Page 20 of Last Slice of Pie

Then she laughs, and it’s the best laugh in the world.

Pulling her toward me, I chuckle and wrap my arm around her shoulders. Hers goes around my waist. Both of us are smiling, probably a little too much, but I can’t help it.

I’m so damn happy she’s here.

One by one, I introduce her to my people. Everyone is respectful, as they should be given my position on the team, and everyone praises her for her pies. I’m certain they’ve all put the pieces together about her, me, and my love of pies. Good, I think to myself. I want them all to know. A lot of the guys on the team date and marry the Barbie doll type, but that’s never done it for me. Lexi does it for me with her T-shirt, messy hair, curves, and drive to make it all on her own—the house, the business, all of it. I’m so proud of her.

“So, she’s the one?” Reid asks. I can feel him looking at her, assessing her, but it doesn’t bother me. She should be looked at.

“Yep,” I answer without taking my eyes off her. He already knew this, but it still feels great to acknowledge it.

“Do you think she knows?”

“Nope.” At least I don’t think she does. I’ve never given her any indication that she might be. If anything, I’ve done the opposite.

She throws her head back and laughs at something Camille, Reid’s wife, says. Her laugh is infectious, and everyone near her smiles, including me.

“Good luck,” he murmurs.

Yeah, I’m going to need it.

Shrimp Salad

WEEKS HAVE PASSED since I saw Bryan, and I’m still riding the high of spending the day with him. I know, I know, I shouldn’t be—after all, we’re just friends—but still, I can’t help it.

He texted me when I got home that night to thank me, and since then his texts have been increasing in frequency. I don’t know what’s changed or why it’s happening now, but I’m not going to question it. I’m just going to roll with it. Each time I see his name flash on my phone, my insides do a little dance. It started with him wanting to know if I saw his game the following week, and then it progressed to asking how I’m doing and what happened during my day. He claims his days are boring—eat healthy, play football, work with his trainer, watch films, sleep, repeat—but I think what he does is amazing.

Bryan has always been made up of this perfect blend of perfectionism and purposefulness. At an early age, he set life goals for himself, and I don’t think he’s ever wavered from them. I don’t think this is a bad thing, but I’ve often wondered if he’s enjoyed his life. He’s so determined, which can be both a pro and a con. I just hope he’s happy. He should be; he’s already accomplished so much.

My days, however, have been filled with being knee-deep in pecans. Marie and I have been curing, shelling, and making the pecan pie filling for what feels like a lifetime. Then again, each harvest season throughout the year feels like this. Whether it’s strawberries, blueberries, lemons, or whatever, when they’re ripe and ready, it’s crunch time to get as much accomplished as we can. Currently, we have more jars of pecan pie filling than we’ve ever had, and I’m so proud. I never thought I would see the gift shop—AKA my dining room—and the extra storage in the barn so full of so many jars.

Turning off the oven, I move the two pressure canners I used today from the stove over to the sink, pour out the water, and wipe down the insides. I’ve canned all the jars I’m going to get done today, and I’m in desperate need of a hot bath to loosen these muscles.

Behind me, on the center island, my phone buzzes with an incoming text, and a small smile voluntarily slips onto my face as I glance at the sender.

Bryan: Big plans this weekend?

I look at the clock and see it’s already three in the afternoon, which means he’s on his flight to Pittsburgh. The team decided to fly out a day early due to a cold front that’s expected to move through. It’s an open stadium and there’s going to be snow, so the team needs time to run drills, time to adjust.

Me: Nope. I’ll be working. As much as I love pecans, I kind of never want to see another one.

Bryan: Ha! But it’s so worth it. You make the best pecan pie in the whole world.

My heart might have just leapt in my chest. It didn’t go unnoticed to me that he ate several different flavors of pie at the team event, and two slices of pecan. Internally, I was beaming with delight.

Holding my phone, I make my way up the stairs toward my bedroom. It used to be GiGi’s, but she’s been gone for several years now, so it only made sense that it would become mine. It’s the largest room in the house and takes up the entire third floor.

It used to be the attic, but after my grandparents married, my grandfather slowly transitioned the space, making it the bedroom of her dreams. On both sides of the room there are French doors that lead to outside balconies; that way my GiGi could watch the sunrises and the sunsets. Additionally, there are large bay windows complete with built-in seating and surrounded by shelving for her favorite books. He added a fireplace with a lounge area, his and hers walk-in closets, and a large master bath. My favorite feature of the bathroom is the old claw-foot tub, and I can’t wait to toss in a bath bomb and soak.

Me: I think you’ve taken one too many hits to the head.

Bryan: Don’t you know I’m the most protected man on the field?

Me: Whatever! I’ve seen those hits you’ve taken.

There’s a pause as I sit on the edge of the bed, wait, and then watch as the three little dots appear.

Bryan: You have?