Read Online How to Bake the Perfect Pecan Pie by Gina Henning - Free Book Online Page A

shirt is plastered to my chest. I probably should have chosen a more neutral-colored bra to wear under a white blouse. How was I supposed to know I was going to be soaked in an ice storm? I angle the air vents toward my chest, hoping my shirt will quickly dry.
    “Was that your car a couple miles back with the flat tire?”
    “Yes, that’d be the one.” I nod, and my lips stretch into a thin line because I know what he is going to ask next.
    “Do you want me to take you back to it? I’ve got a tire jack.”
    “No, that’d be of no use,” I say to the question I knew was coming.
    “Why is that?” he asks, this time making eye contact. He isn’t exactly the chattiest guy. But those eyes—those pensive eyes that I know will change to a frown of some sort when he hears my answer.
    “Because, I don’t have a spare tire.”
    He breaks our gaze, nods, and turns his attention back to the road.
    He most likely thinks I’m an idiot, driving without a spare tire and no cell phone. Well, actually, I
am
that idiot. Except, I didn’t know about the spare tire. And the cell phone – I do have it, it’s just dead, and that happens to everyone, right?
    “Where are you headed?”
    “My parents live outside of Cedar Park.” I rub my knees. The scrapes are small lines of dried blood.
    “You still live with your parents?” He cocks his head to the right.
    “God no. I live in Maryland.” My shoulders rise in disgust from the idea of still living at home.
    His eyes are on the road. He’s gripping the wheel at exactly ten and two—very business, very protocol, very making me want to adjust his stern demeanor. The collar on his shirt is too tight. I want to reach over and unhook the top button. Maybe that would loosen him up. He’s just sitting in his seat, not responding. Does he live at home and I’ve insulted him? I don’t care. He is much too old to live at home, and besides, he wouldn’t share his pecans.
    “Maryland. Do you like it?” His eyes drift over in my direction.
    I take a deep breath before responding. “I love it. I love the four seasons of changing weather. The colorful leaves in the fall, the snow in the winter, the flowers in the spring, and summers at the beach. And I’m close to so many awesome things.”
    I inhale and my chest rises a bit too high beneath my soaked, nearly translucent shirt. My cheeks warm up at the realization that I sound a little over-infatuated with my geographical location. I clear my throat. It’s dry. I could seriously use some form of liquid right now, preferably the kind you have to be over twenty-one to purchase.
    “Where do you live?”
    “Georgetown, at the moment,” he says.
    Why is there uncertainty regarding his residence? What if he is a serial killer and I misjudged him like all those women did with Ted Bundy. I mean good looks do not equate to being a good person.
Arg.
I bite my lip and stare out the window.
    “What brought you to Georgetown?”
    “My brother died.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say to this. I don’t know this guy. Speaking to someone who is grieving is difficult, especially when you don’t know them. Finding the right words to say is impossible, other than “I’m sorry”, and what else can one say?
    He nods. “Yes, Lewis was a great man, lived a great life. He and his wife Sherry were co-running Vintage Estates. After Lewis died, Sherry asked if I would come and help out until she figured out what she wanted to do with the place.”
    “Oh, that was nice of you.” I guess he does have some Southerly gentleman attributes about him.
    “Sometimes I can be nice. Just not about sharing pecans.” He glances over at me and smiles. His icy blue eyes are flickering at me, trying to heat me with their glow.
    Seriously.
I break the stare and focus on the windshield. It’s still sleeting. I’m glad to be in the warmth of this vehicle. But I’ll be damned if he thinks I’m getting out of this car without ten