“Hello, darling! How are you?”
“I’m okay, Grams,” she’d said, sounding tired. “How are you?”
“Oh, fine, fine. Are you girls getting excited for the wedding?”
“Yes. Maren flew in yesterday, and we had a nice dinner together last night.”
“How nice. And is Maren’s fiancé coming in?”
“He is, but not until Thursday, and he’s flying straight into Traverse City since we’ll be up at Abelard already.”
“I’ve never been to Abelard, but I hear it’s so lovely. That’s the vineyard your cousin owns, right? The one on your father’s side who married the French fellow?”
“Mia, yes. And her husband is Lucas. You’ve met them before, I think.”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Are you coming in Friday for the rehearsal?” she asked.
“Of course, dear. Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Are you driving yourself?”
“I was planning to.” My wheels started spinning. “Unless you’d like to come pick me up? It’s probably only about forty minutes away.”
“I’d be glad to send someone to get you, Grams. But it won’t be me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I know you.”
I clucked my tongue. “Stella Devine, don’t you trust me?”
“No.” But she did manage a laugh. “Sorry, Grams. I love you, but you’re a sneaky little thing.”
“Fine,” I said. “Never mind about the ride. I’ll drive myself.”
“Okay. Be careful.” She was quiet for a moment. Then she asked, “Have you seen Ryan much?”
Bingo, I thought. “Not too much. Here and there. He seems awfully down.”
“Hm. Well, I should get going. Thanks for calling.”
“Of course, dear. See you soon.”
I hung up and tapped a fingertip against my lips. That settles it. I’m going to pull that bourbon pecan pie out of the freezer and stick it in the oven for twenty minutes. Then I’m just going to mosey over there and deliver it, test the waters a bit.
Sneaky little thing indeed.
And damn proud of it.
Thirty-Five
Ryan
Sunday evening, I was in the kitchen pulling up the old linoleum and trying to think of a way to ask for a second chance with Stella when I heard a knock on my door.
Frowning at the interruption, I went to answer it.
“Hello, Mr. Woods,” chirped Mrs. Gardner when I opened the storm door. “How are you, dear?”
“Fine.” I eyeballed the pie in her hands. “You?”
“Splendid. I won’t keep you because I’m sure you’re busy with dinner, but I wanted to bring you this bourbon pecan pie.”
“Bourbon pecan?” My mouth watered.
“Yes. Stella and Emme baked two of them when they were here last month. Emme took one home, and the other one has just been sitting in my freezer. I forgot all about it until I was cleaning the freezer out yesterday and realized I’d never brought it to you!” She offered it up.
I didn’t deserve it, but I’d serve extra time in purgatory for pecan pie. “Thanks,” I said, taking it from her.
Stella’s hands have been on this.
“How is Stella?” I blurted.
“Wonderful, just wonderful. I spoke with her this afternoon. So busy and cheerful and having such a good time.” She sighed. “Oh, to be young and beautiful.”
The words cut deep.
She doesn’t need me to be happy.
“Well, I should get going. Bye now. Enjoy the pie.”
I managed a smile. I think. “Thanks.”
She left, and I went back into the kitchen, setting the warm, fragrant pie on the counter. I tried to go back to work, but that pie was taunting me with its golden crust and its fat pecans and its promise of gooey sweetness—made by Stella.
Stella, who was busy and cheerful and having such a good time. Stella, who was young and beautiful. Stella, who had my heart in her hands and didn’t even know it.
I needed pie.
Ditching the flooring for now, I grabbed a plastic knife and carved a slice, carefully lifting it onto a paper plate. The dishwasher had finally conked out, so I’d taken to paper and plastic. Pulling a plastic fork from the box, I dug in standing at the counter, moaning as I polished off every last morsel before slicing myself another piece.
It reminded me of the night Stella had brought the apple crumble pie over, how we’d sat and talked at the kitchen table before I’d been rude enough that she’d left. Yet two nights later, she’d sat on my lap, feeding me the last delicious bite. Laughing with me. Listening to me. Agreeing to stay the night.
Showing me how to make her come while I was inside her.
I groaned again, but this time it wasn’t the pie.
Later that night, I gave in and slept in my bed. I’d changed the sheets, but it didn’t matter. She was still here. I closed my eyes and took my cock in my hand, imagining her straddling my body in the moonlit room, her palms on my chest, her hips rocking back and forth. When I came, I heard her whispering my name, felt her contracting around me, saw stars beyond her silvery blond hair.
