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The Apple of My Pie
Icouldn’t believe I was doing this.
I was walking up to Greygarth House with a bloody apple pie and homemade custard, and I was as nervous as I’d ever been.
Three days.
It didn’t seem like a long time, but there was something to be said for this situation. I’d spoken to Max almost daily for the past several weeks since I’d come here, and it was weird not to do that.
Especially now that we were so close.
And I…
Was in love with him.
Esme had been right, though. I didn’t know what to say to him. He’d opened up to me in such a deep way, and I’d spent the last three days trying to figure out the best way to reach out to him.
I didn’t want to push him to speak to me until he was ready, but it seemed as though my good intentions had a similarly negative result.
He probably didn’t know how to reach out, either. I couldn’t blame him for that. It happened sometimes—even people with the best communication skills sometimes found themselves without words.
That was how I ended up with this bloody pie.
Hey, when all else failed, food was a great equaliser.
I walked up the thick stone steps in front of the door and paused. The heavy mahogany doors were beautiful, and the panelling drew my attention for a moment, and I traced each line of the door with my eyes.
“No,” I heard Max say from inside. “You can’t hide here. I know what you’re doing. I swear you’re part human.”
I blinked.
Who was he talking to?
The door swung open, and I froze when he appeared in the empty space in the doorway.
Holding Winston.
“That’s my cat,” I said dumbly, staring at the stupid ball of silver and ginger fluff in his arms.
Max stared at me for a moment. “That’s a pie,” he replied.
“Why are you holding my cat?”
“Why are you holding a pie?”
“I think the cat might take precedence here.”
Winston trilled, a silly little “mrrrshp” noise.
Max’s lips twitched. “He climbed through the window and didn’t look like he was leaving. I thought you might like him back.”
“Sometimes I wonder,” I muttered, glaring at Winston.
“Now explain the pie?”
“And custard.”
“Pardon?”
