She was right. My pies were gorgeous. I’d gone all out. The pumpkin ones had a border of egg-washed pumpkin cutouts I’d stamped out of pie crust and I’d even rolled out and arranged curly miniature vines that I’d attached to the pumpkin stems. The apple one had an apple cutout border. The maple buttermilk, maple leaves. And with the pecan, I’d painstakingly fashioned a decorative pie edge that was experimental but came out looking great.

It wasn’t just cakes that deserved to be pretty.

“Jesus, fuck me, flashback,” Levi muttered under his breath, eyeing the unveiled pies on his mother’s kitchen counter. He looked to Brock. “Olivia used to make you cinnamon nut muffins. Granted, they didn’t look that good or taste good, but she did it.”

The air in the room went static as Laura snapped, “Levi!” Austin said low, “Dude, uncool.” Fritz muttered under his breath, “Jesus.” Elvira muttered under hers, “Oh boy.” Kellie and Kalie whispered in unison, “Ohmigod.” Brock’s body went solid and Fern whirled on her son.

“Tell me you did not just say that,” she demanded and Lenore slid closer to her man who was not her man.

“Am I wrong?” Levi asked his mother.

“What you’re wrong about is thinking you’re too old to get a slap across the mouth from your mother,” Fern shot back.

“Outside,” Brock growled and everyone looked to him but Brock only had eyes for his brother.

“Seriously?” Levi asked.

“Now,” Brock rumbled.

Again, within ten minutes of arrival, it was time for damage control and I got close to him, curling my hands on his arm and tugging.

“Leave it,” I whispered and his flashing, mercury eyes tipped down to me.

“Tess—”

I shook my head and gave his arm a squeeze. “The options available: have a brother who doesn’t give a shit or have a brother who does. You’re pissed now, honey, so you don’t get, with those options, you lucked out.”

Brock’s jaw got hard and I looked to Levi.

“I get it. Your brother was fucked over, you care about him, and you’re cautious. Thank you for being that way.”

Levi blinked at me.

I let Brock go and moved to Fern, asking, “Now, what can I do?”

Fern didn’t answer because she was committed to the act of glaring at her youngest son so Jill said, “You can help me lay the tables, Tess.”

I ignored the family tension and followed Jill’s lead setting the table.

On the way from dining table back to kitchen, I ran into Fritz, smiled at him, but suddenly found my hand clasped in his and he got close.