I stood in my kitchen, too wired to sit down. I was in a foul mood. Why had I let that shit fly out of my mouth? Why? It was like her goodness was beginning to rub off on me. All her sunshine crap. The need to show her the real me. Not the me where she thought I had no feelings. Boy, did I have plenty when I was touching her the way I had. How was I going to ever turn away from that?

I had more feelings than I knew what to do with. It was easier to ignore all of them. If I ignored that stuff and didn’t fall for anyone, I was better off. I’ve had my share of betrayal, loss and heartache with my parents, as well as Candi and the accident. I didn’t need more. Grace seemed to bring that out of me.

This didn’t even constitute whatever the hell Thatcher would have to say about it. He’d made it clear a few months ago when I’d brought her up at the feed store. Something about her walking to and from school. How pretty she’d looked and stuck up. I’d always got that impression from her. Anyway, he’d made it clear enough that I didn’t need to ask about her because he didn’t want me to go near her.

Hells bells, that was easier said than done.

She wasn’t hoity-toity like I thought.

I was realizing she was much more than that.

She was interesting. Full of contradictions. While she was into saying please and thank you, she had no problem listening to me fuck another woman. While she felt the need to bring over dessert, she suggested we hide whatever this was from her brother. While she pretended she was on top of the world, I sensed her loneliness. She happily received orgasms while she had cookies cooling. Although she acted like she didn’t need anyone, she looked to me for praise and honesty.

What if I broached the topic with Thatcher? Yeah, screw that. I was going crazy. Asking Thatcher if I could maybe fuck his little sister and admit that no, I wasn’t sure what else I wanted to do with her, was something I would not do under any circumstances. The idea sounded foolish even to me.

It took all my control not to finish what I’d started earlier. At least not the way I wanted when she hugged me. How was it that she was sticking to me? I wanted to give her more than the one orgasm. It was the little things she did that kept her in my mind. The way she spoke to the mutt. Come here baby, are you happy to see me? The way she baked. Jesus. Why hadn’t I stolen more than the one cookie? How obvious it was that she loved teaching even though she didn’t get paid squat. The way she reminded me of what it was like to be happy with someone else and have a companion.

I scrubbed my facial hair with my hand. That was the answer. I’ve known it all along, it was easy to forget it every time I didn’t see her. When she wasn’t around, I wanted to see her. When she was around, I wanted to be near her. The answer was to avoid her. Avoid her good stuff – all that that entailed – as well as her damn mutt. Avoid her sugary breath and those hugs of hers. Avoid seeing her braless and avoid the idea of playing with her tits with my hands, my mouth, my dick.

Avoid giving her orgasms.

I cracked open a beer and took a long pull. I had to get her and the mutt out of here. Permanently. That was the solution. Though I’d never been one to break under pressure, I feared how much longer I could go before I did more than go down her pants and do something that would fuck up my friendship with Thatch. Borderline, what I already did could very well be in the running.

Avoiding her was the only solution.

She wasn’t going to be happy but I had no other choice. The more I was around her, the more I wanted to put our relationship first and mine and Thatcher’s second.

Later that night, I heard her unlock the front door and usher her stray inside. I hadn’t seen any lost dog ads around town. Not even one at the feed store which was where everyone posted anything they wanted people to see. I was going to have to ask her about that.

By text.

Unfortunately, in this old house, everything could be heard through the thin doors. Walls too, if you asked Grace. There she went again talking to her damn mutt as if it could speak back to her. Here baby. I’ll be back in the morning. Settle down. Yeah, he’s here, I know. But we aren’t going to worry about that. Maybe someday he’ll let you sleep with him but for now, it’s the crate. I know, baby.

Dear God, her soft baby voice floated over the entire house. She just went on and on with him. Come on, baby. I’ll let you outside once more, then it’s bed. The sliding glass door vibrated the window panes in my room as she slid it open. The creak in the kitchen told me she didn’t go outside with the dog and as I laid there, I wondered what she would do if I strolled out there and kissed her.

She’d let me take what I wanted. I could taste her willingness across my tongue when I breathed her in. She would give herself so easily to me – just as she had at her apartment.

I wasn’t the only one surprised by this attraction. I knew she was just as shocked as I was. A second-grade teacher. A biker such as myself. It was far-fetched to think we could have anything. If I was in Thatcher’s shoes, I’d be warning my friends to stay the fuck away from her too.

