Page 31 of Last Slice of Pie

Happy—she’s happy because I’m here, and that guilt hits me again. Why did I think staying away for so long was a good idea? Suddenly, I find myself mourning all the missed holidays I could have spent with her. Waking up with her, celebrating with her, creating our own traditions—I could have had this. We could have had this, but we didn’t because of me. Today, staring at the truth, it hurts.

Making my way into the kitchen, I don’t know what compels me to wrap her in my arms, but I do. The memory of holding her close outside last night isn’t enough, and I need more—a lot more. She’s standing at the stove, and I walk up right behind her and hug her. She leans into me, clasping my arms where they rest on her chest, and I want to stay in this spot forever. Instead, after the stolen moment, I let out a deep breath and release her.

“So, what’s on your agenda today?” I ask, walking over to the coffee pot to pour myself a cup. Typical Lexi, she’s set out everything I might want: a mug, two types of sugar, flavored creamer, half and half, and a spoon.

“Food and football,” she says, looking over and smiling at me as if there is no other possible answer.

“Music to my ears.” I flash her a tiny grin.

“I figured it would be.” She moves to the oven and pulls out what she told me last night is an overnight breakfast pie. “And I’ll get ready for Black Friday orders. If I can get ahead of some of it, that would be great.”

“What do you mean?” I should be drinking this coffee black, but the Italian sweet cream creamer looks too good.

“I’ll prebubble-wrap some of the jars, tape up the bottom of some boxes—things like that so all I have to do is print the order and package it up.”

“Are you running a sale tomorrow?” I take my first sip and want to groan with delight.

“We are. Marie sent out a mass newsletter email this morning, and we’re offering twenty-five percent off two or more jars.” She slices the pie and dishes up two pieces.

“You two are always working, aren’t you?” I take my usual seat at the island.

“If we don’t, who will?” She shrugs and slides one of the plates across to me.

“All right, then I’ll help.”

And that’s how our day goes. It’s very easy and comfortable, just like yesterday. She does cook a lot, but she seems to enjoy it, and I have no problem eating it all, including the pie. I swear, every pie of hers I taste is better than the last.

“What do you normally do for Thanksgiving and Christmas?” she asks as we’re curled up under a blanket together on the couch after dinner. The sun has set, and although it’s dark outside, there’s just enough light in here to see her. Touching her has become easier, too, and I can’t seem to keep my hands off her. She doesn’t seem to mind; if anything, as the day’s worn on, she’s gravitated to me more and more.

“Nothing. Sometimes I get invited to another player’s house or one of the coaches will plan something, but usually nothing. Holidays aren’t that big of a deal to me. What about you?” I trail my fingers across her forehead and tuck a loose piece of hair behind her ear. Her head tilts a little and her eyes flutter at the touch.

“Up until two years ago, I celebrated them with GiGi. Occasionally, James would come home, but not since he joined the Air Force. Last year, I spent Christmas with Marie and her family. Finley was six months old, and she was just the cutest.” She takes my hand between hers and slowly runs a fingertip over each line and crease. It tickles, but it feels incredible, too.

“I bet. I was happy to hear from James how well things have turned out for her.”

“Yeah, I was just happy she got over her infatuation with him. Jacob is good to her, and they seem very happy. Personally, I’d be lost without her. She takes care of all the things I don’t want to, so this feels less like a job and more like fun.”

“I’m glad you have her.”

She looks over at me, her gaze falling to my lips as she says, “Me too.”

My lips.

Her lips.

Just the thought has me staring at them. My stomach clenches at the sudden need to feel her mouth on mine, but instead of leaning in like I desperately want to, I shift away and just watch her.

She switches to my other hand, and a silence falls over us as I soak up the attention she’s giving me.

I am glad she has Marie, and now I just need to figure out how to reassure her she’s got me too. I don’t want her thinking I’m just here for a few days. I need her to understand it’s going to be for a lot longer, an indefinite longer if I have anything to say about it.

Sometime after the next movie, Lexi heads off to bed, and I’m left staring at the ceiling. This isn’t where I want to be. I want to be with her, and I want her to know that. So, I make the decision and head upstairs. What’s the worst that can happen? She tells me no? I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

With my heart pounding in anticipation, I’m certain she must hear me coming up the stairs. I’m not sneaking, but I’m not walking heavy-footed either. I just don’t want to startle her.

Creaking the door open, I’m instantly taken by the changes she’s made to the space. Even in the dark, with just the moonlight, I can see it’s so her with the patterned wallpaper, the shape of the furniture, and the thick rug in the middle of the room, which extends under the bed.

The bed.