Wild Man (Dream Man #2)(53)

Then I asked breathily, “So, is this Thanksgiving gig traditional as in pumpkin, apple and pecan pie or can I get creative?”

His eyes stopped roaming and locked on mine. Then he grinned.

Then he said, “Do whatever the f**k you wanna do, they’ll eat anything.”

“Both then,” I muttered musingly and I felt Brock’s body start rocking with laughter under mine.

Then I felt Brock’s body rocking with laughter over mine because he rolled me to my back while rolling on top of me.

Then my glasses were no longer on my nose but on the coffee table and I felt Brock’s laughter in my mouth because he was kissing me.

Then I felt a lot of other things given to me from Brock but none of them had one thing to do with laughter.

Chapter Eleven

Thanksgiving

A week and a half later…

“You wanna tell me, sweetness, how dessert for seventeen people translates into seven pies and two cakes?” Brock asked.

I watched Rex give Joel a look as we all stood at the trunk of my car and Brock carefully handed out bags filled with cake boxes and stacked pie holders to his sons. Joel caught Rex’s look and they both visibly struggled with quelling their laughter.

I answered Brock, “I did the calculations.”

Brock straightened from the trunk with the last bags and slammed it shut.

Then he looked at me saying, “You did the calculations.”

“Yes,” I answered, holding a bundle of flowers, a six pack of bottled Bud and a bag filled with a tub of Cool Whip, canned whipped cream, a carton of the real stuff not yet whipped and a gallon of gourmet vanilla bean ice cream

Brock continued not to move and also continued to stare at me.

So I asked, “What?”

“How many slices do you get out of a pie?” he asked back.

“That isn’t the point,” I informed him.

“What is?” he asked me.

“Well, it’s Thanksgiving and people look forward to it and everyone has something they look forward to about it. So, say you’re looking forward to a piece of pumpkin pie and I only made one pumpkin pie and one pumpkin pie isn’t enough for seventeen people should, even though it’s unlikely but it could happen, all seventeen people want a slice of pumpkin pie.

Then, say, you didn’t move fast enough so you didn’t get your piece of pumpkin pie. Think of how disappointed you would be. So, I made two pumpkin pies, two pecan pies and two apple pies, the traditional pies of Thanksgiving and that way everyone can be sure to have what they’re looking forward to.”

Rex and Joel continued to quell their laughter however not entirely successfully as I heard snickers.

Brock continued to stare at me but now he was doing it like he thought I may be a little crazy.

I kept talking.

“Then, just in case there are those who wish to venture out of the traditional, I made a maple buttermilk pie which isn’t traditional but it is autumnal so it fits with the occasion and then there might be those who want a little something different but a taste of traditional so I made a pumpkin cheesecake and for those who just might be in the mood for cake, I made a the crowd pleaser of chocolate with whipped cream frosting.”

Brock continued to stare at me and now he was doing it like he didn’t have any doubts about the fact I was crazy.

“Jeez, Tess, how long did it take to make all this?” Joel asked and I looked to him.

“Honey, I own a bakery. I do this for a living. Even in my kitchen at home, I whipped all that up in about three hours.”

This wasn’t true. It took more like five.

“Awesome,” Rex muttered. “She’s like a cake baking superhero.”

“And a pie baking one,” Joel added.

I smiled at the boys then looked back at Brock and suggested, “Maybe we should go in?”

“Yeah and hopefully me and my boys can haul all this in there without any of us getting a hernia,” Brock muttered, both his sons lost their battle with their humor and burst out laughing and then, eyes to his boys, Brock jerked his chin toward his mother’s house and they started marching. I fell in step beside Brock following them and heard him say under his breath, “Only I could find a woman who describes pies as ‘autumnal’.”

“Well, how would you describe maple buttermilk pie?” I asked.

“Babe, I’ve never had maple buttermilk pie but there are only three adjectives to describe any pie and those are bad, okay and f**kin’ great.”

“Then it’s good you work in law enforcement and not as a food critic,” I muttered.

“Yeah, that’s good,” he muttered back and I could hear the smile in his voice.

I watched Rex walk up his grandmother’s front walk cautiously carrying the bag with the boxed chocolate cake well away from one side of his body and the one with the cheesecake well away from the other lest they bump into his legs and get jostled. Then my eyes moved to Joel who had two bags, each with two carefully stacked pies in holders and he was also cautiously holding his arms away from his body. Then I looked down at Brock’s hands to see he had one bag with three carefully packed pies and another bag with two bottles of wine and a two liter of pop.

Then I considered the possibility that I might have gone overboard.

“Maybe I went overboard,” I murmured as we neared the front door.