I Only Have Pies for You (Pumpkin Spice Life 1)

Walking over to the sink, she washed her hands and placed the glaze she’d created earlier in the microwave for a few seconds. Finding the thinner but not runny consistency to be perfect, she moved over to the tray and began to coat them.

“I love getting to look behind the curtain at the wizard.” He came to stand behind her, peering over her shoulder as she worked.

“You were that kid who sat on the counter while your mother baked and then got to lick all the bowls and beaters, weren’t you?”

“I was. Perks of being an only child, as you well know.”

“I do.” The sight of the thick, white frosting melting just so over the warm rolls as the strong scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafted up toward her turned her insides into goo. Baking was more than a job. It was an expression of feelings. She poured her heart and soul into her dishes, hoping to spread a little goodness out into the world. Lord knows it needed it. Grabbing her knife, she swirled the frosting in a circular pattern, adding an extra touch.

“If you’re this intense for kids, I can only imagine you in the kitchen for your shop.”

“I treat everything I’m baking the same here. I want every person who eats from my shop to feel the love that went into creating.”

“Who taught you how to cook?”

“The college?”

“No. Who instilled this philosophy of love through food?”

“No one person really. It’s a family thing. Recipes are handed down, taught from mother to daughter, and meals are at the table. We all gather for holidays and birthdays, and favorite meals are made. I have a lot of amazing memories cooking in the kitchen with my grandma and my mom. I think it’s a cultural thing. We’re from the deep south originally, and I find a lot of African Americans have that connection to food. Much like many Hispanic families I know.”

“I’m no chef, but I have that same feeling about certain dishes I grew up with, so I can understand it on a smaller level. I think it’s incredible you feel so strongly about it.”

“Hey.” She nudged him with her hip. “You do, too ... about your carvings and furniture.”

“The wood speaks to me, and I want to invoke emotions from others when they see it, but I can’t always tell you what that feeling I want to convey is.”

“Because you leave it up to them to decide. I’ve watched you with your customers. You never tell them how to feel or what you felt when you created it.”

“You caught on to that, huh?”

“I did. It is intentional?”

“I guess, I feel like that’s private, and I don’t want my thoughts to overtake theirs. Once they purchase it and take it home, it belongs to them. If I’m too attached, I can’t sell it.” He grimaced. “I learned that the hard way.”

“Are you telling me you didn’t intend to furnish your home with pieces you made?”

“Hush.”

Finishing her cinnamon rolls off, she set them aside. “Okay. Ready for lunch?”

“I can eat.”

“You’re a bottomless pit. I don’t know how you stay so fit.”

“Lots of time in the gym. It also helps that my job is labor-intensive. Moving lumber, sanding down wood, and getting things together.”

Walking up the back stairs to her apartment, she studied his face as they entered the kitchen and he saw the breakfast nook. The white bench against the wall and two chairs on the opposite side surrounded a white table set up with an impressive arrangement. Two wooden trays with black and white checkered napkins and a floral plate with gold s

ilverware to the left and a glass goblet with gold trim to the right full of water contrasted with the gold and white table runner she’d placed the platters on. Small finger sandwiches made with ham, turkey, and roast beef were piled in the center on a gold charger.

On the outside of the mountain of lunchmeat sandwiches was two black bowls with mayonnaise and brown spicy mustard. Two three-tiered serving trays sat to the left and right of the sandwiches. One lined with snickerdoodles, tiny cinnamon rolls, and an assortment of cupcakes; the other solely dedicated to all things pumpkin spice. He turned his head toward her.

“When did you have the time?”

“Something I whipped up last night and this morning. These are the ones I think will be top sellers in this area. And these,” she motioned toward the left tier, “are my pumpkin spice is life recipes.”

“I don’t even know where to start.”