The pie case was reflecting the light like something divine. A single slice of peach bourbon pie waited behind the glass, glowing as if it had been blessed by angels or possibly baked to lure sinners into town.
Dot noticed my stare. “Go on, sweet pea. That one’s been waitin’on you.”
I didn’t even pretend to resist.
She set the plate in front of me, and I immediately took a forkful, my eyes closing in bliss as I tasted what might have been the most delicious thing on earth. The world seemed to pause for a breath, just long enough for the sweetness to quiet the panic and the bourbon to murmur that maybe things weren’t as doomed as I’d decided.
I had to admit, too, the lattice crust did taste like it possessed some kind of mystical power, the sort of magic small towns whispered about with
