Easy as Pie by M.J. Pullen

Author:M.J. Pullen [Pullen, M.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Freshwater Ink
Published: 2019-09-02T16:00:00+00:00

10

When she returned to the pub a few days later, Marlowe wasn’t sure what to expect. It was late Sunday afternoon, and the sun glinted off a smattering of cars in the Tipsy Trucker parking lot.

Marlowe gripped the takeout container of her famous pimiento cheese balls, hoping they were still warm from the fryer at the prep kitchen. Technically she wasn’t renting there today, but when she’d swung by with a basket full of new ingredients and a cold six-pack of beer, the guys from the corporate caterer using the space had let her slip in to try out a few new recipes. The fact that she passed around everything she was testing out for their opinion probably didn’t hurt either.

The pimiento balls for Kieran had been a last-minute decision, just as she was ready to head home. No matter how many new things she created, Marlowe always liked to end on something she did well. Walk away on a win, her dad used to say. Give yourself a reason to go back.

So, she stood over the fryer, watching the uneven little balls dance in the hot oil, turning golden, comforted by their familiar sputter and sizzle. She hardly knew they were for Kieran until she found herself pulling up outside the Tipsy Trucker.

Marlowe hesitated at the door, icy reluctance washing over her as she remembered her disastrous reception last time. But she was here, greasy balls in hand—no point turning back now. The pub was sparsely populated, with no local sporting events drawing in a Sunday afternoon crowd. There were a couple of older men playing checkers at one table, a foursome of bleary-eyed yuppies in golf visors at another, and a man in a button-up sitting across from a six-year-old in Mary Janes and a poufy dress.

Kieran came out from the office behind the bar as Marlowe’s eyes were adjusting to the dimmer light. He paused when he saw her, hazel eyes flicking to the box in her hand, then continued as though he hadn’t seen her, racking dishes and fiddling with papers in the till.

“As promised,” Marlowe said cheerfully, sliding the box across the bar. “My specialty.”

Kieran raised a dark brow. “You brought outside food into my pub. Where I make food. To sell.”

“You’re kidding, right?” she snarked back. “You did notice that you have a whole fleet of trucks in your parking lot selling outside food twice a month?”

He stared at the box, though, which Marlowe took to be a good sign. She opened the lid and slid it across to him, speaking in a soft singsong. “They’re freeeesh.”

Kieran gave her a dark look but reached for one of the hush-puppy-sized fritters, examining it the way a toddler looks at his first bite of broccoli. Marlowe bet Kieran was a damn cute baby—and where the hell did that thought come from?

She leaned forward as he bit into it, a tiny blob of sunshine-colored cheese escaping to the corner of his mouth. Her need for his approval was shameless at this point, at least when it came to food.

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