Chapter One
‡
A pple pie was the best way to say goodbye.
Warm and rich, the scent and taste of it had weight and depth, but it was still fresh and crisp, no bitterness on the palate, though, with the right apples, there was the hint of tart underneath the sweetness.
Cakes were the food for welcoming people, saying hello. Pies were for goodbyes.
She always made her own crust. The secret of a good pie is the crust. It was what Granny had said, horror running through the words if she said it in response to someone suggesting she save time and buy store crust. Besides, making crust wasn’t hard, not once you knew the secret to it.
Cold hands. Granny’s hands were always cold, just like hers were, so neither had any problems with kneading the mixture, rolling it out, not too many times because you didn’t want to overwork it. Overworked dough meant there was nothing to do but start over again.
Aaliyah made her apple pies with a mixture of Granny Smith and Honeycrisp apples, lighter on the sugar and heavier on the spices than a lot of recipes she came across. This was Granny’s recipe, as were all the recipes she baked.
Granny couldn’t cook a lick, but the woman could take over Buckingham palace with her baked goods, if she’d ever wanted to.
This apple pie was cooling on the stove, aluminum foil over the top and ready to go to its new home. Upstairs, so many of her possessions were already boxed, ready to go to their new home as well. It had been a tsunami of change, things decided so fast she hadn’t really discussed it with anyone, not even her sister. Most people wouldn’t know she was gone until she sent the cards she’d already written in her head and now only needed to get down on paper, a stamp betraying the fact it was sent from far away.
It was better that way. No messy goodbyes.
No messy questions.
But…she couldn’t go without one goodbye. Only one.
She’d debated it, but he hadn’t hidden his crush on her very well. Or at all.
It was flattering, to have the attentions of a wonderful boy who was going to grow up to be an amazing man, and in the end, that’s what decided her. She didn’t want to make him bitter, or be the thing that made him decide the worst about women.
She might end up being his first heartbreak, and she couldn’t dwell on that, or she would lose her nerve and call him to cancel this meeting.
Too late though, because the doorbell rang, and she opened it to familiar laughing green eyes and a devilish smile. “Aaliyah.” There was a spark in his eyes, an unfettered joy that most men didn’t possess. Most men – being fair, most people overall – were too worried over unreturned feelings or broken emotions to let the pureness of their thoughts shine in their eyes, but not him.
Not Razor.
No, he was the same now as he’d been two years ago, coming come into Doc’s small clinic with a broken arm and a daredevil’s careless attitude. He’d been laughing with the group of boys surrounding him when he’d stopped, sniffing the air in that weird way she sometimes saw with some of Doc’s patients. His head shot around until his eyes landed on her, and he made his way to her, ignoring his friends and then Doc’s call to Get your troublemaking, bone-breaking ass back here, boy to stand in front of her, his eyes fastened on her like she was an honest-to-God miracle he’d been praying for but never expected would truly happen.
Then his lips twitched and, the little devil, he pulled out the stores of charm he’d been overblessed with, trying to make moves no fourteen year old should ever try with a woman ten years older than he, body covered in dirt and mud and broken arm cradled against his body, until Doc came out and grabbed his ear to drag him to the examination room.
That had been the start. For almost two years he’d been a presence in her life. Somehow every time she was at Doc’s he was there to help , which meant he flirted with her until Doc found
‡
A pple pie was the best way to say goodbye.
Warm and rich, the scent and taste of it had weight and depth, but it was still fresh and crisp, no bitterness on the palate, though, with the right apples, there was the hint of tart underneath the sweetness.
Cakes were the food for welcoming people, saying hello. Pies were for goodbyes.
She always made her own crust. The secret of a good pie is the crust. It was what Granny had said, horror running through the words if she said it in response to someone suggesting she save time and buy store crust. Besides, making crust wasn’t hard, not once you knew the secret to it.
Cold hands. Granny’s hands were always cold, just like hers were, so neither had any problems with kneading the mixture, rolling it out, not too many times because you didn’t want to overwork it. Overworked dough meant there was nothing to do but start over again.
Aaliyah made her apple pies with a mixture of Granny Smith and Honeycrisp apples, lighter on the sugar and heavier on the spices than a lot of recipes she came across. This was Granny’s recipe, as were all the recipes she baked.
Granny couldn’t cook a lick, but the woman could take over Buckingham palace with her baked goods, if she’d ever wanted to.
This apple pie was cooling on the stove, aluminum foil over the top and ready to go to its new home. Upstairs, so many of her possessions were already boxed, ready to go to their new home as well. It had been a tsunami of change, things decided so fast she hadn’t really discussed it with anyone, not even her sister. Most people wouldn’t know she was gone until she sent the cards she’d already written in her head and now only needed to get down on paper, a stamp betraying the fact it was sent from far away.
It was better that way. No messy goodbyes.
No messy questions.
But…she couldn’t go without one goodbye. Only one.
She’d debated it, but he hadn’t hidden his crush on her very well. Or at all.
It was flattering, to have the attentions of a wonderful boy who was going to grow up to be an amazing man, and in the end, that’s what decided her. She didn’t want to make him bitter, or be the thing that made him decide the worst about women.
She might end up being his first heartbreak, and she couldn’t dwell on that, or she would lose her nerve and call him to cancel this meeting.
Too late though, because the doorbell rang, and she opened it to familiar laughing green eyes and a devilish smile. “Aaliyah.” There was a spark in his eyes, an unfettered joy that most men didn’t possess. Most men – being fair, most people overall – were too worried over unreturned feelings or broken emotions to let the pureness of their thoughts shine in their eyes, but not him.
Not Razor.
No, he was the same now as he’d been two years ago, coming come into Doc’s small clinic with a broken arm and a daredevil’s careless attitude. He’d been laughing with the group of boys surrounding him when he’d stopped, sniffing the air in that weird way she sometimes saw with some of Doc’s patients. His head shot around until his eyes landed on her, and he made his way to her, ignoring his friends and then Doc’s call to Get your troublemaking, bone-breaking ass back here, boy to stand in front of her, his eyes fastened on her like she was an honest-to-God miracle he’d been praying for but never expected would truly happen.
Then his lips twitched and, the little devil, he pulled out the stores of charm he’d been overblessed with, trying to make moves no fourteen year old should ever try with a woman ten years older than he, body covered in dirt and mud and broken arm cradled against his body, until Doc came out and grabbed his ear to drag him to the examination room.
That had been the start. For almost two years he’d been a presence in her life. Somehow every time she was at Doc’s he was there to help , which meant he flirted with her until Doc found
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