Chapter 11: Blackberry Peach Pie

AVA

Mr. Brentstone and I each stared out the window silently for the entire drive.

Miles pulled into a parking lot next to a small midcentury-looking restaurant. There was a tall post in front of it holding a big neon sign that said Georgia’s Diner.

Mr. Brentstone got out before we’d fully come to a stop, and he opened my door for me once again. I couldn’t help but smile. I wasn’t used to such chivalry.

We walked into the diner, and before we had a chance to look around, a short, heavyset lady came running up to us and enclosed Mr. Brentstone in a warm, motherly hug.

“There’s my Russy boy! I’ve missed you so much! It’s been way too long!”

“It’s been two weeks,” he mouthed to me, rolling his eyes. It made me giggle.

The woman let go of Mr. Brentstone and walked over to me, cupping my face in both hands. “Aren’t you lovely! Are you the lucky lady that’s finally tied him down?”

I blushed and waved the assumption away. “Oh, no, nothing like that.”

“This is Ava. She’s one of my employees,” Mr. Brentstone clarified.

“Oh well. Never say never.” Georgia winked at me. “You two would make a lovely couple.”

I looked at my feet, not knowing how to respond.

Mr. Brentstone cleared his throat. “We’re here for your famous blackberry peach pie. Any tables for two left?”

Georgia gasped dramatically. “Oh, how lovely. Of course, dear. Follow me.”

She ushered us to a booth by the window. We scooted in, and a young boy brought us a pitcher of homemade sweet tea and two glasses.

“The pie is Georgia’s specialty,” Mr. Brentstone said. “She created the recipe when I was a little boy and tweaked it over the years to make it the absolute best.”

I slapped my hand over my mouth in surprise. “Wait, Georgia is your mom?!”

Mr. Brentstone shook his head. “My mom’s best friend. She practically raised my brother and me. She has no kids of her own, much to her dismay. So it worked out well for all of us.”

I looked over at Georgia. She oozed motherly vibes. It made me feel kind of sad thinking she never got to have children of her own.

“Are they still close, your mother and Georgia?”

Mr. Brentstone’s face hardened. “My mom died when I was very little. That’s when Georgia took over raising us.”

My heart skipped a beat. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” I was trying very hard not to grab his hand to console him. “Would you like to tell me about her?”

Mr. Brentstone leaned back in his seat. “There’s not much to tell. Georgia did a great job taking over. I truly see her as a second mom. She even came along on most family vacations.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to greet the cook.”

Mr. Brentstone walked over to the kitchen. He’d barely left the booth when Georgia appeared holding two plates of pie, both garnished with a large scoop of ice cream. The scent alone made me salivate.

“Now where did Russy go?” she said. “That boy never sits still for more than two minutes at a time.”

I smiled at her and pointed in Mr. Brentstone’s direction. “He went to go say hi to the cook.”

Georgia’s face softened, and she set down the plates. “Oh, that sweetheart. He’s such a good boy, you know. He likes to put up a hard front, but he’s good people.”

It was hard for me to imagine Mr. Brentstone as anything other than harsh and cynical, but it was wonderful hearing someone talk about him so lovingly.

“I heard you stepped up to fill his mother’s role after she passed. I’m so sorry you lost your best friend. It was an admirable thing, taking care of her sons the way you did.”

Georgia’s eyes filled with hurt, but she quickly worked up a smile. “I love them like they’re my own. Besides, Eleanor would’ve done the same for me in a heartbeat.

“The boys got her good heart, luckily. Their father is a lot more—cold. I think that’s where they got their stiff exterior from. But they’re sweethearts, once you get to know them.

“Russy comes by to chat with me whenever he finds the time, and I have dinner at his brother’s house once a week. They treat me like family, and I’m so very thankful!”

I looked at Mr. Brentstone, who was still talking to the cook. “I wonder if I’ll ever get to see that side of him. It’s hard to picture him as anything other than stoic, to be honest.”

Georgia sighed and grabbed my hand in both of hers. “He just puts up a front. I think it’s hard for him to let people in after Holly.

“And besides, I still think he blames himself for Eleanor’s death, which weighs so heavy on his poor heart.”

I shifted around. “Oh… I—”

Georgia jumped up, clearly shocked. “I’ve said too much. Let me get you guys a refill!” She walked off, taking the almost full pitcher of tea with her.

Mr. Brentstone returned to the table and slid back into the booth. He eyed me suspiciously. “What happened?”

I tried looking anywhere but at him, my cheeks ablaze. “Nothing. This pie is out of this world.”

Mr. Brentstone narrowed his eyes at me. “Did Georgia say something while I wasn’t here?”

I shoveled a spoonful of pie and ice cream into my mouth, trying to buy myself some time.

“Nope,” I said once I had swallowed. Damn, the pie really was to die for. “She just doted on you and your brother.”

Mr. Brentstone scooped up some from his own plate, never breaking eye contact. “She has a tendency to run her mouth. What did she tell you?”

I sighed and rolled my eyes. He wasn’t going to let this go, was he?

“Really, it’s nothing. She loves you so much. Told me you come by often and she has dinner at your brother’s place once a week. You’re all so lucky to have each other.”

Mr. Brentstone took a sip of sweet tea, side-eyeing Georgia, who was actively avoiding him now.

“Yeah, she’s wonderful. This diner is actually the reason my father opened our hospitality branch.”

We both finished our pie. I grabbed my wallet, but Mr. Brentstone held up his hand dismissively and put his credit card in the check presenter.

The server collected it and then brought it back accompanied by two lollipops. I grabbed one, and Mr. Brentstone handed me his as well. We walked back to the door, which he held for me again.

“Actually, I’ll meet you at the car,” I said.

Mr. Brentstone hesitated but eventually exited the diner. I walked over to Georgia and thanked her, and then I bought a piece of pie to go.

Mr. Brentstone was waiting outside. He raised his eyebrows at the to-go box I was cradling. “You’re still hungry? I would have gotten that for you.”

I shook my head, smiling. “I couldn’t eat another bite if my life depended on it.” I knocked on Miles’s window, which he rolled down immediately.

“Yes, Ms. Mayweather?”

“Do you like pie?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Yes?” he replied hesitantly.

I handed him the box. “Here’s some of the best I’ve ever had.”

Miles’s face lit up. “Thank you, Ava—I mean, Ms. Mayweather. That’s so kind of you!” He set the box on the passenger’s seat carefully.

We walked to the back and got in. “Thanks for making me look like an asshole in front of my driver,” Mr. Brentstone grunted.

I wiggled my eyebrows at him, quite pleased with myself. “Us Brentstone employees have to stick together.”