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  Hot Apple Pie

  A Second Helpings Short Story

  Laney Powell

  Copyright © 2018 by Laney Powell

  Hot Apple Pie

  A Second Helpings Short Story

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Hot Apple Pieis part of Second Helpings, a group of ten short stories released by acclaimed romance authors. Each book is a second-chance romance that takes place during Thanksgiving. All guaranteed sweeter than sweet potato pie and dirtier than a sink full of dishes!

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  A Sneek Peak…

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Laney Powell

  Welcome to The Second Helpings Short Story Series

  Check out the entire meal, and keep coming back for more!

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  Cold Turkey by Olivia Hawthorne http://smarturl.it/ColdTurkey

  Hot Apple Pie by Laney Powell http://smarturl.it/HotApplePie

  Whipped by Sierra Hill - Author http://smarturl.it/Whipped1

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  Nadia

  I couldn’t believe I had to go to this thing. I thought I’d managed to duck out of Thanksgiving this year, but my mom called me and told me I was coming. Didn’t ask me. She informed me. Which is why, on Thanksgiving morning, I trundled over to my parents’ house. Personally, I would have preferred to stay at home. I was not in the mood for a large family gathering.

  “Thank you for being on time, Nadia,” Mom said, leaning in to kiss me on the cheek. “Come into the kitchen so you can help me pack up the food.”

  “Wait, what? Why are we bringing food?”

  “Because your grandmother can’t cook for everyone who is coming,” she said, walking toward the kitchen.

  “Why didn’t someone else host it then?”

  “Why do you care? Stop complaining and help me.” She wasn’t bothered by my attitude at all.

  “Save me from the weirdos in my family,” I muttered.

  “I heard that. We’re not weird. We love and do for each other. That’s what family does.” Despite her stern words, my mom wasn’t upset. She knew why I didn’t want to go.

  I’d just ended my engagement with William. Rather, he’d ended it by boinking the intern in his office. It was so cliché, so sordid. I’d have to hear my grandma ask what I’d done wrong and worry I’d never get married.

  The aunts would talk when they thought I couldn’t hear.

  My snotty cousins would tell me they weren’t surprised. The up-and-down looks over my person that said the only thing they weren’t surprised about was that I’d kept him this long. To say I wasn’t looking forward to this would be the understatement of the century. Well, I liked seeing Grandma, even with the oh-my-God-you’re-gonna-be-a-spinster lines she’d lay on me. She meant well. To her, you got married young, so you could have your kids, raise them, and still have time left to live.

  I hadn’t followed that at all. I lived my life to the fullest and then got engaged. And now, I didn’t even have that.

  “It won’t be that bad,” Mom said. She must have heard me sighing and known I was going over my tale of woe. For the zillionth time.

  “Yes, it will. I’m about to get more pity than I will ever need over the course of my life.”

  “It will be bad if you allow it.”

  “Stop, Mom. Please.” I could possibly make it through all the family bullshit. I could not bear the ‘just be happy’ from Mom.

  “All right. Be careful, I don’t want you to crush the pies.”

  “That will be the only good thing.” My mom was excellent at making a pie—any pie. Today she’d done a pumpkin, pecan, strawberry rhubarb, and apple. None of that would make it home, no matter how many other desserts there were.

  “Is everyone going to be there?” I asked. I took the apple pie from the cooling tray it had been resting on, stopping to inhale it. It smelled so good, and apple wasn’t even my favorite.

  “Well, yes. Grandma’s getting older. No one wants to miss her.”

  I got it. “That’s why I’m going.”

  “That and I made a couple of pies just for you,” my mom laughed.

  “You did? It’s not in here, is it?” I indicated the tote I was getting ready to load the apple pie into. If my pie went to Grandma’s, I’d never see it again.

  “No. Make it through Thanksgiving, make your grandmother happy because she gets to see you, and one pecan and strawberry rhubarb are all yours.”

  “You don’t fight fair!”

  “No reason to. Better to win and get on with it.” Mom gave me a toothy smile and headed out to the car. “Richard!” She called over her shoulder. “Come on! It’s time.”

  She left me to finish loading up the pies. My dad appeared from the back of the house as I was walking out the door.

  “I see you didn’t escape either,” he said.

  “Not when there’s a pie bribe.”

  We both laughed. People would put up with a lot for Mom’s pies. I could make a good pie myself, but nothing beat my mom’s.

  “It’s hard to resist,” he agreed. “But your mom is right. It will make Grandma happy.”

  “I know. It’s everyone else I’m dreading.”

  “Chin up, Nadia. It might not be that bad.”

  “Yeah, how would you know? You’re already married.”

  “OK. You win. It will be awful.”

  “Thank you,” I said as I got into the car, putting the food tote in first. “Finally, someone speaking rationally.”

  Dad laughed. “It’s only for the afternoon. Then you’re off the hook.”

