Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
And he’s hilarious too. Truly, truly funny. It takes a lot of balls to be able to laugh at the worst thing that ever happened to you.
“Do you have bone grafts and skin grafts?” I ask, then quickly add, “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”
He answers anyway. “I do. Both. Steel rods, too, and such. Prosthetics.”
“Like a true superhero,” I tell him.
“I wouldn’t go nearly that far,” he says sheepishly.
“But you are a superhero of cooking.”
“I like it. I always have. For me, cooking is like breathing.”
I was trying to get to that point, but I let go of the rudder and let him steer. I have to press hard on it, or I might not get another chance. “What about baking?”
“I love it too.”
“Did you make dessert?” I ask.
“I did.”
“What is it? Something complicated or something delicious? I’m not really a good sweets person, but I do have a crazy weakness for pie.”
“Pie…” he echoes.
“Yes. What’s your favorite pie?”
It’s official. I’m going to hell for this. I am a lying, manipulative, twister of a twisty twizzle.
He sets his fork down and arranges his hands in his lap. His head swivels to the window. “I don’t really like pie very much. That’s the one thing I make sure I never make.” There’s zero imagining the pain in his voice. It’s steeped in it like a freaking teabag.
“Why?”
Hello, heat. It’s getting hot in here, isn’t it?
“It’s a long story.”
“Give it to me brief,” I say.
“When I was younger, much younger, I got to know someone who had a passion for pies. It was his lifeblood.”
My breath evaporates out of my lungs, and for a second, all I can do is sit here, but Luca still isn’t looking at me. I don’t think he even notices. I finally force myself to push something out, muttering, “Kind of weird, but continue.”
“It sounds strange, but it wasn’t. It was wonderful.” Ouch. My chest is going to implode. It’s a good thing Luca’s laser focus isn’t drilling into me because there’s no way I’m controlling my face. “He was wonderful. A great friend and a great man. It was always understood that I was just staying with him for a short time, but when I left, I felt like I broke his heart. Some of his last words to me were to accuse me of breaking a promise I never made in the first place. After I left, I just… it was like I’d ripped his heart out of him. I felt like I’d ruined him even though I never meant to. Whenever I even smell pie, it churns my stomach. It reminds me of how much I hurt a good man.”
“Are you sure that’s what happened?”
“Am I sure?” He frowns, turning back to me. “It was more complicated, but I’m certain. I never meant to hurt him. It was a misunderstanding, but not the kind you can come back from.”
“You should have tried calling. Apologizing,” I murmur.
“I did.”
“No.”
He blinks but obviously doesn’t pick up on the crazy person vibes I’m giving off like a nuclear reactor. “I truly did. I’ve tried every year for the past twenty-five years. When the accident happened and I lost everything, I couldn’t help but think it was karma… life getting back at me and hurting me for putting that hurt out there, even if it wasn’t intentional. The ladle wasn’t intentional either. It wasn’t anything personal. But I’m still angry at it. I now understand what it is like to be broken. I’ve tried calling, but I always hang up. In that, I’m a coward.”
“But…”
“But?”
“Maybe we should make a pie,” I suggest gently. “A healing pie.” For us both. And for my dad, even though he’s not here. We all need this. This being how you change the world with pie. This being another reason I’m here. It’s not just to save our business and a building, and not just for my dad, but for Luca and me too.
“I think we’d have a better chance of making a hair toe pie, but… fuck it.”
“Fuck it?” I choke out.
“Okay. What good is being alive if you’re not really living?”
“Tonight?” I grasp the table, my smile so wide and eager and bright. This moment is so full of life that it hurts. It’s hopeful, and that hurts most of all.
“I was hoping you might come back.”
I lean forward just a little. “I think it’s established that neither of us wants to marry each other, and you’re safe because I signed all those hostile forms, so why not? I think you could use a friend.”
“I have friends here.”
“Is there a limit on friendship? Could you use another? Even one who is slightly annoying and has a terribly sick sense of humor?”
“You’re the first person who hasn’t treated me like I’m made of glass. With you, I feel seen and heard. I’ve never even told anyone that pie story. Not even my parents. They know some of it, but not everything. I just gave you one of my deepest secrets.”