Sweet as Pie Read online

  Chapter One

  Five months later

  Evans Pemberton considered the dough on the marble slab in front of her.

  What was wrong with pie in this country was the crust. No one made quality crusts anymore or thought about which kind of crust went best with what pie. Butter crusts were wonderful with fruit pies, but too rich for pecan pies. Savory pies needed a sturdy crust, but it was important to get the right balance so as not to produce a soggy mess. A bit of bacon grease gave crusts for meat pies a smoky taste, and Evans liked to add a pinch of sage for chicken pot pies. Crumb crusts had their place, too.

  As did Jake Champagne, she thought, as she gave the ball in front of her a vicious knead. And his place was now apparently here. He was going to land in town any day, any hour.

  He hadn’t spoken to her in almost three years. Sure, back in March, he had texted to thank her for the funeral flowers she’d sent when his uncle died and apologized for not making more of an effort to keep in touch. According to her business manager, Neva, he’d also stopped by the shop a month later when he’d come to Laurel Springs to sign a lease on a condo, but Evans had been in New York taking a mini puff pastry course.

  She didn’t know why she was thinking about him anyway. Who knew if he would even try to contact her again? He had abandoned her once after a lifetime of friendship. There was no reason to think, despite the text and drop-in, that anything would change.

  “You’re looking at that dough like you don’t like it,” said a woman behind her.

  “I don’t.” She turned and handed her friend, Ava Grace Fairchild, an apron and chef’s hat. Ava Grace was no chef, but Evans had given up on trying to keep her out of the pie shop kitchen, so she’d settled on doing what she could to make Ava Grace acceptable should the health inspector make a surprise visit to Crust. “Though I suppose it’s not so much that I don’t like it. I don’t know it.”

  “I thought you knew every dough.” Ava Grace tied the apron over her linen dress and perched the hat on the back of her head so as not to disturb her loose chestnut curls. She looked like a queen dressed as a chef for Halloween.

  “I don’t know this one.” Evans placed her hand on the dough. Normally, she wouldn’t think of putting her warm hand on pastry dough, but this was a hot water pastry so it was warm to begin with.

  Ava Grace slid onto a stool and crossed her long, perfect legs. “What makes this one different?”

  “It’s for a handheld meat pie with rutabagas, potato, and onions. The crust has to be sturdy but not tough. That’s tricky.” She gave the dough another vicious slap. “They’re called Upper Peninsula pasties, from Michigan.”

  “Never heard of them,” Ava Grace said.

  “Claire has, and she wants to feed them to the new hockey team on their first day of training camp tomorrow.”

  Ava Grace’s mouth twisted into a grin. “For a silent partner, Claire isn’t very quiet, is she?”

  Evans laughed. Ava Grace would know. Claire was her “silent” partner, too. “Well, she never promised to be quiet.”

  “That’s a promise she couldn’t have kept. Why is she so set on these little pies?”

  “You know as well as I do that Claire doesn’t have to have a reason, but she says most of the team is from up North, so we should give them some Northern comfort food.”

  Evans had not pointed out to Claire that not all hockey players would associate these pasties with home. She knew of one in particular who would need barbecue pork, hot tamales, and Mississippi mud pie to make him think of home. Claire wasn’t an easy woman to say no to, even if Evans had been willing. Saying no had never been Evans’s strong suit, which was why she was catering this lunch when she just wanted to make pies.

  Evans had thought it would be years before she could fulfill her dream of having her own shop, until Claire had taken her under her wing. Now Crust was thriving.

  The old-money heiress had excelled in business, and successfully played the stock market rather than living off her inheritance. A few years ago she had decided to help young women start their own new businesses. Evans and Ava Grace were two of Claire’s girls, along with Hyacinth Dawson, who owned a local bridal shop.

  “Claire must really like hockey,” Ava Grace said.

