Page 18 of Last Slice of Pie

Cole was different then. I liked him well enough, and he seemed to like me too, but in hindsight, I now know he just tolerated me because he really loved my mother. Everyone loved her.

We were all in the car, and he was driving when that person ran the red light and plowed into her. The driver died too.

I still relive that night in my dreams, the sounds, the voices, all the flashing lights, Cole hugging her body, begging her to come back.

He changed after that. We both did, and I quickly learned that Cole didn’t want me. He was stuck with me, and he reminded me of that every chance he got.

Six months later, we turned onto the driveway at GiGi’s house, passed right by it, and stopped about a quarter mile down in front of a two-bedroom, thousand-square-foot home. He turned to look at me before we got out and said, “Don’t fuck this up for me.”

“You nervous?” Jack comes over and slaps me on the back.

I don’t answer; he knows I am.

Pinching my lips together, I look out at all the people. I was right—there are a minimum of three hundred here, and I don’t know if I’m more nervous to spend time with her or to have all these people see me with her.

My phone buzzes with a text. It’s her saying she’s here, in the parking lot. It’s go time.

I take two deep breaths, swallow once, and then quietly slip out to meet her. I find her swinging open the back gate to an SUV, and she bends over to pull out a large platform dolly.

“Here, let me help you with that,” I call out as I jog over.

She spins around at the sound of my voice, and the sight of her has my stomach falling. It’s like déjà vu to the moment I realized this girl was going to be the girl.

People love those stories of love at first sight or childhood sweethearts, but that wasn’t us. I didn’t even really notice her until I was sixteen. Yes, we had basically spent the last six years growing up together, but she was James’s sister. She spent most of her days inside with GiGi, and James and I spent most of ours outside.

It was a Saturday morning, and James and I had just spent the last four hours sprinting and running drills. We walked into the kitchen to grab a drink, and there she was. She was bent over, pulling a pie out of the oven, and I froze, stunned speechless by the curve of her spine, her tiny ass, her long legs. She stood and turned at the sound of us entering, flashing us the most gorgeous smile. I felt my whole world zero in on the moment, and I lost my breath as I took the impact of an invisible sucker punch to the gut.

She’d changed.

I don’t know when it happened or how I didn’t notice, but standing before us wasn’t my best friend’s tagalong sister. She was taller, her face leaner, and there were curves present that hadn’t been there before. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she was wearing a simple white V-neck T-shirt, cutoff denim shorts, and a small apron tied around her waist. Her eyes were bright as she smiled at James, and then they settled on me—warm, kind, and so open I felt I could see straight to her soul. Better yet, it seemed she could see straight to mine. That was when I knew.

“Hey.” She smiles, her whole face lighting up as I reach to help her.

Damn, this girl.

“Hey, you.” I can’t help but grin back at her.

She’s here.

She’s finally here.

After all these years.

“How was the drive?” I ask, lifting the dolly over her head and putting it on the ground.

“Easy-peasy. Didn’t take me long at all, maybe an hour and forty-five minutes.” She pops up the handle on the dolly and moves it into position.

“That’s good to hear. So what are these things?” I ask as I haul the first of three large military-grade-looking cases out of the back and place them where she directs me.

She laughs. “They’re portable thermal food warmers that are used for catering.”

“Really?” Her business logo is displayed on the side of each one. In fact, as I take her in, I see she’s wearing a matching Firefly Kitchen T-shirt too, along with tight jeans and flip-flops.

“Yep. Each has six trays, three pies to a tray, which means I have fifty-four pies for you. I cut the slices large, too, so six slices per pie means there are three hundred and twenty-four total.”

“That’s a lot of pie.” My brows pull down. “When did you make all of these?”

“I prepped last night and baked this morning. You said there’d be a lot of people.”