Chapter 7

seven

CANDACE

“Candy, honey, you alright?”

My mother’s words pulled my attention away from the meandering path it had taken.

I smiled. “Yeah, Mom. I’m good. How’s your book?”

We were on her screened porch this morning, the fan off since it was in the low sixties. I wore a pale blue sweatshirt, and Mom was wrapped up in a plaid robe she’d had since I was in middle school.

It turned out that my mother did still drink her tea out here most mornings. And when I’d asked if I could join her, she’d been extremely pleased. So, now I moseyed over from the garage apartment around 7:00 a.m. and brought my e-reader.

Some mornings we sipped our tea and read in companionable silence for half an hour, and others we chatted. I loved having this time with her. I’d missed out on so much over the years. Subtleties and nuance you couldn’t really capture over the phone or on a video call.

Out here on the porch, with the birds chirping and the fog settled like a cozy blanket in the valley, it was the most relaxed my mother ever got. She was a hard worker and always busy with the orchard and the business and church and the community. Amy Judd was a go-getter. Seeing her at ease was something special and rare, and I loved these moments, just the two of us.

While Mom filled me in on the thriller she had spread across her lap, I couldn’t help but wonder how many of these mornings I had left.

I should definitely be job hunting—at least seeing what was out there. If I kept to my timeline, I had less than four months to track something down and go through the lengthy interview process. But part of me—likely the one currently enjoying tea with my momma—didn’t want to limit my options moving forward. There were opportunities a little closer to home. I could always job hunt in Atlanta or Nashville, or heck, even in Charlotte.

My parents loved visiting New York and seeing the sights. They were always interested in checking out the places I frequented and eager to spend time in the city together. But maybe they’d enjoy having me within driving distance. Surely, they’d still see me as successful even if I was no longer based in NYC.

Mom had just started retelling the part where she’d screamed and thrown her book when the screen door banged open, making us both jump.

But it was only Joan standing in the doorway. She looked like she’d just finished up her run. Her light gray tee shirt was dark in places with sweat, and the ball cap on her head was tugged low over her eyes. She had a tiny stub of a mostly gray ponytail sticking out of the back. And the scowl she wore had me swallowing uneasily.

I hadn’t heard from my sister since the staff meeting, two weeks ago. She’d avoided me at work, and she hadn’t joined us for dinner in the farmhouse once.

Joan had even evaded me at the Orchard Festival planning meeting two days ago. I’d found a seat by myself in the conference room at the Kirby Falls Public Library and taken diligent notes in my trusty notebook while the chairwoman of the committee had gone over festival procedures for vendors. Growing up, I’d always loved the Orchard Fest, and I was excited to work the event with my family this weekend.

It hurt to think my sister was so upset about my involvement with the farm that she was staying away as a result. That she’d basically rather have my input over her dead body .

“I’ll go along with the Friday night food trucks and Candy’s pumpkin-patch thing,” Joan announced loudly and robotically, as if she’d practiced the words and hoped I’d be across a ravine when she delivered them.

I felt my eyes go wide in surprise, but I did my best to rein it in.

Joan continued, “We’re already open through Halloween anyway. But there should be a budget, and Candy should call Will over at Grandpappy’s to see if they have any excess produce they’re interested in unloading. He’ll give us a fair price.”

Then she turned and exited just as abruptly as she arrived, the screen door snapping shut behind her.

Mom and I turned to glance at one another, our shock mutual, but my mother recovered quicker than I could.

She called out to my sister’s slender retreating form, “You coming for dinner? I’m making spaghetti.”

That was a low blow, I thought. Spaghetti was Joanie’s favorite. Mom made the sauce and the meatballs from scratch, and Joan used to request it for every one of her birthday dinners as far as I could recall.

At my mother’s invitation, Joan paused her long-legged stride.

Mom shot me a knowing look and a sly wink.

My sister muttered something under her breath that I was too far away to hear before calling over her shoulder, “Fine. I’ll be there.”

“Have a good day, honey,” Mom hollered back, and I fought a smile.