  “I don’t think it’s that, so much as she likes a project and loves the chase.” Claire was one of several locals who owned a small part of the Yellowhammers. Her uncle and nephew had been the ones to bring the team here, but Claire had quickly formulated a plan to turn Laurel Springs into Yellowhammers Central. “She knows a bunch of rich hockey players are going to live and spend their money somewhere and she wants it to be here.” She had convinced the owners to build a state-of-the-art practice rink and workout facility in Laurel Springs, renovated the old mill into upscale condos, lobbied for more fine dining and chic shops, and turned the old Speake Department Store building into a sports bar and named it Hammer Time—all to welcome the new team.

  “It looks like she’s getting her way,” Ava Grace said. “Everywhere you look there’s a gang of Lululemon-wearing men in Yellowhammer ball caps.”

  “We should be thankful for them,” Evans said. “Sponsoring our businesses was part of her master plan to make the area appealing to the team. Had to be.”

  Ava Grace pulled at one of her curls. “I’m sure she knows what she’s doing. I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve never known Claire to fail,” she said wryly. “At least not yet.” Of the three businesses Claire had backed, Ava Grace’s antique and gift shop was the only one losing money. Claire insisted that was to be expected in the beginning, but it was still a sore subject. “Anyway.” Ava Grace clapped her hands together like she always did when she wanted to change the subject. “Hockey in Birmingham. Hockey people here in our little corner of the world. I’ve never even been to a hockey game. Have you?”

  And here it was. She’d never mentioned Jake to anyone in Laurel Springs, not even Ava Grace and Hyacinth, who were her best friends. And she was loath to do it now. What if he ignored her as he had the last few years?

  “I have. A guy I’ve known all my life is a hockey player.” She wasn’t about to mention that he’d been the best-looking thing in Cottonwood, Mississippi—plus he had that hockey-mystique thing going for him in a world where most of the other boys played football and baseball. “His parents and mine are best friends, so we went to a lot of his games when I was growing up. After college, he went on to play for the Nashville Sound, but he’s going to play for the Yellowhammers now.”

  Ava Grace widened her eyes. “Really? He’s coming here?”

  “If nothing has changed since the last time I talked to my mother. I haven’t talked to him in a while.” Technically not a lie—condolence texts didn’t count as talking.

  “Is he married?”

  “Not anymore.” She slammed her fist into the ball of dough.

  Ava Grace’s eyes lit up and Evans knew what was coming. Ava Grace was all but engaged and was always looking for romance for everyone else. “Is this an old boyfriend?”

  “No! Of course not.” She hadn’t meant to sound so vehement.

  Ava Grace narrowed her eyes. “You never went out with him a single time?”

  “No. Never entered my mind.” If she’d been Pinocchio, her nose would be out the front door. There had been this one time at a holiday party—for just a fraction of a minute—when Evans had thought he’d looked at her differently, when she’d been sure that Jake was finally going to ask her for a date. But they’d been interrupted, and the moment had passed. To this day, she never saw a sprig of holly or heard a Christmas bell without the memory of the humiliating disappointment slamming against her rib cage, driving the breath out of her.

  “It’s a new day,” Ava Grace said. “I grew up with Skip, and look where we are. It could happen for you, too.”

  “Not likely.�
� Evans floured her rolling pin. “A couple years back, my cousin Channing married and divorced him in the space of about seven months in the messiest way possible.”

  “Wow.” Ava Grace raised her eyebrows. “Your cousin just up and stole your man, easy as you please? Why, you must’ve been madder than a wet hen!”

  Evans shrugged. “He wasn’t mine.” She clenched her fist and the dough shot up between her fingers. “I doubt he would be open to romance with another Pemberton woman. Not that I would—be open to it, I mean.”

  The words had barely made their way out of her mouth when one of her assistant bakers ducked into the kitchen.

  “Evans, there’s a guy here to see you.”

  She stilled her rolling pin.

  “I think I conjured up a man for you.” Ava Grace laughed and removed her cap and apron. “See you tonight at Claire’s house.”

  “Right.” It was mentor dinner night with Claire, something they did every few weeks where Evans, Ava Grace, and Hyacinth gave reports and swapped advice.

