Page 71 of What We Bury

I wonder if his mother had to drug him to get him to sleep.

Though God knows he probably sleepwalks and talks.

“You want a menu?” I ask, holding one out to him.

He waves me off. “What’ve you got in terms of pie?”

“You don’t want a meal first?”

He shakes his head. “Pies, kitten, please focus, I’m working with a tight window here.”

I exhale through my nose.Kitten?

“We’ve got pumpkin, cherry, pecan, blueberry, and a peanut butter chocolate.”

“Sounds great.”

I wait for him to clarify but he looks at me with the expectation of a man who’s placed an order and is now waiting for it to materialize.

“Which one did you want?”

“All of them. With ice cream. Thanks.”

I stare at him. He stares back.

“All?”

“All.”

“You’re seriously going to eat that much pie?”

“I’ll have you know this is merely a snack to tide me over until dinner.”

I quirk an eyebrow. Not sure if this guy is crazy or legit. “In that case, are you sure five slices will be enough?”

He considers this, tilts his head. He does a tiny, theatrical frown like he’s working something out and then his face clears.

“You’re right. Give me two really big pieces of the peanut butter chocolate and an extra large side of cream. That’d be great, thanks.”

“That’s a lot of pie.”

“Sage.” He puts his hand over his heart in a gesture of genuine, wounded sincerity. “I’m a growing boy. I need all the sustenance sugar can give me.”

I’m fighting to hold back a laugh.

A few nights ago, I killed a man under a jetty. It’s been the longest stretch of my life. Five days of pretending my hands are steady, of being passed between a rotation of dangerous men who each make me feel a little less insane right up until they say the thing that pushes me back to the edge. Holden and his threats. Knox and his silence. Eli and whatever Monday morning was.

Micah’s the exception. He held me while I came apart, and he’s the only one who’s made the inside of my own skin feel survivable—though being seen that completely has a weight all its own.

And then there’s Milo. Squirrels and pie and felonies, no history pressing down on any of it. The first person since the sand who’s made me feel lighter. Like I’m a functioning human instead of a crime scene in an apron.

I like him already.

“A stupid amount of pie it is then,” I say, turning around so he can’t see my face. I pull the peanut butter chocolate from the case and set the knife to it, aiming for a standard slice.

“Bigger,” Milo says behind me.

I move the knife out a little.