Page 10 of Only for the Season

Parker lifts the bag she’s carrying. “Special Thanksgiving day delivery.”

I nearly moan at the scent of pumpkin and cinnamon emitting from the bag. My stomach rumbles. I haven’t eaten a homemade pumpkin pie in years. Mom stopped baking once she got her claws in my money.

“Are you going to stare at me all day, or are you going to take the pies?”

Chapter 4

“The only thing worse than a reporter? A billionaire.” ~ Parker

Parker

Ihold my breath as I turn the corner in the van loaded with pies. When the turn is complete and none of the pies has flipped over or fallen to the floor, I blow out a breath.

Thank goodness. No disaster. And thank goodness I could borrow this van from the brewery. I don’t think anyone expects Thanksgiving pies to be delivered in aFive Fathoms Brewingvan, but this is Smuggler’s Hideaway. Nothing is truly out of the ordinary here.

I slow to a stop in front of Jack and Lily Milton’s house. I’ve known Jack and Lily since first grade. Their daughter, Sophia, was a year younger than me in school. We used to congregate in Lily’s kitchen at the end of school. She made the best chocolate chip cookies. They were always hot out of the oven when we arrived.

I grab Lily’s order – one Siren’s Song Pumpkin Pie and one Blackbeard’s Bourbon Chocolate Pie – before making my way to the front door.

“Lily! Jack!” I shout as I knock.

When no one answers the door, I check the time. I told them I’d arrive around eleven and it’s five to the hour. They should be here.

I knock again. “Lily! Your pies are here!”

I’m contemplating leaving the pies on the porch when the door flies open.

“Hi, Parker.” Lily’s hair is a mess, and her blouse is buttoned wrong. Jack appears behind her. He’s grinning. One guess what these two have been up to. I shouldn’t be surprised. Lily and Jack never could keep their hands off each other.

My stomach sours. I want what they have. They met when Jack was working on the island and fell instantly in love – if the tales are to be believed.

But who wants a baker who has more curves than money and works more hours than there are in a day? No one, that’s who.

I hand her the bag. “Here are your pies. Enjoy.”

Lily’s eyes light up. “We will. Your Blackbeard’s Bourbon Chocolate Pie is downright sinful with its rich chocolate and whipped cream, and shaved dark chocolate topping.”

I smile. I’m pretty proud of my pies. “Thank you.”

I wave goodbye as I make my way back to the van to make my next delivery. I zigzag my way through Smuggler’s Rest for the next hour. It’s nearly noon when I realize I only have two deliveries to go – Eli and Mrs. Simpson.

I park in Mrs. Simpson’s driveway and frown. The exterior needs a new coat of paint, but ever since Mr. Simpson died ten years ago, Mrs. Simpson hasn’t been able to manage the work herself.

I carry Mrs. Simpson’s pie to her front door. It opens before I reach it.

“Parker! How lovely to see you. Come in. Come in.” She ushers me inside.

“I don’t have much time. I have more pies to deliver,” I tell her as I set the pie on her kitchen table, which is already set with plates and cups.

“Nonsense. You have time for a cup of coffee and a piece of pie.”

This is the reason I saved her house for the second to last. She’d be the last, but Eli’s house is out in the country.

“No coffee for me. I’ve had about ten cups already today.”

“I’ll put the kettle on for tea.” She motions to the pie. “Go ahead and slice up two pieces.”

I open the box and pick up the knife from the table. I take a moment to appreciate how pretty this Pearl Diver Pie is before I cut into it. It’s vanilla bean cream pie with a white chocolate seashell on top and edible glitter pearls.