  Ava Grace nodded. “I’ll just slip out the back.”

  “Who is it, Ariel?” Please, God, not the rep from Hollingsworth Foods—a regional company that provided frozen foods to grocery stores. According to Claire, they were interested in mass-producing her maple pecan and peanut butter chocolate pies. So far, the rep had only tried to contact her by phone and it had been easy enough to elude his calls, allowing her to tell Claire that she hadn’t heard from them.

  Ariel shook her head and played with the crystal that hung around her neck. “I don’t know.”

  Evans sighed. Of course she wouldn’t have thought to ask. The female hadn’t been born who was more suited to her name than Ariel—ethereal, dreamy, not of this world. But she could make a lemon curd that would make you cry.

  “All right.” Evans reached for a towel and wiped her hands. As tempting as it was to follow Ava Grace out the back door, she supposed it was time to deal with it. “Will you cover these and put them in the refrigerator?” She gestured to the sheet pans of oven-ready meat pies.

  Ariel nodded. “I’ll just get the plastic wrap.” And she floated to the storeroom.

  Evans still had a few meat pies, then peach cobblers to make for the Yellowhammer lunch tomorrow, so the quicker she sent him away, the better.

  She hurried through the swinging door that led from the kitchen to the storefront—and looked right into the eyes of Jake Champagne.

  Eyes.

  He had eyes all night long and possibly into the next day. Big, cobalt blue eyes with Bambi eyelashes. They weren’t eyes a woman was likely to forget even if he turned out to be a man she had to walk away from. Still, Evans had thought the day was done when those eyes would make her forget her own name. Evans. Evans Blair Pemberton, she reminded herself.

  Jake widened those eyes. That was a willful act. She was sure of it because she’d spent years studying him—so she knew what it meant when Jake Champagne went all wide-eyed on someone. He understood the value of those eyes and the effect they had on people. When he widened them, he was either surprised or angling to get his way. This time he was surprised. If he’d been trying to get his way, he would have cocked his head to the side and smiled. If he wanted his way really bad, and it wasn’t going well, he’d bite his bottom lip.

  Speaking of what he wanted—what in the ever-loving hell was he doing here? She was pretty sure he had not gone to work for Hollingsworth Foods.

  “You look great, Evie.” She was suddenly sorry she’d studied him. Knowing he was surprised that she looked great wasn’t the best for the ego.

  Besides, she didn’t look great. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, she was wearing an apron covered in flour, and any makeup she’d applied this morning was a memory. She only looked great compared to the last time he’d seen her—at the Pemberton family Thanksgiving two years ago, when she’d been coming off a bad haircut and sporting a moon crater of a cold sore. That had been five months after his wedding and two months before his divorce. Now, three years later, he could still send her on a one-way trip back to sixteen.

  “Hotty Toddy, Jake!” Why had she said that—the Ole Miss football battle cry? Neither of them had gone to Ole Miss, though most of their families had. They were fans, of course, but she didn’t normally go around saying Hotty Toddy.

  “Hotty Toddy, Evie. That’s good to hear in Roll Tide country.”

  She stepped from behind the counter and the awkward hug they shared was softened by his laughter. Though she didn’t say so, he really did look great—however, in his plaid shorts and pink polo, he looked more like a fraternity boy on spring break than a professional hockey player. Jake’s eyes might be his best feature, but he was gorgeous from head to toe. His caramel blond hair was a little shaggy and his tan face clean-shaven.

  They came out of the hug and she looked up at him—way up. He was over six feet tall to her barely five feet four.

  “It’s good to see you, Evie.”

  Evie, rhymed with levy. He’d christened her that—probably because it was easier for a toddler to say than Evans. “Only people from home call me Evie now,” she babbled.

  He raised one eyebrow and his mouth curved into a half smile. She’d forgotten about that half smile. “I am from home.”

  He had a point.

