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.