  I sat in the back seat, arms crossed, and kept any further grumbling to myself on the ride over. It would not make a bit of difference—I was on my way to the dinner from Hell, and that was that. Dad was right. It was only for the afternoon. Which meant I needed to pull my head out of doom and gloom, put on my armor, and plan to just get through it.

  Plus, there was the pie bribe. My mom makes the best strawberry rhubarb ever. It’s my favorite pie, and although I get it when I’m out, nothing is like hers.

  Family Thanksgiving it was. I sighed. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. In what seemed like no time at all, we were turning onto the street where my grandmother lived. The homes were older, a little smaller. Lots of trees. And there were a lot of cars—apparently there were lots of forced family Thanksgivings going on, I thought with a grin. There was solidarity because I wasn’t the only one suffering.

  I loved this neighborhood. Every one of my summer breaks had been spent here with Grandma while my parents worked. I’d gotten to know all the neighborhood kids. I wondered where they were now. My mind was still on those summers when I heard my mom.

  “Nadia? Honey, we’re here.”

  “What? Oh, OK.”
r />   “Grab the tote, please,” she said as she got out of the car.

  I brought the tote out carefully, not wanting to do anything to hurt the pies. Mom would kill me, and I’d have to listen to the bitching if I did anything to them for the rest of the visit.

  Nobody needed that.

  “Let me help you with that,” a deep voice said.

  I looked over the tote to see sky-blue eyes that went with the voice and almost dropped it.

  Sam

  I couldn’t believe it when the car pulled up and Nadia Summers got out of the backseat. How long had it been since I’d seen her?

  Too long.

  The last time I’d seen her had been in a bar downtown. She’d been with some guy—I couldn’t remember his name—and she introduced him. His name didn’t stick with me, but his title did.

  Fiancé.

  I didn’t hear anything she said after that, and I didn’t hang around. She was engaged, and it wasn’t to me. What else was there to say? My actions weren’t very mature, but it was difficult to contain my disappointment.

  Now, however, here she was. No guy in tow. I shoved down the hopeful leap of my heart. Enough of that, son, I thought. We’ve been down this road before.

  “Let me help you with that,” I said, reaching out for the bag she was carrying. I noted that she was not wearing an engagement ring.

  Her eyes met mine over the top of the bag, and I saw the surprise—and something else—flash across her face before she gave me a big smile. “Sam Harker! What are you doing here? And sure, I’d love help with this. Be careful, though. It’s full of pie.”

  “The famous Summers pie? Oh, I’ll treat it with nothing but TLC,” I said, letting my voice drop into a husky tone. I couldn’t help it. I used to adore Nadia, and anytime I saw her, I couldn’t help flirt with her. All in the hopes she’d see what she was missing and come away with me.

  Preferably naked, but clothes are removable. She didn’t have to be naked now. I’m an easy-going guy. There was plenty of time for that. I hoped.

  Her cheeks pinked, but she ignored that and nodded. “The famous Summers pie. What are you doing here?”

  “My grandmom ran into yours, and just like that, we’re invited to dinner.”

  “That’s fantastic, Sam. I’m looking forward to catching up with you,” she said, putting a hand on my arm. She sounded like she meant it.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so am I, Nadia.”

  We walked into the house, and I headed for the kitchen to deposit the pies. While I was teasing Nadia for my own ends, her mom’s pie was famous. I don’t know what the woman did, but I’d never had a pie like Mrs. Summer’s pies. They were in some of my best memories from growing up, along with Nadia.

  My favorite was when her mom came over one evening and baked. It was not dark yet, and she allowed Nadia and me to help in the kitchen. Mrs. Summers had been making an apple pie, and the scents of the cinnamon and warm apples filled the entire house. It had been the three of us—I’m not sure where Nadia’s grandmother was—and I’d never felt safer, or more content than I did that day with them.

  There had been little contentment like that since. Some of that was my fault, but it didn’t change the way I remembered that afternoon. The whole thing was enhanced by the fact that I adored Nadia, and being around her made everything better.

  When I went out into the front room, Nadia was standing with her cousins, and I lingered around the edge of the conversation, shamelessly eavesdropping.

  “What do you mean, he left?” Carla, one of Nadia’s cousins, was asking.

  Nadia shrugged, and I could see not only how uncomfortable she was, but how upset this still made her. I wondered that Carla couldn’t see it and remembered that Carla had always competed with every other girl near her.

  Which was stupid because Carla was gorgeous all on her own. She didn’t hold a candle to Nadia with her honey colored hair and amber eyes and pink, lush lips. But she was very attractive. She just wasn’t Nadia.

  “He said he didn’t want to be engaged anymore, and that was that,” Nadia had her arms crossed. As I watched, she hugged herself tighter. I doubted any of the surrounding people even noticed.

  “Well,” Carla flipped her own light blond hair over one shoulder, “I’m so sorry, Nadia. But there’s other fish in the sea, right?” Her voice was bright and full of venom. She turned and then saw me.

