Page 24 of Trick or Tease

“Billy said he hopes Garrett will come back to help with the farm situation,” Granny Mae said, rolling out her dough.

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” I said.

“Is he going to make it home for the party?”

“Actually, yes. We brought him back with us.”

She paused and looked up at me. “Yeah?”

I nodded. “Yep. I rode back with him.”

Granny stopped rolling and looked at me with eyes that saw too much. “Garrett Hogan, huh? I remember how you used to look at that boy.”

I groaned. “Gran, don’t start.”

“I’m just saying. Looked a lot like the way I looked at your grandpa the first time he danced with me after choir practice. Horny as a billy goat.”

I laughed despite the shock. “Grandma!”

“You and your father wouldn’t be here if I was a prude. I mean, I wore white to my wedding, but I shouldn’t have.”

“Garrett’s definitely better looking than ever,” I admitted. “And he’s doing well for himself in the city. Really well. He’s not the boy I used to moon over when I was younger, you know? He’s a man now.”

The words felt strange coming out of my mouth, like I was trying to convince myself it was no big deal. Seeing him had brought back all those old feelings I thought I’d buried years ago, and a few new feelings had awoken as well.

“But nothing can ever happen between us,” I continued quickly, needing to say it out loud. “He’s going back to the city after the retirement party. And I’ve got real plans for the farm. Best to focus on that.”

Granny Mae wiped her hands on her flour-dusted towel, studying my face with those sharp blue eyes that never missed anything. She was a lie detector test wrapped up in wrinkled skin and eyes that could stare directly into your soul. “That’s good, honey,” she said finally. “It’s easy to get swept up in old feelings, especially when a man looks good in a suit. But there’s no point in setting yourself up for heartbreak.”

She was right, of course. She always was. Garrett had made his choice a long time ago when he left Greenleaf in his rearview mirror and never looked back. I’d made mine too. I could have mentioned the way I felt, but it seemed silly back then.

And it still was. I saw where he lived. His life. There was no way he would ever look at me. Well, he would look at me, but I got the feeling he’d look at me long enough to get off and then he’d move on. I was not interested in being his farmgirl plaything.

“Besides,” I said, forcing a smile, “I’ve got too much work to do to get distracted by some fancy city lawyer who probably thinks our whole operation is quaint.”

But even as I said it, I could still smell that spicy cologne of his, still feel the way my pulse had jumped every time his hand brushed mine. The way he looked at me.

The almost-kiss.

Granny Mae’s knowing look lingered on my face for another moment before she clapped her hands together, sending up a small puff of flour. “Speaking of which, are you ready for the retirement party tomorrow night?”

“I am,” I said. “I’m excited for all of the Hogans. Billy is thrilled to finally be officially in charge. And I know his parents are looking forward to taking a giant step back.”

“I hope you’re here to help me make pies. Apple, of course, and maybe a peach cobbler. I promised I would bring dessert.” She paused, a mischievous glint in her eye. “And I bet there’s a certain big city lawyer that would love some homemade pie. A little welcome-home gift for Garrett. Remind him of what he’s missing out on in the city.”

I groaned. “Granny, you’re not subtle.”

“Never claimed to be.” She set a basket of apples on the counter in front of me along with a paring knife. “Start peeling and slicing. Thin, even pieces.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I picked up the first apple. I didn’t think it was possible to count the number of apples I had peeled in my life. It had to be in the millions. Since the time my parents trusted me to hold a knife, I’d been peeling apples. It felt like the entire month of October was spent peeling apples. Canning, freezing, and drying. Living next door to an orchard was an endless supply of free apples. And my parents had a few fruit trees of their own.

The repetitive motion of peeling away the red skin in long, curling strips was exactly what I needed. My hands knew this work by heart. I could do it with my eyes closed and not cut myself. I’d been helping Granny make pies since I was tall enough to reach the counter standing on a wooden stool.

It was the best therapy. I had a feeling that’s why Granny made so many damn pies. It helped her think. It was her way of relaxing, and despite the arthritis that had been creeping up the last couple of years, she still did it. She was famous around town for her pies and other treats.

Slice, turn, slice, turn. The sweet scent of fresh apples mixed with the lingering cinnamon in the air was a hit of calm. My shoulders finally started to relax for the first time all day.