“I’ll think about the hotel,” I told Mom. “But I’m not ready to decide. Not yet.”
“Fair enough.” She nodded and handed me a knife.
I laid the pie plate over the crust, tracing the curve of the dish, then fit the sheet to the bottom while she came over with
a pan of apples coated in cinnamon and sugar.
We worked in silence, making the pie and getting it in the oven, a task we’d done a hundred times because Grandma’s tree was a monster and Mom wasn’t the only one who’d spent summers picking apples.
When it was in the oven, I washed my hands and put my coffee in the microwave to heat up.
“Do you need to get going?” Mom asked. “Or can you stick around to take this pie to Memphis?”
“Memphis? My Memphis?”
She arched her eyebrows. “Your Memphis?”
Shit. “You know what I mean.”
“She’s a beautiful woman, inside and out.”
I blinked. “I didn’t realize you’d spent much time with her.”
“Oh, I just talked to her a few times at the hotel. But I like her.”
I sighed. “I do too.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
The microwave dinged and I took out my coffee, carrying it to the island, where I took one of the stools. “It’s complicated.”
That kiss last night had changed everything.
“Ever since Gi—”
Mom held up a hand, cutting me off. “Do not say her name in this house.”
Mom hated Gianna. Not only for what she’d done to me, but because Mom and Dad had been hurt too.
“It’s the kid,” I confessed. “If it was just Memphis, exploring something would be one thing.”
If it was just Memphis, I would have kissed her weeks ago and never stopped. But the baby . . . that baby changed everything.
Mom gave me a sad smile. “You’re a good man.”
“Am I?” Because I probably shouldn’t have kissed her last night.
“Don’t let what happened in the past cloud the future.”
“I can’t . . .” I closed my eyes, admitting my fears. “I can’t lose another baby.”
Mom took the stool beside mine and placed her hand over mine. “This is not the same situation, Knox.”
“I know.” But it could end just as badly.
I was already attached. To them both.
We sat in silence, sipping coffee and contemplating the past, while the pie baked. Halfway through the oven’s timer, Dad joined us, and as though he could sense the mood, he didn’t bring up the hotel.
“How’s Briggs doing?” I asked, ready for a change of topic.
“Good.” A bit of sadness always filled Dad’s blue eyes when he spoke of his brother. “No episodes this week, thank God.”
We spent the rest of the time talking about Briggs and his latest trip to the doctor. Then the pie was done and Mom took
it from the oven, letting it cool while I had one last cup of coffee.
That pie, packed in a ceramic carrying container, rode shotgun with me to town and when I parked in the lot behind the inn, I took it straight to the break room, found a sticky note in a drawer and scrawled Memphis on top.
My intention was to head into the kitchen and get to work, but when I started down the hallway, my feet carried me to the elevator.
Rather than stop at the lobby, I took a gamble and headed to the second floor. Memphis wasn’t there, but I found her on the third.
She was dusting a dresser with a yellow microfiber rag.
Her hair was in a ponytail, the ends swishing against her spine.
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes narrowed in concentration.
She was entirely too attractive to resist.
I rapped my knuckles on the door, then strode into the room, making sure to keep more than an arm’s length between us so that I didn’t kiss her again. Not until this conversation was over.
“If you want to pay more rent, then pay it.”
She blinked, standing straight. “I do.”
“Done.” I nodded. “Like I said last night, I enjoy cooking for you. If you don’t like extras from the restaurant, fine. I won’t bring them over. At home, I usually have plenty of stuff on hand, but if I’m ever short, maybe you could hit the store.”
The corner of her mouth turned up. “Just send me your list.”
“You’re not charity.” I lost the battle with the distance and closed the space between us. “My mom made you a pie. It’s not charity either. She makes pies for people she likes.”