  “Sam Harker! Well look at you, all grown up,” she purred.

  For fuck’s sake. Did that shit work on a grown man? Not with me. To be polite, I pasted a smile on my face. “Hey, Carla.”

  “What brings you here? More importantly, how long are you staying?” Carla flipped her hair again, to the other side, I noted.

  “I’m with Grandmom. Yours invited her when they ran into each other somewhere. Hey, Nadia, you want to help me with the pies? I don’t want your mother yelling at me.” I smiled at her, holding out a hand. I ignored everyone else.

  “Sure,” she took my hand and hurried away from her cousins.

  “Thanks,” she whispered. “I think you stopped an inquisition.”

  “Carla’s specialty,” I said. “I know.” I squeezed her hand, then dropped it. I didn’t want to, but I didn’t want to spook her. Something told me this was my one chance—the thought had been singing in my head since I’d seen her get out of the car with her ringless hand.

  I needed to take this slowly.

  We reached the spot in the kitchen where I’d left the bag. She went to it and unzipped it, carefully reaching in and handing me a pie.

  It was the apple. The bottom was still warm, and the scent of cooked apples and cinnamon filled my nose. I closed my eyes as I inhaled, the memories and feelings from that summer night washing over me.

  When I opened them, Nadia was looking at me.

  “You OK?” She asked.

  “Yeah, I love the smell of apple pie.”

  She smiled. “My mom makes the best ones.”

  “She does.” I sat it down and reached for the next one. We unloaded the bag in silence.

  Nadia turned to me. “Thank you,” she said. “When you came up and gave me an excuse to leave, I wanted to hug you with all the gratitude I have. That was the thing I was dreading most,” she added.

  “Carla goes for the kill.”

  “Yeah, and enjoys it,” Nadia added. “So … thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Let’s talk about something more pleasant. What are you doing these days?” She asked as she leaned against the counter. Her arms were crossed again as she gazed at me, but it wasn’t defensive.

  Her body was long and lean and seeing her in front of me made all the years I’d wanted her come rushing to the forefront. Calm down, I thought. Take it slow.

  I considered carefully what I wanted to say. My grandmother had raised me because both my parents were junkies, in and out of jail. I got myself to college and majored in IT. That was one of my better moves. I was a natural. Recently, I'd sold a huge program, and I was set in a way I’d never been able to imagine as a kid. But I didn't advertise that. My worst fear was that someone would tell my parents, and they'd remember they had a son. At least, as long as they were looking for money. Or worse, they’d come and bother Grandmom.

  "I'm working in IT," I said.

  "You are? I thought you had your own company," she said, a small crinkle forming between her eyes.

  It was the sexiest thing, her giving me that look of concern.

  "I do. It's work," I said, hoping she'd think I didn't want to talk about work. Which I didn't, but not for any work-related reasons. I wanted to know why she was single, and if she was in the place where a rebound looked good.

  Not that I wanted to be a rebound, but it was a way in. I'd been looking for a way in with Nadia since I'd started thinking about girls, and it had just never happened. I didn't even know why. I would not—could not--let this chance slip away. This girl had been my dream for as long as I could
remember. Until now, it seemed an impossible dream. When Grandmom asked me to come, my willingness was based on a hope that Nadia would be here, too.

  She smiled. "So what else is going on?"

  "What happened to your fiancé?" I asked.

  She let out a big breath. "Wow, I thought the interrogation was over."

  Shit. I'm not taking this slowly. I made myself shrug. "No interrogation. The last time I saw you, you guys were together."

  Her shoulders relaxed. I wonder if she even knew she'd been bunching them up. It made me feel bad to think I might have contributed to her tension.

  That's not the kind of tension I want to give her, my dirty mind adds. A smile threatened to break out at the thought, but I stifled it.

  She sighs, and said, "I wish to hell I knew. He came over one night and told me he was ending it. I got to keep the ring, though," she added with sarcasm dripping from her words. "As a sign of the regard he will always have for me." Nadia rolled her eyes. "Can you believe that shit? I can't, even now."

  "You should hock it, buy yourself something you want," I said.

  "That's a good idea. Why didn't I think of that?" She smiled.

  "Sometimes we're too close to things. You have to make sure to tell him thanks once you get whatever it is."

  Nadia laughed for the first time since she got here. It makes me feel good to know that it's me who made her laugh. I'd like to do it more. Right now, I like to see her laughing in my bed and the thought make my cock get hard.

  "I will. I don't know what I’ll do, but I’ll not only thank him, I'll laugh while I'm doing it." She laughs again. "Thanks, Sam."

  "I aim to please," my voice lowers with promise.

  Nadia stared at me. She heard the hint of something more than just casual conversation in my voice. I stared back, thinking about tangled limbs, sweaty sheets and the smell of sex in the room. I want to see her hair on my pillows. I want her to know I'm thinking about these things. With her.