Was that humming? Christ. She was humming in the kitchen and hearing the footfalls of her walking down the hallway, my heart and breath stilled.

“Maverick?”

“Grace?”

“Are you awake?”

“What do you want, Grace?”

“I left you some cookies on the counter.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Good night. I’m going to let Echo back in and head home. Unless…”

Unless? No. No unlesses. Not even.

“Good night, Grace.”

Her delicate sigh wafted over the door and even though something in my heart stuttered at that sigh, it made me smile. I could hear her silence. The things she wasn’t saying. Yeah, I felt them too. Not moving back down the hall yet. I could picture her cute face still and thoughtful as she held her hand on her hip deciding what her next move should be. She was something. So far, she’d been the one to shock me, I wouldn’t put it past her to do something else like that. Maybe walk in here naked? Especially because she seemed to have no qualms about going behind Thatcher’s back and sleeping with his best friend. Older best friend. We were twelve years apart and it didn’t feel like that.

Not one bit.

She wasn’t what my thirty-nine-year-old-self envisioned a twenty-seven-year-old female to be like. She wasn’t texting non-stop; she wasn’t calling all her girlfriends all the time and chatting incessantly like the girls I’d see at the grocery store. She sure as hell wasn’t out dating and going out clubbing. What had she told me? The few guys she’d fucked. Hmmm. How many guys had it been?

“Okay…well, good night, I guess. Maybe I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Grace.”

Finally, I heard her retreat. Once the sliding glass door opened and shut and I was certain she’d went out the front door, I got out of bed. Sure enough, there was a wrapped paper platter of the cookies from earlier sitting on my counter. No. I couldn’t eat them. This had to become a rule.

I peeled back the wrapper and my nostrils were filled with the fresh cookie scent from earlier. Maybe I could have just one. Then put the rule in place. I pulled one of the soft morsels from the platter. Unlike earlier, I took my time and noticed that I could feel how perfectly soft the cookie was. My stomach growled and because no one would know but me, I ate it. Savoring every bit of white chocolate and nut as it played over my tongue.

Just one. That was it. That was the last time.

For added effect, I threw the entire platter into the trash. Damn, that was vicious. Sad to see the cookies go, but it was going to be worse if I was in a perpetual state of being pussy-whipped with my hands tied behind my back.

I had to avoid her kitchen skills. Much like I had to avoid conversation with her.

So that was what I did. The entire week went by and I avoided Grace and all of her baked goods. A few times she came over and I was home but I’d managed to avoid conversation because I pretended to be busy with the bike in the garage or I quickly hopped on my bike, claiming I had somewhere I had to be. Almost every day, except her last day of school, she brought something over. Apple pie, these little lemon things with sugar sprinkled on top, apple fritters and then more cookies.

Every fucking day I threw them all away. I considered taking them with me into the feed store but I worried Thatcher would figure out who was making them. What if lemon with sugar sprinkled on top was her signature dessert? Or the apple pie that she claimed was her specialty? Didn’t all cooks have some kind of signature dish? I couldn’t risk it.

I was already too conscious of how attuned to her I was. When I’d seen Thatcher yesterday, I felt guilty enough that I could have sworn he knew what was going on with Grace. Every time she came over, she chatted about…well, everything. The Founder’s Day Picnic, which happened tomorrow. She talked about how her school day was. How the elementary copy machine was on the fritz and because the school year was winding down, the principal didn’t want to do anything about it. She talked about why some parent volunteers were better than others. Why she couldn’t stand Dixie because they’d discussed their salaries with each other in confidence and when Dixie realized she wasn’t paid as much as Grace, she complained to the principal. Which made Grace look bad and frankly, I didn’t care for the bitch either after that.

Every day that I seen her, wearing modest length skirts that hugged her hips and ass like a stocking, I couldn’t help but want her more. Her tops that covered her boobs so bad, you’d think they were Fort Knox. I didn’t get why she hid them. There was nothing more I’d like to do than bend her over my Harley and fuck her into silence. I wanted to silence her into passion. Oblivion. Into a place I knew there’d be no coming back from.

On Saturday, after I finished attaching the seat to the motorcycle, I showered and made my way to the Founder’s Day Picnic in the Park. Lone Star had a large park where the community center was located – the park went around the building. Inside the park was the swimming pool, a children’s playground, the community center as well as a tennis and basketball court.