Lying there afterward, I felt lonely and pathetic, doomed to night after night of jerking off to her memory. This wasn’t what I wanted for the rest of my life. I no longer found peace in this solitude—just agony. I wanted a different kind of life. I wanted a life with her, even if I had to stare down all my demons to have it.
I hoped it wasn’t too late.
Asking Stella for a second chance wasn’t anything I wanted to do over the phone. I had to go to her. That was better, right? I’d drive down to Detroit and surprise her. I’d book a hotel room in the city and spend the entire weekend worshiping her body, making up for what I’d done, and showing her that she was right about me—I was a good man. And I would be good to her. I would make her happy.
All I needed was her address.
On Thursday, I called Mrs. Gardner to ask for it.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mrs. Gardner. It’s Ryan next door.” Nervous, I started pacing back and forth in front of my couch.
“Oh hello, Mr. Woods. Did you enjoy the pie?”
“Yes. I have a favor to ask. Do you think you could give me Stella’s address?”
“Her address? Whatever for?”
“I’d—I’d like to visit her.”
“Oh? Why’s that? You’ll pardon my being so forward, Mr. Woods, but she is my granddaughter and I’m a mite protective.”
My face was hot. “I only want to tell her I was wrong about something. That I’ve changed my mind.”
“I see. And when were you going to visit?”
“This weekend, but please don’t tell her. I’d like it to be a surprise.”
“Oh. Oh, dear,” she fussed. “This is terrible.”
“What is?”
“Well, I was just about to call you.”
“You were?”
“Yes, you see, I’ve had some bad news.”
I froze. “What bad news?”
“A friend of mine has passed away.”
“Oh.” I felt like a jerk for being relieved, but I’d been scared for a minute something had happened to Stella. Mrs. Gardner’s friends had to be pretty old, didn’t they? “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yes. She was a very dear friend. The funeral is Saturday and my car has been giving me some trouble. I’m afraid I won’t be able to make the service.”
“I’d be happy to come take a look at it.”
“That’s so kind of you, but I’ve already taken it to the shop.”
“Oh.”
“So I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind driving me on Saturday? It would mean so much to me, and I’m sure whatever it is you need to tell Stella can wait.”
No, it couldn’t! I’d waited long enough, dammit. “Saturday?” I repeated, like I hadn’t heard.
“Yes. I’m sure if you pick me up about two-thirty, we’d be there in plenty of time. The service is at four.”
“I’m okay, Grams,” she’d said, sounding tired. “How are you?”
“Oh, fine, fine. Are you girls getting excited for the wedding?”
“Yes. Maren flew in yesterday, and we had a nice dinner together last night.”
“How nice. And is Maren’s fiancé coming in?”
“He is, but not until Thursday, and he’s flying straight into Traverse City since we’ll be up at Abelard already.”
“I’ve never been to Abelard, but I hear it’s so lovely. That’s the vineyard your cousin owns, right? The one on your father’s side who married the French fellow?”
“Mia, yes. And her husband is Lucas. You’ve met them before, I think.”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Are you coming in Friday for the rehearsal?” she asked.
“Of course, dear. Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Are you driving yourself?”
“I was planning to.” My wheels started spinning. “Unless you’d like to come pick me up? It’s probably only about forty minutes away.”
“I’d be glad to send someone to get you, Grams. But it won’t be me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I know you.”
I clucked my tongue. “Stella Devine, don’t you trust me?”
“No.” But she did manage a laugh. “Sorry, Grams. I love you, but you’re a sneaky little thing.”
“Fine,” I said. “Never mind about the ride. I’ll drive myself.”
“Okay. Be careful.” She was quiet for a moment. Then she asked, “Have you seen Ryan much?”
Bingo, I thought. “Not too much. Here and there. He seems awfully down.”
“Hm. Well, I should get going. Thanks for calling.”
“Of course, dear. See you soon.”
I hung up and tapped a fingertip against my lips. That settles it. I’m going to pull that bourbon pecan pie out of the freezer and stick it in the oven for twenty minutes. Then I’m just going to mosey over there and deliver it, test the waters a bit.
Sneaky little thing indeed.
And damn proud of it.
Thirty-Five
Ryan
Sunday evening, I was in the kitchen pulling up the old linoleum and trying to think of a way to ask for a second chance with Stella when I heard a knock on my door.
Frowning at the interruption, I went to answer it.
“Hello, Mr. Woods,” chirped Mrs. Gardner when I opened the storm door. “How are you, dear?”
“Fine.” I eyeballed the pie in her hands. “You?”
“Splendid. I won’t keep you because I’m sure you’re busy with dinner, but I wanted to bring you this bourbon pecan pie.”