Then I didn’t bother fighting it because my sister was speaking to me again. Well, speaking in my general direction. Maybe I could get more out of her at dinner tonight. But the most surprising development was that Joan had agreed to the pumpkin patch. I was thrilled. And I was confident that moving forward with it would have a big impact on the orchard.

I couldn’t wait to get to work. The budget would be upheld, and I’d call over to Grandpappy’s like my sister wanted. They’d been on my potential vendor list anyway. I hadn’t been to the big farm across the highway in nearly a decade, but I knew my parents were friendly with the Clarks, who ran the place .

“Thanks for the tea, Mom,” I said happily, rising from my chair and heading toward the kitchen so I could put my mug in the dishwasher. “I better get started on the pumpkin patch.”

My mother smiled back. “You have a good day, too, Candy.”

I was in such a good mood that I didn’t even mind it when the nickname slipped out.

I’d been loitering in the Apple House rather than my office, hoping to catch Mark, when he drove by. I had my laptop, cell phone, and my worn notebook laid out on the worktable.

When he spotted me beneath the covered awning, waving like a dork, he pivoted away from whatever task he’d been in the middle of and walked toward me. I watched as he glanced at the ground, but not before I caught the edge of a smile.

As I waited, my eyes drifted over Mark’s body as he moved. His blue Judd’s Orchard tee shirt was worn and threadbare, the sleeves straining around his defined biceps. He wore a five-panel hat that covered his dark blond hair, for the most part. The light-wash denim encasing his powerful thighs shifted as he bounded up the stairs of the Apple House’s front porch.

“Hey,” he said in greeting.

I dragged my horny eyes away because, oh my God, I’d totally been checking him out...for an embarrassingly long time. What was wrong with me?

Clearing the residual embarrassment from my throat, I finally managed an awkward, “Hey! Hi!” in return. Good Lord.

“What’s up?” he asked, his blue-gray eyes sparkling, if I wasn’t mistaken. “You looked like you had some news.”

Oh, right.

“Yes! Joan came by this morning while Mom and I were having tea, and she agreed to the pumpkin patch. And Food Truck Friday. I’m getting started on everything. ”

“That’s great,” Mark said. “We talked a little about it. I’m going to work on getting the blackberries ready in the space behind the Apple House. They might not be ready next July for the u-pick operation though. New blackberries can be sour for a few seasons. But it’ll be good to get them started—plan for the future. That space will work great, and it gets plenty of sun. I can bring clippings from some of the plants I have at home.”

I frowned. “We’ll compensate you for that.” He was already shaking his head, but I persisted. “No, I don’t want you to put yourself out. And I can help with the planting. You don’t need to take this on if it’s going to add to your workload.”

“It’s okay. We’ll start small. They don’t require a whole lot of maintenance once we get them set up. And you can help if you’d like.”

Smiling, I said, “Thanks, I would.” And then his prior words registered. “You have a garden at home?”

Mark nodded and put a hand in his jeans pocket before taking it back out again. “Yeah. Mostly vegetables, but I grow some fruit too.”

“Let me guess. You dabble?”

He grinned at my teasing and then finally let out a chuckle.

I suddenly wondered how big and impressive this home garden really was. I’d bet my largemouth bass that Mark’s backyard was a thing of beauty, a rural work of art. The more I learned about this man, the more I realized he was totally competent and proficient, and he excelled at whatever he put his mind to.

It was that surety that made it so hard to fathom Mark’s situation with Hannah and their daughter. Whatever happened there must have been serious. I couldn’t imagine steady and reliable Mark Mercer being anything but totally involved and utterly devoted to his child—no matter the distance or the circumstance.

Guilt had me glancing down at the worn worktable between us. “You don’t get all your farming in at work?”

“I like to bring my work home with me,” he said, pride evident in his tone.

It was nice to see him smile, to talk about something he obviously enjoyed.

I’d been worried after our last conversation on Saturday, at the farmers’ market. I’d gone and asked about him being a dad and made things awkward. Mark’s entire demeanor had changed, going stiff and becoming closed off. I couldn’t say I blamed him. His personal life wasn’t any of my business. We were co-workers, and, at times, it seemed like we were becoming friends. He had my back on my ideas for the orchard, and he was close with my whole family.

