Page 14 of Pretty Relentless

“There’s only one piece of pie left,” Ava says.

“That’s okay, you take it.”

She shakes her head, reaching for a brownie with powdered sugar on top. “I couldn’t. It’s your favorite,” she reasons, also taking a chocolate chip cookie.

“Nope, I insist. Mom’s peach pie is practically its own food group. She won the church group pie bake-off seven years in a row. If you don’t take it, you’d be missing out on one of the greatest gifts in life, and I could never eat it with you sitting beside me, knowing you’re peach pie-less and I’m not. It would ruin peach pie for me for the rest of my life.”

Am I laying it on thick?

Yes.

Does she appear to be falling for my bullshit?

Also, yes.

A slow smile spreads across her lips. “Wow, how can I say no to that?” She chuckles. “But the only way I’m eating this pie is if you split it with me. I can’t eat a whole slice of pie, plus what I already put on my plate, so really, you’d be doingmea favor by sharing it with me.”

“Deal,” I reply.

Just as I go to reach for the pie server, a hand swoops in to grab it first. I turn narrowed eyes toward my brother, who’s smirking gleefully and victoriously. I reach out and slap his hand. “Drop the pie server or you’ll be eating your Christmas meal tomorrow through a straw.”

My asshole brother barks out a laugh and shakes his head. He glances around me and smiles at Ava. “I promise, my baby brother isn’t always a caveman. He’s only acting like that because he thinks flexing his muscles will impress you.”

I groan, and before I can retort with something sarcastic and witty, Ava steps up to the plate and knocks it out of the park. “I get it. I’ve heard amazing things about this pie, and if you take the last slice, you’re second one, I might add, leaving us with nothing, then you might deserve a knuckle sandwich, as my grandpa used to say.”

Paul gapes in horror at Ava, while I burst out laughing. When he finally catches his composure, he hands off the pie server. “You two are perfect for each other,” he mutters not-so-quietly, reaches for a brownie and shoves it in his mouth, and turns and walks away.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe I said that,” Ava mutters, covering her mouth with her left hand. “I’m so sorry.”

Giving her my attention, I can tell she’s clearly embarrassed and a little flustered. “Don’t be sorry. The look on his face is worth it. And believe me, he’s not upset or offended. He’s heard way worse from me over the years and has given it back just as good.”

“I was rude,” she murmurs softly, shaking her head.

Scooping up the final piece of pie, I set it on her plate. “You were sassy. I liked it, Ava,” I state, throwing in a wink before returning the server to the empty dish. “What do you say? Shall we go sit and enjoy our dessert?”

Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes a little sparkly as she nibbles on her bottom lip and nods. “Yes.”

Ava returns to the seat beside her grandma, and I take the empty one to her left. No one seems to be paying us much attention as she takes her plastic knife and fork and cuts the slice of pie in half. I can’t help but smile as she takes her time, doing her best to ensure the dessert is cut equally.

Pointing to her plate, she says, “Pick your half.”

Deciding I love seeing her smile, I lower my face, getting close to the two slices. “Well, the one on the left appears tohave a little more peach filling, while the right half has more of the sugary, flaky crust. Hmmm,” I contemplate, studying both pieces until I hear her chuckle.

When I look up, my heart does this weird flip in my chest, which makes it almost impossible to draw in a full breath of air. She’s so fucking beautiful it almost hurts to look at her. “I didn’t realize choosing a slice of pie was such a hard decision.”

“The hardest,” I insist.

“Well, in my classroom, I’d be telling you, you get what you get, and you don’t throw a fit,” she teases.

I bark out a laugh, drawing the attention of a few at the table, but I refuse to acknowledge them. My eyes are locked on the beauty beside me. “Are you telling me I’m acting like a fifth grader?” I ask, unable to hide my own grin.

“Well, technically no,” she says, holding up the plate so I can take my pie. “Students actually hear that particular line in kindergarten, so…”

Another fit of laughter from me has all eyes on us once more. “All right, so I’m the equivalent of a kindergartener. Got it,” I retort, winking as I stab the closest piece and set it on my plate.

She sighs. “That’s the one I wanted,” she mutters.

“Well, then I guess you should have picked before me.”

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