“Bourbon pecan?” My mouth watered.
“Yes. Stella and Emme baked two of them when they were here last month. Emme took one home, and the other one has just been sitting in my freezer. I forgot all about it until I was cleaning the freezer out yesterday and realized I’d never brought it to you!” She offered it up.
I didn’t deserve it, but I’d serve extra time in purgatory for pecan pie. “Thanks,” I said, taking it from her.
Stella’s hands have been on this.
“How is Stella?” I blurted.
“Wonderful, just wonderful. I spoke with her this afternoon. So busy and cheerful and having such a good time.” She sighed. “Oh, to be young and beautiful.”
The words cut deep.
She doesn’t need me to be happy.
“Well, I should get going. Bye now. Enjoy the pie.”
I managed a smile. I think. “Thanks.”
She left, and I went back into the kitchen, setting the warm, fragrant pie on the counter. I tried to go back to work, but that pie was taunting me with its golden crust and its fat pecans and its promise of gooey sweetness—made by Stella.
Stella, who was busy and cheerful and having such a good time. Stella, who was young and beautiful. Stella, who had my heart in her hands and didn’t even know it.
I needed pie.
Ditching the flooring for now, I grabbed a plastic knife and carved a slice, carefully lifting it onto a paper plate. The dishwasher had finally conked out, so I’d taken to paper and plastic. Pulling a plastic fork from the box, I dug in standing at the counter, moaning as I polished off every last morsel before slicing myself another piece.
It reminded me of the night Stella had brought the apple crumble pie over, how we’d sat and talked at the kitchen table before I’d been rude enough that she’d left. Yet two nights later, she’d sat on my lap, feeding me the last delicious bite. Laughing with me. Listening to me. Agreeing to stay the night.
Showing me how to make her come while I was inside her.
I groaned again, but this time it wasn’t the pie.
Later that night, I gave in and slept in my bed. I’d changed the sheets, but it didn’t matter. She was still here. I closed my eyes and took my cock in my hand, imagining her straddling my body in the moonlit room, her palms on my chest, her hips rocking back and forth. When I came, I heard her whispering my name, felt her contracting around me, saw stars beyond her silvery blond hair.
Lying there afterward, I felt lonely and pathetic, doomed to night after night of jerking off to her memory. This wasn’t what I wanted for the rest of my life. I no longer found peace in this solitude—just agony. I wanted a different kind of life. I wanted a life with her, even if I had to stare down all my demons to have it.
I hoped it wasn’t too late.
Asking Stella for a second chance wasn’t anything I wanted to do over the phone. I had to go to her. That was better, right? I’d drive down to Detroit and surprise her. I’d book a hotel room in the city and spend the entire weekend worshiping her body, making up for what I’d done, and showing her that she was right about me—I was a good man. And I would be good to her. I would make her happy.
All I needed was her address.
On Thursday, I called Mrs. Gardner to ask for it.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mrs. Gardner. It’s Ryan next door.” Nervous, I started pacing back and forth in front of my couch.
“Oh hello, Mr. Woods. Did you enjoy the pie?”
“Yes. I have a favor to ask. Do you think you could give me Stella’s address?”
“Her address? Whatever for?”
“I’d—I’d like to visit her.”
“Oh? Why’s that? You’ll pardon my being so forward, Mr. Woods, but she is my granddaughter and I’m a mite protective.”
My face was hot. “I only want to tell her I was wrong about something. That I’ve changed my mind.”
“I see. And when were you going to visit?”
“This weekend, but please don’t tell her. I’d like it to be a surprise.”
“Oh. Oh, dear,” she fussed. “This is terrible.”
“What is?”
“Well, I was just about to call you.”
“You were?”
“Yes, you see, I’ve had some bad news.”
I froze. “What bad news?”
“A friend of mine has passed away.”
“Oh.” I felt like a jerk for being relieved, but I’d been scared for a minute something had happened to Stella. Mrs. Gardner’s friends had to be pretty old, didn’t they? “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yes. She was a very dear friend. The funeral is Saturday and my car has been giving me some trouble. I’m afraid I won’t be able to make the service.”
“I’d be happy to come take a look at it.”
“That’s so kind of you, but I’ve already taken it to the shop.”
“Oh.”
“So I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind driving me on Saturday? It would mean so much to me, and I’m sure whatever it is you need to tell Stella can wait.”
No, it couldn’t! I’d waited long enough, dammit. “Saturday?” I repeated, like I hadn’t heard.
“Yes. I’m sure if you pick me up about two-thirty, we’d be there in plenty of time. The service is at four.”