But I never should have assumed I had the right to ask about certain things. Parenthood was clearly a touchy subject for him. Despite what Bonnie had relayed during our lunch together, I had no idea what his actual situation was with Hannah and their daughter.

Gossip wasn’t gospel, after all.

Without much thought beyond hoping to keep that tiny smile on Mark’s face, I blurted, “I’m planning on taking a late lunch and going down to Apollo’s to talk to Magdaline about booking their food truck for the first Food Truck Friday this month. Want to come with me?”

At my abrupt subject change and graceless invitation, Mark’s expression dimmed. He clearly had some reservations about joining me. Maybe he was worried I’d corner him with more intrusive questions about his life.

“What time are you thinking? Apollo’s will be packed for lunch,” he said, shifting restlessly on his work-boot-clad feet.

“Oh, not until two or two thirty. I don’t want to take up their time when they’re so busy.”

At my words, Mark’s expression smoothed out and his shoulders lowered incrementally. “Okay,” he finally replied. “That sounds good.”

By the time two o’clock rolled around, I wasn’t nervous about driving us downtown and spending my lunch break with Mark. I’d been too distracted and busy with work. Now that I had the green light from Joan, a few of my maybes and wait and sees were actually happening. I was doing further research, networking, and contacting potential vendors and local businesses to make these new undertakings a reality for Judd’s Orchard.

When Mark and I walked into Apollo’s, it was clear that the lunchtime rush had passed. There were three occupied tables and no employees in sight. We waited by the hostess stand while I breathed in the glorious scent of cheese and carbs .

“It’s nice that some things haven’t changed,” I said quietly, eyes scanning the space of one of my family’s longtime favorite restaurants. Growing up, we’d eaten here for Brady’s birthday nearly every year. Mrs. Kouides would bring out a huge slice of chocolate cake with sparkling candles and lead the restaurant in a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday to You.” I had memories from special occasions and casual pizza-night dinners too.

My eyes lingered on the vacant booth in the back corner of the restaurant. The black vinyl was worn and there was a framed photo of the Aegean Sea on the adjacent wall. I’d brought Lo here the summer after our junior year. Her boyfriend, Joey, had cheated on her with Amber Wilson after prom. She’d found out, and I’d brought her to Apollo’s to cheer her up...and to talk her out of keying Joey’s Mustang. We’d eaten two slices of Mrs. Kouides’s famous baklava cheesecake, and, in the end, she’d egged Joey’s car while I’d been visiting my grandmother in Virginia.

“Well, some things have changed,” Mark said, just as quietly. “They have that new sign out front, and Mr. Kouides took pastitsio off the menu after Gladys Oakley posted a copycat recipe in the Kirby Falls Facebook group.”

I snorted. “God, that group is unhinged.”

Mark’s eyes crinkled at the corners in amusement as he slid me a glance. “It really is. And, you know, they started charging for parking on Main Street.”

Gasping dramatically, I clutched the imaginary pearls at the base of my throat. “I bet the Facebook group had a lot to say about that.”

Mark rolled his lips between his teeth while nodding. “Oh yeah. There was an organized boycott of downtown businesses and everything.”

I sighed and shook my head. Then I considered what he’d actually said. “Wait. They charge for parking now?”

“Yeah. All street parking is paid.”

“Shit,” I murmured. “I need to go out and pay.”

“It’s an app, not a parking meter. I can show you. You just need your license plate number.”

“I’ll go grab that,” I offered. We were in Mom’s Passat, and I had no idea what the plate number was. “If Magdaline comes out, tell her I’ll be right back to chat. I called ahead. She’s expecting us.”

Then I hurried out the front door before Mark could protest further or offer to take care of it himself.

Three minutes later, I’d successfully scanned the QR code on the parking sign I’d missed and navigated the app to avoid getting a ticket from local law enforcement.

