.

“Apple pie is my favorite,” Tate murmured around the bite he shoved into his mouth. “Your dad makes the best pies. Better than my mom.”

Rylee nodded. “Yeah. I know. He’s the best at everything.”

He glanced up at her. She seemed distracted. Not sad, really. But thoughtful. “What’s the matter, Ry-Ry?”

She startled and met his gaze. Her fork abandoned on her plate, she cocked her head. “Do you think my mom would have been good at making pie?”

Tate considered this. Rylee didn’t know her mother. She’d left a long time ago. Rylee didn’t seem to mind it so much. This was the first time she brought her up. “Maybe. But I don’t think she would have been better than your dad. I wish I could make pie like him.”

That made her smile and the ache let go. He rubbed at his chest, his appetite fading away. He didn’t like when Rylee was sad. She stuck her tongue out like she was thinking really hard. “Maybe my daddy could teach you.”

Tate shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s pretty busy.”

“Then I’ll learn. And I’ll teach you,” she insisted.

He worried his lower lip, considering. “Promise?”

Her smile was blinding and she held out her pinky in offering.

He curled his pinky around hers and they jerked their connected hands up then down. Together they chanted, “Pinky promise.”

Rylee never had the chance to teach him. A few months later her father had passed away. He wanted to ask her who taught her to bake if not her father, but he kept that question to himself. When he glanced up at her, he found her looking at him. But then her eyes jumped to her plate, caught again.

Did she remember their promise? Did she remember how close they’d been when they were kids? He couldn’t believe how much he’d forgotten over the years only to have those memories return drip by painful drip.

Soon he’d have a bucket full of memories, and he wouldn’t know what to do with them all.

Tate stabbed his fork into his pie and took a bite.

“It’s not as good as my dad’s,” she said quietly. “I could never quite figure out how he got the crust just right. And I’m certain there are a few spices missing from the apple filling.”

“Rylee,” he murmured, forcing her to meet his gaze. “This has got to be the best apple pie I’ve ever eaten.”