Shit, I'm screwed.
If I thought my crush on him when he was just a teenage boy was strong, it has nothing on the force of desire for which I crave the adult Maverick now. When I was four, Maverick six, I thought he was the most beautiful boy, wishing he'd chase after me and pull on my long, swinging braid like all the boys who liked the other girls at school did. When I was ten, even his awkward preteen stage couldn't disguise his rugged good looks. When I turned fourteen, he started filling out his shirts, and my dreams changed into fantasies.
I learned how to beat it back when I turned sixteen, him eighteen, and I realized that the ugly duckling I was would never be able to compete with the girls he was always with, but just because I ignored how much I wanted him doesn't mean that the feelings died. Which is probably why his words hurt me as much as they did back then, because they told me I was right: I would never be what he wanted.
Best to remember that now, because the man he's become sets me ablaze hotter than an out-of-control wildfire, and if I don't beat those flames back, he might have the power to consume me until nothing but ash remains.
And I, Leighton James, am better than that.
7
LEIGHTON
"Crash and Burn" by Thomas Rhett
Jana Fox, the best employee in the world, is already at the PieHole when I speed into the back lot and slide into my parking spot next to the Dumpster. Her hot pink VW Beetle is pulled up to the backside of the building, and she's holding the back door open with a small smile on her pretty face. Jana's been with me since the day we opened the doors at the PieHole. I honestly couldn't imagine walking through these doors without her being with me.
"I told you when you called five minutes ago not to rush, Leigh. I've been here since before the service let out. Everything had already been put out, except for the pumpkin. Apple slices are already dished, and in the warming shelf, pumpkin has about a minute left before I can pull and slice, then shelve. You needed a second, honey, and I have it under control."
"What would I do without you?" I ask before giving her a hug. She came into my life at the perfect time, filling that motherly role that I had been feeling the void of for way too long. Not only that, but the woman can whip up a damn good pie, and she's played no small part in putting the PieHole well on the map.
Her arms come up and I breathe in the familiar and soothing smells of my bakery mixed with her perfume and I soak up the comfort she's offering. I really don't know what I would do without the quirky older woman in my life.
She rubs my back for a few treasured seconds before pulling away. "Come on, little one, let's go get finished."
We walk through the short hallway and I toss my purse in my office before entering the large kitchen area. The smells swirling around the room bring the first unforced smile in days to my lips. Yeah, this right here--this moment of lighthearted happiness is exactly why I spend so much time right here in the PieHole's kitchen.
Walking over to one of the four industrial refrigerators and two huge freezing units, I smile when I see them.
Twenty of Buford Davis's favorite pie greeting me.
I can't remember when I started putting my TIC, Twix ice-cream pies, on the shelves, but I will never forget the day that grumpy Buford called my shop and demanded, "Get your hide over with a slice before I'm forced to go graze with the fillies." They started off as something I was playing with. I had been looking for a way to make some frozen style pies and they just kind of happened by accident. From that moment on, whenever I would go over to their house, I made sure I had a whole pie just for him. He never thanked me. Never offered anything other than a wink before grabbing the whole pie, a fork, and sitting back down in his chair for hours of watching the Game Show Network.
It wasn't his thanks that I was after, though. It was times like that, when he forgot how angry and bitter he was, when he would give us the rare glimpse of the Buford people rarely saw. The one that carried his regret-filled life like a battlefield of anger. He showed his frailty in those moments. His fear. His loneliness. And his guilt. He worked damn hard to change things around before the end of his life and, while two of his children had forgiven him, no one ever forgot.
I swipe at the tear that escapes and pull two pies out before moving to the stainless steel island in the middle of the room. Jana gives me a sad smile before pulling some of our purple plates out of the cabinet above the island and lining them up for me to place slices on.
"You sure you don't want me to pull the cookie dough pies you made this mornin'?" she asks, methodically moving the plates I had already placed a slice of the TIC pie on, before shuffling the empty ones in their place, the two of us moving in sync like a well-oiled machine.
