His Pumpkin Pie

“Miss Williams?” A man in an all-black suit calls my name, and I look behind me to see if he’s talking to someone else. Williams is a common name, but then I hear him say “Pumpkin” and realize he’s for sure talking to me.

“That’s me, but I didn't call for a ride.” I feel like an asshole because I just assumed he’s a driver. “I'm sorry, I don’t know why I said that. Is there something you need?” He lets out a warm laugh that makes the lines around his eyes crinkle.

“I’m your driver.”

“Oh. But—”

“Hey, I’ve already been paid, so you might as well take the free ride.” This time it’s me that’s laughing.

“You’ve made a fair point, Mr.…” I hold my hand out.

“Wyatt, ma’am,” he answers.

“Now I really do feel like I’m back in Texas.” He tries to open the door for me, but I wave him off. “I’d much rather ride in the front if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” He takes my bags for me and puts them into the back as I get into the passenger seat. On the dashboard he has all kinds of pictures, and when he gets in, I ask him about all of them.

By the time we make it to my parents’ house, Wyatt almost feels like a distant cousin with all I know about him and his family. It’s sweet to listen to a man go on about his family and wife while smiling from ear to ear. It's something I hope to have one day. It’s also another reminder that the job I have right now isn't really leading me down the path to that dream.

When I get out of the car, Wyatt goes for my bag, but my mom and dad are already all over me. I try not to cry as I see them rushing toward me, because this is a happy moment, and if I spring a leak my mom is going to lose it.

“Wyatt, this is my mom Rose and my father Winter.” Wyatt’s lips form a thin line. “It’s okay to laugh at that, Wyatt, we get it.” He lets out a deep chuckle. “I’d invite you to Thanksgiving dinner to meet my sister Cookie, but I’m guessing you have your own plans.”

He tries to hide his laugh and looks at me like I can’t be serious. “Cookie?”

“I know, and she can’t even bake a batch without burning them.”

“Oh, hang on one second, wait right here,” my mom says as she moves quickly back inside the house.

My dad leans close to Wyatt and whispers conspiratorially, “Word of advice, I have no idea what she’s about to bring out for you, but just take it. You won’t win the fight, and it could go on for hours.”

Wyatt nods. “Of course.”

“Smart man,” my dad says, slapping him on the shoulder. “You’re clearly happily married.”

“That I am.”

A moment later, Mom is coming back down the driveway with a box. Her hair looks so much like my own. Even those dimples in her cheeks are on full display.

“Here are some cookies to take home.” Wyatt takes my dad’s advice and takes the box from her.

“That’s mighty sweet of you. How did you know I had a sweet tooth?”

“Who doesn't?” He walks back to his car and I call out to him.

“Thanks again, Wyatt.” But as soon as I say the words, something hits me. “Wyatt, wait!” I rush over to the driver side door. “I didn't pay you or anything, but you knew my name.” I don’t know why this is only just now dawning on me

“It seems you have an admirer.” He winks at me before closing the window and waving goodbye.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Mom takes my wrists and pulls me toward the house as Dad carries my suitcase inside.

“Nothing.” I give her a bright smile as I wonder if there’s a way Miller could have sent him.

“How was the flight?” Mom asks as she hangs my coat up inside. I’ve barely crossed the front door and Cookie is all over me.

She’s covered in flour and icing and her hair is a lopsided mess. “You’ve gotta give this baking thing up,” I tell her, squeezing her close.

“Practice makes perfect.” She kisses my cheek and gets everything on me in the process. “You never texted me back.”

“I know, I was running late and then my phone was off on the plane.” She stares at me for a long moment like she’s trying to figure something out.

“I forgot to show you something.” She drags me along with her before I can try and save myself. Suddenly we’re moving straight into my old bedroom.

“Who’s got your cheeks all rosy?” she asks, eyeing me suspiciously.

“Um, the temperature outside?” It’s a lame suggestion but a plausible one.

“Where’s your phone?”

I hold my purse close to my chest, and she lunges at me and screams. I fall back onto the bed and a fight for my purse ensues. Seconds later, Mom bursts into the bedroom and Cookie stands up with a giant smile on her face, holding my purse over her head like a champion. Five years ago we would have been in so much trouble for this, but Mom just laughs.