I was walking the half block back to Apollo’s on the sidewalk when someone stepped out of a nearby business, directly into my path. I pulled up short as did the woman who’d exited.

She was wearing all black, from her flowy tee shirt to her sneakered feet. The familiar head of curly blond hair whipped around at the abrupt sound that left my lips.

“Lo,” I sort of squeaked.

A heavy beat of silence passed while we looked at each other.

“Candy, hey,” my former best friend eventually said, and for the first time in our long and disjointed history, I couldn’t read her expression. “I heard you were back.”

I had the urge to lunge forward and wrap my arms around her. To tell her I’d missed her and it was so good to see her face.

I’d kept up with her on social media, but her posts were rare and impersonal—a random share for a local business or a funny meme. She hardly ever posted pictures of herself or her family.

It was also through social media that I learned Lo and Joey McClain had married two years after high school graduation. I hadn’t been invited, but Lauren and Joey had been tagged in other people’s photos. I remembered seeing those pictures on my way back from class and sitting down in the stairwell of my dorm, scrolling in disbelief.

Lo had worn a short white dress with spaghetti straps while Joey dressed in church attire—khakis and a white button-up with a striped tie. They’d looked like kids, and I couldn’t believe she’d married someone without telling me. Her sisters had been her bridesmaids, and I could still recall the way that had stabbed at my heart. I hadn’t been there. She hadn’t asked me.

When we’d had our epic, last-blast road trip, we’d ended up in New York at the end of the summer, two weeks before the beginning of my first semester at Columbia. I’d been so excited for school to start, and maybe I hadn’t hidden that well enough.

Lo was destined for the community college twenty minutes from Kirby Falls. She was planning on living at home and saving money. Education had never been high on her priority list. Our dreams had ultimately been very different.

The plan had been for Lo to stay with me and help me move into my dorm room. My parents were driving up with a boatload of stuff, but not for another week or so. I’d wanted that time to settle into my new life, but also to find a way to say goodbye to my old one—to say goodbye to Lo.

In the end, she’d saved me the trouble.

There hadn’t been a fun move-in montage with trips to Target for bedding and posters. I never even got the chance to pretend Lo was my roommate until the real one showed up. As soon as we’d rolled into the city, my friend parked in front of my building and told me goodbye.

“We should just call it,” she’d said. We’d had a great summer—a last hoorah. I was her best friend, but our lives were going in different directions. There was no sense in trying to keep in touch. Lo had called it pointless . Said we’d grow apart no matter what. School breaks wouldn’t be enough, and it wouldn’t be the same, so we should just stop while we were ahead.

Initially, I’d been too stunned to question it, but then I’d found my voice—gotten angry and started crying. Lauren had been stoic and sure in the driver’s seat, her mind made up without any input from me.

She’d treated me like a high school boyfriend—someone not worth the time or energy of trying long distance with. But I hadn’t been just some boy she was dating—those came and went. We’d had a decade and a half of friendship. You didn’t throw that away—or at least, that was what I’d thought.

I still remembered standing on a cement sidewalk with a backpack on and a suitcase at my feet, watching my best friend in the world drive away. The soundtrack to my arrival on campus had been the sound of an engine and my own angry tears.

I’d heard later from my mom that Lo dropped out of college and got a job doing hair.

Belatedly, I realized the building my former friend had rushed out of was the Hairport, a beauty shop in downtown Kirby Falls. Of course. That made sense.

Instead of reaching for her, I crossed my arms over my chest. “It’s good to see you. How have you been?”

“Good,” Lo replied shortly.

I lifted my chin toward the building behind her. “You’re at the Hairport?”

She nodded stiffly. “I do the best color in two counties.”

I could feel my throat closing up at how painfully impersonal this was. Like I hadn’t borrowed clothes from this person. Watched her smoke a cigarette when we were fifteen and then held her hair while she puked for half the night. As if she hadn’t come to my house for dinner at least once a week our entire childhood. Like I was just some stranger asking intrusive questions that any resident in two counties already knew the answers to.

Forcing a smile, I managed, “Well, you were always really good at doing hair.”

