Tumble (Dogwood Lane, #1)(44)

“Wow.”

“He mows her lawn a lot. I know that. My brother used to do it, but she didn’t need help this year.”

I look at Claire. “She’s baking him pie.”

“Is that an innuendo, or she’s actually baking him dessert?”

Laughing, I try to cover my mouth with my hand. “Actual pie, Claire.”

“Well, we are in the South. You get a casserole for everything. I can’t help but think a pie might be some kind of moral woman’s subtle cue. Like, ‘Here, sir. Try my pie.’” Claire bursts into a fit of giggles. “I need to go find a seat before I buy myself a ticket to Hell.”

“Good to see you, Claire.”

“Back at ya.”

I start down the aisle toward my mother, my cheeks flushed as I think of her using dessert as a sexual invitation, when Mia runs up to me. “Hi, Neely! I didn’t know you would be here.”

“Hey,” I say. “You look pretty today.”

“Thanks. So do you.” She smiles sweetly. “Want to sit with me and Dad?”

“Well . . .” I look up at her father. He and Matt are still talking, but both are watching me. There’s a pull across the church that draws me to the other side. I give in. “Let’s go say hello and then I’ll see. Sound good?”

“Yup.” She leads the way across the front of the church, past the piano, and to her family.

Matt whistles softly. “You look pretty this morning.”

“Why, thank you,” I tell him. “It’s my mother’s dress.” I pick at the oversize belt around my waist that’s partially an accessory and partially to make the thing fit. “How are you guys doing this morning?”

Before they can answer, Mia chimes in. “I’m going to go say hi to Keyarah and Madison. I’ll be back before the piano starts playing.” She darts to the back of the church, where her friends have just arrived.

Matt pulls at the collar of his shirt. “It’s hot in here. I’m going to get some water.”

Dane leans against the windowsill that looks over the back of the church. The view over his shoulder is almost as wonderful as he is. Foliage extends forever, dipping and rising with the hills. It’s the kind of view that’s inspired paintings for thousands of years.

“I didn’t know you’d be here today,” Dane says just loud enough for me to hear.

I pull my gaze away from the trees to him. “Mom didn’t give me much choice,” I admit. “But I probably would’ve come anyway. I’ve always liked this place.”

“Yeah. Me too. It’s why we don’t let Penn come. We don’t want it to burst into flames.”

Laughing, I feel my shoulders relax. “Are you staying for the potluck?”

“Are you kidding me? It’s the best Sunday in the month. These ladies know how to cook.”

The piano starts playing, alerting us to take our seats. Dane moves toward me. He hesitates, biting his lip before blowing out a breath. “Do you want to sit with us?”

My heart leaps in my chest as a clear indication I do. I want to sit with them. I want to sit with them so badly it actually hurts.

I want to hear them sing. Pass Mia a stick of gum when her daddy isn’t looking. Gaze around the church with Dane at my side and feel the peace this place gives me all at the same time.

But if I do, it will be one more memory I’ll have to deal with when I get back to New York.

“I better sit with Mom,” I say. “Thanks, though.”

His nod is subtle. So is the way his face falls.

The way my heart pulls isn’t so easy.

“See you after,” he says, turning toward his seat.

I watch him go and almost follow. As the pianist hits the second chorus, I get my bearings and head across the room toward my mom and Mr. Rambis.



“I can’t eat another bite.” I wave Lorene and her scoop of cobbler away. “It was amazing, but I’m going to pop if I eat any more.”

“You sure?” The ninety-year-old pianist’s hand shakes as she holds out another piece of dessert. “It’s the last one.”

“I’ll take it if she doesn’t want it.” Mr. Rambis comes up beside me. Lorene dumps the cobbler on his plate with a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome.” She teeters off toward a picnic table with a giant umbrella overhead.

The air is filled with scents of food and children’s laughter. The kids play a game of kickball in the field a few feet away. Amazingly, only one ball has intruded on the eating area, and I think Matt had something to do with that.

A woman walks by and asks to take my empty plate. I give it to her before turning back to my mother’s friend. “How’s the cobbler?” I ask before taking a sip of my sweet tea.

“Not as good as your mother’s pie.”

Choking so hard tea comes out of my nose, I cough in an attempt to clear my airways. Mr. Rambis pats me on the back.

“Are you all right?” he asks as I settle down.

“Yeah,” I say weakly. “I’ll be fine.” My eyes sting from the dramatics, and I blot them with the back of my hand. “Just got a little choked.”

“I was hoping we could have dinner one night before you leave,” he says. “I remember you as a child, but I’d like the chance to get to know you as an adult.”