  “Would you like some pie? I have Mississippi mud.” His favorite. The meringue pie with a chocolate pastry crust and layers of dense brownie and chocolate custard was one of her most popular. She glanced around to see if one of the round marble tables was available. Though it was after one o’clock, a few people were still lingering over lunch, but there was a vacant table by the window.

  “No, I don’t think—” He stopped abruptly and narrowed his eyes. “Yes. I would. Can you sit with me? For just a bit?”

  Of course she could. She was queen of this castle. She could do whatever she wanted. But did she want to? Ha! What a stupid question, even to herself.

  “Sure.” She might still be making cobblers at midnight, but that was nobody else’s business. “Joy?” She turned to the girl behind the counter. “I’m going to take a break. Can you bring a slice of Mississippi mud and a glass of milk? And a black coffee for me.” She met his eyes. “Unless you’ve started drinking coffee.”

  He looked a little pained and she wondered why. “No. I still don’t.”

  He held her chair before sitting himself down in the iron ice cream parlor chair opposite her. What had she been thinking when she’d bought these chairs? Apparently, not that hockey players—let alone this hockey player—would be settling in for pie. He looked like a man at a child’s tea party. She laughed a little.

  And in that instant, with the sun shining in the window turning his caramel hair golden, Jake came across with a smile that lit up the world. Good thing she’d packed up all those old feelings, right and tight, when he’d gotten involved with her cousin. Her stomach turned over—a muscle memory, no doubt.

  “What’s funny?” he asked.

  “I was thinking I didn’t choose these chairs with men in mind.”

  “You don’t think it suits me?” He leaned back a bit. “Maybe you could trade them for some La-Z-Boys.”

  “Not quite the look I was going for.”

  He looked around. “So this is your shop? All yours?”

  “I have an investor, but yes. It’s mine.”

  She loved the wood floors, the happy fruit-stenciled yellow walls, the gleaming glass cases filled with pies, and the huge wreath on the back wall made of antique pie tins of varying sizes. Five minutes ago, she’d loved the ice cream parlor chairs. She probably would again.

  “I knew you had a shop.” He looked around. “But I had no idea it was like this. So nice.”

  You might have, if you’d bothered to call me once in a while. Evans bit her tongue as if she’d actually spoken the word
s and wanted to call them back. Instead, she packed them up and shoved them to the back of her brain. Jake was here. She was glad to see him. That was all.

  “I’ve had some good luck,” she said.

  His eyes settled on the table next to them. “You serve lunch, too?”

  “Nothing elaborate. A choice of two savory pies with a simple green or fruit salad on the side. I would offer you some, but we sold out of the bacon and goat cheese tart and you wouldn’t eat the spanakopita.”

  He frowned. “Spana-who?”

  “Spanakopita. Spinach pie.”

  He shuddered. “No. Not for me, but I’m meeting my teammate Robbie soon for a late lunch anyway.” She knew who Robbie was from The Face Off Grapevine, a pro hockey gossip blog she sometimes checked. They called him and Jake the Wild-Ass Twins, though they looked nothing alike. For whatever reason, this Robbie was coming to play for the Yellowhammers, too. Jake went on, “He’s been in Scotland since the season ended and just got in this morning. We’re going to a place down the street.”

  So I’m only a pit stop. “Hammer Time. Brand-new sports bar for a brand-new team.”

  He nodded. “I hope Hammer Time is half as nice as your shop. You obviously work really hard.”

  “I do. But I don’t have to do it on skates.” She held up her chef clog-clad foot. Why had she said that? Belittled herself?

  He laughed like it was the best joke he’d ever heard. Ah, that was why. She’d do anything to make him laugh. She’d forgotten that about herself.

  “Here you go, Evans.” Joy set down the pie, milk, and a thick, retro mug decorated with cherries like the ones on the wall.

  “No pie for you?” Jake picked up his fork.

  She sipped her coffee. “No. I taste all day long. The last thing I want is a plateful of pie. Are you sure you want that? Aren’t you about to eat lunch?”

  “I want this more than I’ve wanted anything for a long time.” He took a bite and closed his eyes. “Other people only think they’ve had pie.”