Page 148 of Falling for Mr. October

Theo’s overseeing the petting zoo, and Isabella, who’s in charge of logistics, will be running all around the farm, attending to every detail. She’s held several small weddings at her B&B and is used to keeping track of this kind of madness. Miles has volunteered to help out as needed.

Me? I just officially submitted my pie for consideration, and now I guess I can practice my Oh no, I lost face.

Truthfully, I don’t want to lose to the mayor any more than Bianca wants me to, but Emily was right. I’d been looking at things all wrong. When you’re dealing with a person who doesn’t give a shit about the rules, you need to re-strategize to get what you want.

Miles sets my pie on the judging table. When he shifts his arm, his new tattoo is fully revealed—a red and orange feather that’s nearly the length of his forearm. Emily, who brought Luanne and Helen to the bake-off, gasps at the sight.

“When did you get that?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

He looks up at her. “Just before I came back.”

“Why?”

He holds her gaze for a long moment before saying, “You know why.”

“Is it one of those tickler things?” Luanne asks, propping up an ingredients sign in front of the pie. “We read all about them in our book club’s selection a couple of months back. Did you give him a copy of that book, Emily? What was it called, anyway? I can’t for the life of me remember.”

“I think I know,” Helen says. “It was called My Feathered Friend, wasn’t it?”

“Are you sure it wasn’t Feather My Friend?” Luanne asks.

“A pity we missed that one,” I whisper to Bianca, but her gaze is fixed on Miles and Emily.

So she noticed it too. Something strange is definitely going on between them. No doubt we’ll find out more about it, given that Miles will be living with us until he finds an apartment.

Not in his own room, however. Even though I’d be perfectly fine with staying permanently in Bianca’s room, the way I do almost every night anyway, there’s a limit to what the nonnas consider permissible behavior. So he’s staying in Isabella’s former room for the moment, though he claims all the pink will drive him out.

Whit blows into the judging tent, his face red from exertion. “Mr. Shirtless Chef.”

“Did you run here?” I ask, glancing around. He’s not with any older folks. Then again, I’ve never seen him with his foster parents. I make a mental note to find out more about the kid’s situation. I trust Emily, and if she says the foster parents aren’t abusive, I believe they’re not, but there must be something more that can be done for him and other kids in similar situations.

We’ll be able to be more proactive once Bianca has access to Kitty’s fund.

“I’ve got some information for you,” Whit says in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Speak up, young man. We can’t hear you,” Luanne says. “What kind of information do you have?”

Whit scowls. “The private kind.”

“There are no secrets between the Shirtless Chef and his fan club.”

Whit glances at me, and I shrug. “She’s right, unfortunately. How much do you want for your information?”

He glances between all of us, then says, “This one’s on me.” He points at the picture-perfect pie sitting next to mine, being watched over by a young man who’s sitting opposite it in a folding chair, his posture perfect. “The pie the mayor bought is a fake. He didn’t touch a single one of the ingredients himself. He hired a chef in Asheville to make it.”

The pie watchdog doesn’t react at all, suggesting he’s in it for a paycheck, not out of loyalty.

“You got proof of that?” Luanne asks, rolling her wheelchair a couple of inches closer to Whit.

“No,” he says, scuffing the ground with his foot. “I don’t have a phone or nothing. But I heard him talking about it.”

I don’t bother asking how he heard it. I don’t doubt that he did. I steal a look at Bianca before telling the kid, “He’s going to win, Whit.”

Everyone around us already knows the score, except for the pie guard dog, possibly, and he seems too bored to care.

Whit scrunches up his face and balls his fists. “It’s not fair. The best pie should win.”

“He’s going to win because I’m going to let him win. You’re a businessman. You know that sometimes you lose a battle to win the war. Stick around for the contest, please. You’ll see.”