Page 10 of The Score We Never Settled

“Uh huh.” I tap my whisk along the edge of the bowl and place it in the sink. “You can swing by at four, I’ll have your pies done.”

“Ya think ya could throw in some of those peaches ’n cream crumble bars, too?”

“What do you think this is? A bakery?”

He chuckles because, well, it is. And the crumble bars go by like hot cakes every Friday because my best friend, Fallon, owns a peach farm, and I get the best and freshest of everything she has to offer.

And I only make them for Fridays because they sell out quickly, and it gives the town something to look forward to during the season.

“You’re pushin’ it, Uncle Ben,” I lightly chide. “I’m workin’ on a new recipe and your pies.”

“Well, good thing I know ya make test batches sometimes, and the boys and I would love to be your test dummies.”

Of course they would.

These men eat sweets like it’s their last day on Earth, and every day is treated as such.

“Doctor Reese will have my butt if he knows y’all have been eatin’ all these sweets.”

Uncle Ben smiles at me. “That’s a well-kept secret, Layla. Been doin’ it for years.”

Same.

Except my sweet addiction has green eyes and shoulders that have no problem lifting and shoving me against a wall.

“Come back at four,” I prompt. “You’ll have your snacks and all the praise you could ever ask for.”

“Thank you, my favorite niece. Been busy this week?”

“Yeah. My truck of supplies won’t be in until Friday, which leaves me back and forth at Georgie’s until then.”

He frowns. “That’s not ideal. What can I do to help?”

“Nothing. It’s right down the street, and I don’t need much. It gets me outside to breathe in some fresh air.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“If you make me a list, I can stock ya up.”

“I’m managing fine, Uncle Ben, really. Thank you.”

“Alright. But if ya change your mind?—”

“Layla Jean!” a female voice suddenly scolds me, turning mine and Uncle Ben’s attention toward the front of the kitchen. “You didnottell me that Brigg—erton was on.”

My best friend, Fallon—God bless her—immediately changes up what she was about to say the moment her eyes fall on my uncle.

You did not tell me that Briggs was in town.

That’s what she wanted to say.

And even she knows it’s not a topic of conversation in front of Uncle Ben. That he has never been a fan of my longtime crush, and he’s made it known so many times, that it’s ingrained in our heads for life.

“Hey, Uncle Ben!” she greets as she strides deeper into my kitchen. “I thought you were banned from the back of the kitchen.”

He tsks and shakes his head. “That was one time.”