She’d braided and twisted my own into an elaborate style before the homecoming dance our senior year. Something she’d seen in a magazine and was able to recreate flawlessly.

Lauren’s black sneakers shifted impatiently on the pavement.

In a rush of fear that she’d be gone again from my life just as suddenly as she had reappeared, I blurted out recklessly, with no thought of self-preservation, “Would you want to get coffee sometime and catch up? I—I—I can see that you’re in a rush, on your way somewhere. But maybe when you have time, we could get together.”

The silence stretched as Lo watched me struggle through the invitation. Whereas a moment before I couldn’t read her expression, now her emotion was plain enough to see .

After a pitying sigh, Lauren said, “We’re in really different places, Candy. I have a husband and two kids at home and not a lot of free time to grab drinks or coffee or brunch or whatever you usually do to catch up.”

She said catch up like she thought I was hoping to convert her to Scientology or maybe get her in on the ground floor of my pyramid scheme. Instead of just hoping to try to know someone again—a person I used to know as well as I knew myself.

Although, maybe that wasn’t right. Perhaps I hadn’t known Lauren Walker at all because I never thought she would have been capable of leaving me alone in a new city and quitting our friendship cold turkey. Lo could be mercenary and painfully practical. She held grudges like a security blanket and didn’t take shit from anyone. But in all our years of friendship, she’d never directed that part of herself at me. She’d defended me ruthlessly.

In the end, I’d felt like a cliché, and worse, an oblivious one. It was natural for friendships to fade away—especially following high school graduation. Long distance was hard to maintain for a romantic relationship, why wouldn’t it be difficult for a friendship as well? Not that I’d ever gotten the chance to find out.

I’d been ignorant to think our lives wouldn’t drift apart. I remembered feeling so stupid for being blindsided by what anyone could have probably seen coming, and then dumber still for being hurt by it.

The truth was, I’d never understood the reason for my quick excision from Lo’s life.

And standing on a similar sidewalk—this time in my hometown—I couldn’t comprehend the brush-off now. But instead of arguing or crying, I simply replied, “Sure. Okay.”

“I need to run,” Lo said.

“Right,” I rasped. My throat was doing that closing-up thing and I was barely getting air, so I wasn’t sure how that word managed to escape but it had, and I could feel my face flush as a result.

“Welcome home, Candy.” And then Lo turned and left me behind just as easily as she’d done it the first time .

I didn’t mean to stare after her like a dramatic teenager, but I honestly had a hard time remembering what I was doing out here.

Farther down the block, a figure stepped out onto the path—a strong, solid form. Mark .

Shit. Mark. We were supposed to be at Apollo’s talking to Magdaline about the food truck. Seeing Lo had?—

Lo passed by him just then, and I was close enough to see the way his eyes narrowed beneath the bill of his hat in recognition and then his gaze hurriedly searched the surrounding area until he found me, standing statue-still beneath an awning and incapable of putting one foot in front of the other.

Mark strode in my direction, his gait confident and sure but his expression hard.

God, I hoped he wasn’t mad that I’d kept him waiting.

I told myself to get it together, and eventually, my feet got the message. Mark and I met in the middle and drifted toward the side of the path so that any foot traffic could easily maneuver around us.

“I’m so sorry,” I practically yelled at the same time Mark said, “Are you okay?”

His softly uttered question was at odds with his intense stare and tight jaw. His words and genuine concern had all those messy feelings and throat-clenching tendencies of mine roaring back with a vengeance.

I wanted to be normal about this. Nothing had happened, not really. I ran into someone I used to know. I was being ridiculous by giving the exchange so much weight. It wasn’t like losing Lo all those years ago.

Yet the truth was, I wanted to cry. Not just for the brush-off this afternoon, but for the girl I’d been seven years ago, for the friendship I’d mourned. How I’d called for months and hadn’t gotten so much as a text in return. All those times I’d woken up crying in my sleep, sitting up afterward feeling embarrassed and disoriented in my dorm room. How those dreams filled with memories of Lo and home had gone on longer than I ever had anticipated. The way I’d tried to make new friends at a new school in a new city all while grieving a loss I didn’t understand.