"No. Tonight is just about the Davises, and the only pies I'm servin' are their favorites. No one will think to argue. Not today."
Little wrinkles pop up between her brow, but she nods, her gray curls bouncing with her movement. "You're probably right, honey. Plus, ain't a soul around that doesn't know those Davises love their pies. I think Clay has apple staining his shirt at least once a week." She lets out a soft laugh, the sound like bells chiming around us.
"Maybe I need to have a bib made up," I joke.
We finish plating thirty or so pieces of the TIC pie and start to move them to the chill box display in the main room. I look around, seeing the lavender walls, black round tables scattered throughout the floor, vases of daisies perched on each one, and smile.
When I first opened the PieHole, I had a tiny shop right off Davis Street, not far from the center of town, but it was perfect for what I needed. Until the word started to spread about my pies, and the next thing I knew, I had to turn people away because I couldn't keep up with the demand.
Having been wise with the money that I inherited over the years and living a frugal life, apart from the house remodel, I turned an already healthy chunk of change into a mountain of it. After being open for two years, I was able to move into one of the empty, larger shops on Main Street. You couldn't go anywhere in Pine Oak without driving through Main Street, and it turned my already thriving business into a monster success.
The kitchen took up a good bit of space, but when I renovated the old BBQ restaurant, I made sure to use only the necessary amount of space for my kitchen, leaving an office that felt more like a large closet at times, but it was important to me that the main area be large and welcoming.
The back wall is lined with specialty made cooling and heating displays that lead to the register in the middle. At the end of each display there's a small swing door that allows us into the dining area. The black hardwood and black tables are the only things in the room that aren't a shade of purple.
It looks crazy, purple walls, plates, utensils, but when I decided to name my place the PieHole, I knew this was the only way it could be.
My mother taught me everything I know about pies. When I was little, one of the best pies she made--and her favorite one--was her purple sweet potato pie. When we would finish that last slice, I always begged her to let me lick the pie hole, which was what I always called the empty pan. So when it came time to create my own place, it was never a question that my purple home away from home would be called the PieHole.
I smile to myself as I move around the tables scattered around to go unlock the front door. The heavy wood is painted the most vibrant purple shade in the whole shop and never fails to brighten my mood.
"Leigh, honey?" Jana calls out from behind the counter.
Turning from the door--and my thoughts--I smile over at her. "Yeah?"
"I just wanted to ask you one more time if you were sure about the cookie dough pies. I can go dish them up lickety-split."
"I'm sure. What's with the sudden worry over the cookie dough?" I laugh.
"Well, Leigh, honey . . . well, I just figured . . . never mind, honey. My old mind sometimes just gets stuck a little."
I cock my head to the side and furrow my brow in confusion. Old mind
, my tail. I know for a fact that Jana's got all her wits about her, and I would hardly call fifty-three old. "What are you trying to ask, Jana?"
She starts to fidget with the business cards near the register and I know I'm not going to like whatever has been on her mind.
"I just figured, well . . . with Maverick home and all, you might want to add his favorite too."
Her words are like a punch to the gut. Cookie dough was always his favorite when we were all growing up. It was always one slice of pumpkin for Quinn, apple for Clay, and Maverick and me . . . always cookie dough. It was just another one of those stupid things I used to convince myself we were meant to be together. Young and dumb, I actually believed our shared love of cookie dough pie meant something.
"I doubt he'll even show up, Jana. I didn't make it for anything special. I guess I just let memories of us growing up together get the best of my mind this mornin' and didn't even notice I had added his to my prep. Plus, they always sell well when we have them out, so we can just use them tomorrow."
I hate the look of disappointment that flashes in her brown eyes, like I'm doing something wrong, but I wasn't kidding when I said I doubted he would show up.
I let out an audible sigh and reconsider. "I'll tell you what: if Maverick shows up and asks for a slice, feel free to run back and pull some. But I wouldn't hold your breath."