Today, it was jam-packed with rectangular tables that were covered in red and white checkered table cloths. On top of each table, there were old-fashioned milk jugs decorated with red, white and blue party confetti, and a single, small American flag. A few tents had been set up, where, if it was anything like the previous years, the food and cake were held. A larger tent was set off to the side and because of the rows of chairs set up, I knew that had to be where the pie auction was going to take place.

I made my way to the tent, amidst the chatter of children and adults. I shook hands with the few guys I knew from work and said hello to their wives before I found nice old Mrs. Reynolds manning the auction booth.

“Mrs. Reynolds, how are you?”

“Doing just fine, Mr. Carter. How are you today?” I knew Mrs. Reynolds because she was one of the ladies that had requested I make her a bench by using the headboard of an old bed frame.

“I’m good. I’d like to get a bid number, please.”

“No problem. Sign your name there and, what number is that? Okay, let me write your number on your sign.”

I signed my name as she instructed and watched her while she wrote my bid number on the sign. It was in the shape of a flag and had been stapled to a painter’s stir stick.

“Did you know I still hold the record for the highest bid Lone Star has ever seen on a pie?” she asked me in a proud voice.

“I might have heard something about that,” I said.

“Four-hundred and ninety-five dollars. Isn’t that something for a town like this?”

“Absolutely. While I’m happy it’s been you to hold the title this long, I find it hard to believe there hasn’t been another person in this town to out-bid that amount.”

“Considering it will all go to charity, I’m surprised too. There you are. You know the rules, right? Hold your sign up if you want to place a bid and the auctioneer will handle the rest.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m familiar with the process. Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds.”

“Oh, anytime I can help out a strapping young stud such as yourself, the pleasure is all mine.” She clasped a hand to her heart and I chuckled.

“Thank you.”

“Good luck on your bidding,” she said.

The chairs were starting to fill up and I grabbed a seat toward the back. I saw Miranda and Ryan near the front, close to the stage, but saw that there weren’t any extra seats nearby. Grace sat in her designated seat up there, her blonde hair had been pulled up into a pony tail and she was wearing a tank top with an American flag splashed on the front. She was chatting with the two women next to her, one on either side of her.

There were two tables for the ten entrants to sit at and each person had their pie sitting directly in front of them with a small number designation for the bidders to know which was which. Grace was number seven. Grace was by far the youngest – who held the record of being the youngest winner?

“Welcome, Bidders. I’m Melissa Eva and I am the coordinator for the Pie Auction. Please take your seats, as we are going to start the bids right away. All the pies are numbered and we will begin with pie number one and work our way down to ten. I hope you’ve come prepared as all the money raised from the auction will go toward a not-for-profit organization. As per Lone Star’s custom, the person with the highest winning bid out of the ten pies, gets to choose what charity they would like to see the money go to.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off Grace. She had a mega-watt smile plastered on her face and I felt my mouth doing the same. Her eyes locked on mine and she raised her hand in a small wave. I smiled and tilted my head back in greeting.

“I have twenty. Do I hear twenty-five? Looking for twenty-five. I have twenty-five. Do I hear thirty for the strawberry pie? I have thirty. Do I hear thirty-five? Fifty, folks! I have fifty. Do I hear fifty-five? Fifty-five, folks. I have fifty. Anyone? Let’s keep going. I have fifty. Do I hear fifty-five? This bid is going to close at fifty. Going once, going twice and it’s sold for fifty dollars to bidder number 471.”

The bidding went on in this fashion. Pie number four had the lead so far with one-hundred and eighty dollars for a peach pie. Finally, Grace’s pie was up next and a strange sense of pride flowed through me as I watched her sit up straighter and fold her hands in her lap.

“Bidding is open for an apple pie. You sir, in the third row back. Yes, you. He’s got forty. Way to start the bidding. I have forty. Do I have fifty? I have fifty? I’m just going to throw this out there, folks, what about eighty? Do I hear eighty? Eighty it is!”

I watched around the small crowd as a few people bid on her pie. It was up to one-sixty and didn’t show signs of slowing down. In the background, the auctioneer asked for two-hundred and on its own accord, my bid sign went up.

“Two-fifty,” I said. I spared a glance in Grace’s direction and I couldn’t tell if she was excited or annoyed. She wasn’t flashing me her mega-watt smile, that was for sure.

“You in the back, do you want to bid again? It’s at three-ten. Sure seems like we have a lot of apple pie lovers in the crowd today. I have three hundred and ten dollars; do I hear three-twenty-five?”

“Three-fifty,” I heard myself saying.