In my experience, losing a best friend was so much harder than losing a boyfriend. Maybe I’d never loved a boy that much, or maybe I’d known that finding your soulmate in the form of a friend was much rarer.

“Of course. I’m fine,” I finally said, but fine came out with hardly any sound, just the shape of the word on my lips and tears pooling in my eyes.

Mark didn’t do the panicked guy thing when presented with a woman’s emotions. He just nodded, as reliable and assured as he did everything else. And then he stepped forward and wrapped me up in a hug.

I held on tight, my arms going around his waist, thankful and mortified and everything in between. I rested my chin on his shoulder and noted, gratefully, that I didn’t see Lo’s retreating form anywhere.

Mark was so warm and strong. I felt protected, inside and out. Like he wasn’t just shielding my body but keeping my heart safe and secure as well. Mark was always careful and controlled; whereas, I was open and free with my affection. I patted arms and gave hugs and whacked shoulders and kissed cheeks.

I supposed I should have been embarrassed by Mark’s pity hug and my display of emotions that had elicited it. But, somehow, I didn’t think he was judging me.

He rubbed soothing circles on my upper back. I felt his calloused palms catch on the fabric of my tee shirt every so often, and I liked the contrast between his strength and how gentle he was capable of being.

“I’m being silly,” I said, my voice steady once more.

“No, you’re not.” Mark’s words were a quiet rumble against my chest. “Is that the first time you’ve run into her?”

I nodded. “It’s just been a long time,” I tried and failed to explain. He’d obviously recognized Lo. I didn’t need to explain who she was to me. Apparently, he remembered. “It wasn’t the reunion I guess I’d been hoping for.”

The truth was, I hadn’t even known I was holding out hope where Lo was concerned. Of course, I’d thought about what it would be like to see her again. That daydream had been on repeat often in the early days.

Maybe now that reality had passed, shattering every imagined scenario, I could stop wondering. I could finally close the door on my friendship with Lo and all those what-ifs and what-might-have-beens . I hadn’t realized how much hope had sneaked through by leaving that door propped open .

Yet her sudden appearance and swift rejection had been a pretty effective one-two punch. It wasn’t a knockout, but I was floundering on the ropes.

It was nice to have a steadying hand while I recovered.

“I’m sorry, Candace.” And then a weighty pause. “It’s hard to lose a friend, no matter how much time has passed. When you’ve been through a lot together, it takes a long time to tuck it all away. Forgetting is never really an option.”

Oh, God. Mark and Hannah .

I blew out a long breath and squeezed him tight.

My loss had been nothing compared to Mark’s. He’d lost a friend and a wife in Hannah Price. I didn’t know what had happened in their divorce or what their relationship was like now. It wasn’t my business. But it didn’t sound like they were on good terms. With so much between them—a marriage and a child—I couldn’t imagine returning to friendship or remaining amicable. Some situations were just too complicated and difficult.

Or maybe I was making assumptions all around. Maybe he wasn’t even talking about Hannah.

But I thought he must be.

The truth of his loss wasn’t owed to me. I was just grateful for his comfort, his friendship here and now.

Without offering any explanations, Mark pulled back. “We’ll try Apollo’s another day. Let’s go somewhere else. Somewhere I think you’ll like.”

Confused and disoriented by the shift in conversation, I regarded him warily. “Okay.”

Mark ducked inside the restaurant to let Magdaline know we’d reschedule our meeting. When he returned to my side, he held out his hand. “Keys?”

Fifteen quiet minutes later, we pulled into a small shopping center in Miller Creek. I eyed the building as Mark shifted the Passat into park.

“I think it was a burrito place back in high school.”

“I think you’re right,” I murmured, squinting to see the sign over the door.

It wasn’t a burrito place now .

At the realization, I turned my head to look at Mark. He was already waiting, bracing for my expression.

“You brought me to a pie shop?”