Her face lights up and she gives me a small nod.
We continue our prep, making sure all the shades are up and the display cases are fingerprint-free. At a quarter till five, the front door opens and Quinn walks in. I rush around the counter and to her side.
"Hey, you," I greet and give her a warm smile and hug.
"Hey, Leigh. You need any help?"
I pull back, clasping her shoulders in my hands like she always does when she's offering comfort or support to me, and shake my head.
"Come on, Leigh. I'm going out of my mind today. Just give me something to do before people start showing up and pile me with that 'I'm so sorry for your loss' shit when we both know ain't a damn soul in this town that's really sorry he's gone."
God, my heart breaks for her. One thing Quinn Davis hates the most is when people are fake. Of course, she's also dealing with a lot. I think she and Clay both are glad the old man is gone, but that doesn't make the loss any easier. They worked hard to give him forgiveness, but after his first stroke, things just became strained. You can forgive easily, at times, but forgetting is a whole different ball game. It was hard to watch such a larger-than-life man crumble. I think that, in the end, his death just reminded them of everything that they never had growing up.
"I know, honey, I know."
"I hate this. I hate feelin' like this, Leigh. I shouldn't be this sad he's gone."
Wrapping my arms around her again, I pull her close as her soft sobs break my heart a little more.
The door opens again and Clay walks in, pulling off his hat and dropping it on the hook by the door before running his hands through his thick black hair. He looks over, his eyes going soft when he sees his sister in my arms. Not wanting to see the pain in his expression, I look away from his face. He's changed out of his black dress shirt, traded it for a brown button-down shirt that's tucked into his Wranglers.
His boots tap heavily against the floor as he walks over to us. "Sorry, I was on the phone with Drew," he says. I know the only reason his foreman would be bothering him today is if there was a problem on the ranch. I know he's been having trouble with his stable manager, Jimmy Wheat, but other than that I can't think of a single thing that would be wrong at the well-oiled Davis ranch.
"Everything okay?" I question, rubbing small circles on Quinn's back.
"It will be when I fire Jimmy's ass. He didn't place an order for feed last week, so imagine Drew's shock when he noticed on the log that none of the horses had been tended to this mornin'."
Shit. If there's one thing that Clay doesn't stand for on his ranch, it's lazy employees and neglect of his horses.
"Do you need any help?" I ask, not really sure what I could do for him since I never had any interest in running my own family's ranch, but I know my way around the ways of ranch life, and if they needed help, I wouldn't hesitate.
"Nah, sugar, don't you worry your pretty little head over it." He leans down and gives me a kiss on my forehead.
"Well, don't you all look cozy," a sharp voice says and the three of us turn toward the door.
Maverick.
Just lovely.
So much for him not showing up tonight.
"If you can't keep your mouth shut, little brother, then leave now."
Quinn lets out a soft whimper and I hug her tighter. She never did well when it came to her brothers fighting.
Maverick holds his hands up and a wicked smile crosses his face. Arrogant jerk.
"Maverick, honey. Well aren't you just a sight for sore eyes," Jana calls as she comes through the kitchen doorway and walks from behind the counter, making her way to where he's standing and gives him a hug. He doesn't move. Not even an inch. But Jana doesn't give up, she just holds him tighter, his arms hanging limp at his sides. I watch the emotions flicker over his face before awkwardly returning the embrace, patting her a few times on the back.
"Hey, Miz Fox," he mumbles, looking down to where her head is pressed just under his chest. I almost laugh at how funny her tiny, barely five-foot self looks next to his giant frame, but then I remember it's Maverick and I don't need to waste one second of my thoughts on him.
"You want some pie, Q?" I ask her quietly, not wanting to draw Maverick's attention.
She pulls back and gives me a smile, one that actually doesn't look forced. Bringing my thumbs to her cheeks, I wipe her eyes and return her smile.
