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He set down the spoon, and I recognized the shift in his posture too late.

“No,” I said.

He reached for the flour.

I backed away. “Hudson.”

He caught my wrist before I could escape the kitchen. His grip was gentle, more playful than restraining, but the contact sent a warm tingle through my arm. He dipped two fingers into the flour and touched the tip of my nose.

I gasped. “How dare you?”

Patty clapped. “You’re both children.”

I pulled my hand free and wiped flour down the front of Hudson’s shirt.

His eyes widened. “That was an excessive reaction.”

“You attacked my face.”

“You started it,” he said with a smirk.

“This is my apartment. I control the historical record.”

He stepped closer.

I held up both hands. “We have a pie to protect.”

“How convenient for you.”

“The mission comes first,” I squeaked.

Patty nodded solemnly. “Grandpa before vengeance.”

Hudson sent her a look of mock betrayal. “Whose side are you on?”

“Romance.”

I turned away before my face revealed too much.

Patty finished the crust and pressed it into the pie plate. It was uneven around one edge but structurally sound, which exceeded my expectations. We poured in the filling, arranged additional pecans across the top, and placed the pie in the oven.

The timer began.

For a moment, all three of us stood in the kitchen and looked at it.

“That was it?” Patty asked.

“That was the active portion,” I said.

“We have fifty minutes?”

“Approximately.”

“I’m going for a walk,” Patty announced.

I glanced out the window at the dark sky. “At this time of night?”

“I need to stretch my legs.”