Mark’s thumb tapped a beat on the steering wheel, and he looked a little unsure. “I thought you might like it. I don’t know if they have Oreo mousse, but their apple pie is really good. And their sweet potato pie too. Well, everything I’ve tried here has been?—”

“Thank you,” I interrupted. My smile was on the wobbly side, but I was determined not to cry anymore today.

Mark had done such a nice thing for me. He’d remembered my favorite pie and brought me somewhere to make me feel better.

“This is perfect,” I assured him.

Pied Piper’s was bright and cheerful on the inside. I took in the picnic blanket–patterned tablecloths and the gallery wall jam-packed with mismatched frames of all sizes featuring illustrations of pastries and baked goods. It felt modern and fun, and I liked it immediately.

The employee behind the counter had pink hair and dark-rimmed glasses and welcomed us with a friendly smile and a bright hello.

Mark and I approached the dessert case, and I found an assortment of pies. My gaze lingered on the key lime and fruit pies, but then my attention found its way to a half-filled pie tin on the bottom row. The pale filling looked whipped and fluffy, but the glossy chocolate stripes on top were decadent and rich. I knew what I was ordering.

“I’ll have a slice of the Peanut Butter Paradise Pie, please,” I told the worker.

She grinned. “That’s my favorite.”

“Same for me,” Mark said, and before I had a chance to react, he’d slipped some cash across the counter.

Instead of fighting him on it, I took the gift he’d given me—more than a slice of four-dollar pie on a Wednesday afternoon. A reprieve. A balm for my tender heart.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, squeezing his arm gently in gratitude .

Mark’s eyes were soft when he nodded, concern still lingering around the edges.

We took our slices, neatly arranged on vintage plates, and found a booth next to the window.

Mark waited while I took my first bite, as if to ensure he’d made the right decision bringing me here for carbs and comfort.

I closed my eyes as the cool sweetness flooded my mouth. The flavors blended perfectly as the slightly bitter chocolate swirled in among the creamy peanut butter filling. I may have moaned a little at the taste.

When I opened my eyes, Mark was still watching, his own pie untouched.

His gaze snapped up from my lips, and he quickly cleared his throat. “How is it?”

I smiled. “Amazing. Try it.”

And he did.

We ate our pie at a small booth, where our knees brushed any time we moved. In between bites, Mark told me about finding this place and bringing pies to the holidays and celebrations he spent with my family. I asked him about the occasions I’d missed over the last few years, and he filled me in.

I felt a pang at hearing the moments Mark described. I’d been in a city far away, probably eating bites of takeout in between working or studying. And for what? So the family I loved could say they were proud of my work ethic and my commitment? After all this time—years gone by in sacrifice—I couldn’t say if it was worth it. Actually, I knew the answer. I just didn’t want to think it too loudly.

I pushed my doubts aside for the time being and listened as Mark recounted the time my dad burned a perfect circle in the backyard when he tried to deep-fry a turkey for Thanksgiving.

As we talked and laughed for the next twenty minutes, I couldn’t help but think Mark had done what he set out to do. The encounter with Lo had settled into a fresh bruise, no longer the open wound it had been. I was feeling better, but it hadn’t really been about the pie.

Mark’s thoughtfulness in bringing me here made all the difference .

Now that I considered it, I was a little embarrassed by our conversation over the weekend when I’d said a pie restaurant was what I missed most about my time in New York. I hadn’t been lying or anything, but what did that say about the life I’d left behind or how I’d been living it?

I didn’t have close friends in the city anymore. My friends from college were scattered around the country. I had work colleagues and acquaintances, former professors, and references. There was definitely no one keeping in touch from Blakely Hammond Marketing on the Upper West Side.

Mark was sweet to remember that I had a soft spot for pie, and I appreciated the comfort he’d given me today when I’d needed it, along with the marked lack of judgment.

Of course, I wished things had gone differently with Lo. There was even a part of me that wished I’d just risked the parking ticket and stayed inside Apollo’s with Mark in the first place.

But then another louder and more insistent part argued that I would have missed out on this—the unexpected detour, the conversation, Mark’s sweetness that rivaled the pie, and knowing what it felt like to be in his arms.