"Pumpkin?" she asks excitedly, the bubbly and happy tone back in her voice.
"Would I make you anything else?"
She laughs and shakes her head. "Love you, Leighton."
"Love you back, Quinn."
Ignoring the silent storm brewing between the Davis brothers, with a clueless but chatty Jana stuck between the brooding duo, I take Quinn's hand and pull her over to her table. I say her table because she's usually parked here every chance she can get between her shifts at the auto shop. Walking over to the case holding the slices of pumpkin pie, I grab the thick one I had specially left for her and deliver it.
Right when I open my mouth to ask if she needs anything else, I hear the chime of the bell and the sound of more voices. Giving her a wink, I head back behind the counter, meeting Jana with a smile.
The next few hours pass with a roomful of townsfolk chatting, kids laughing, and more than a few trips to the back to refill the emptying cases of pies. Luckily I'm so busy I don't have time to pay attention to what was going on with Maverick, but the glances I do steal always seem to lead my eyes directly to his. Quinn and Clay stick to their table, letting people come to them with their fake sympathies. Jana makes sure to keep their sweet teas full, and a few times Clay signals for another slice of apple pie, smiling at me gratefully when I set a fresh plate down in front of him. Maverick doesn't make a move to join them at their table, nor does he take a drink any of the times Jana offered. He also never touches a plate of pie, not even after Jana brings the cookie dough pie out from the back, like I told her she could. Something I damn sure notice. He just stands there. A scowling man in black with his back leaning against the lavender wall, one booted foot on the floor and the other against my beautiful wall, and those damn thick arms crossed over his chest.
I also refuse to admit to myself just how good that imposing man in black looks in my space.
"I'm going to go do a round and collect some plates. Are you good?" I ask Jana before picking up the bucket we use to collect the dirty dishes that need to be washed.
"Yup, you know I could work this place in my sleep."
"That you could. You could probably run it better than me."
"About those other pies--" she starts.
I roll my eyes but don't acknowledge her words.
She giggles her little pixie bell laugh behind me as I use the swinging door opposite to where I know he's watching me. Just the same way I've known that his eyes haven't left me all night. I should be able to ignore it, but after our interactions earlier, it just pisses me off that he's here trying to throw his intimidating bullshit around in my place.
Making quick work of my lap around the room, I scoop up as many of the dirty plates and forks as I can before retracing my steps and walking through the kitchen doorway. The tub just hits the counter next to the sink when I feel him. Like a physical touch, the raw energy that only Maverick Davis has ever seemed to bring about in me, makes my skin break out in awareness. I look down, cursing the goose bumps that dance across my arms.
Ignore him, Leigh. Just go about your business and act like he isn't there. He wants this, to get a reaction from you, so do not give it to him. Do not play his games.
Pep talk or not, I have to force myself to steady my hands as I lift the dishes one by one out of the bucket before rinsing them and placing each one on the tray that will pull them through the washing system. Each plate I pick up I remind myself to keep ignoring him. For whatever reason, he keeps seeking me out, but I'm determined I'm not going to bite.
When the last dish is placed on the cart, I'm left with no other excuse to keep ignoring him. With a deep sigh, I turn and lean against the sink, crossing my arms and moving my eyes right to his. I'll be damned if I'm going to let him see how he affects me.
Maverick smirks. "I was wondering how long you were going to pretend I wasn't in the same room."
Quirking one brow, I give an exasperated huff. "Oh, I wasn't pretending. I just have nothing to say to you, Maverick."
"Yeah, that much was made mighty clear, darlin'."
"It's Leigh. And can we not do this? I don't know what you want from me right now, but just use your big boy words and let me know so that we can move on from whatever this is," I snap heatedly while pointing between us.
"Noticed you had Clay and Quinn's pies out tonight."
"Well, aren't you a smart one," I quip.
"Noticed you had the old man's too," he drawls and walks a few steps away from the closed kitchen door.