Friday, July 1, 4 A.M. Bake pies for Laura and Jason’s wedding. Load oven with wood and kindling. Light. Measure dry ingredients. Cube cold butter. Hand mix pie dough. Cover and chill. Chop peaches. Toss blueberries. Zest twenty lemons. Whisk heavy cream and egg yolks. Bring out dough. Roll. Cut. Transfer into tins. Press and trim. Fill. Top. Brush with egg wash. Roll out scrap dough. Design and score shapes. Embellish pies. Egg wash again. Dust with coarse sugar. Vent. Chill. Rake coals from oven chamber. Mop out oven. Close oven door. Do dishes. Clean sinks. Dust. Sweep. Mop. Line sheet pans with parchment. Open oven. Transfer pies to sheet pans. Carry outside. Load. Close. Fold boxes. Stamp. Line with parchment. Take out pies. Cool. Box. Close. Tie with string.

I was alone through every season by the time Jason and Laura’s wedding rolled around, and I noticed how particular I was becoming. My whole world arranged in just the right order. Never a stray water glass. Never a shoe out of line. Never a hair on the sink. Never a shirt on the floor. Everything was immaculate. Everything was frozen. I had control of my life, but I was also suffocating it. So when I saw his shoes tossed by the woodstove and his beer sweating water on the windowsill I got nervous.

We’d met the month before, when his truck broke down in my driveway. A stray member of Jason’s bachelor party, he was trying to leave the neighborhood after a weekend on the river. Seems fate had other plans. Standing in the house, I saw him milling around the mailbox, and I stepped out on the porch to see what the issue was. He was silhouetted in the afternoon sun; I sized him up according to the outline of his body.

It would take a week to repair the engine, so Laura and Jason temporarily got a roommate, and I was ousted from my formal role as a third wheel. I immediately assessed that we were from different worlds, that I didn’t enjoy his taste in music—and when he said he didn’t like cake, any possible interest I had evaporated like water on hot pavement. Until the last night of his detour. We had a popcorn-and-movie night at my house, and I picked out my favorite film concerning witches, prideful conceit, and exile. Jason and Laura trailed off, but the film held his interest, and when he opened his mouth and started talking about the symbolism of the chalice and the goat, my neck broke turning to look at him. He was bathed in a flickering blue glow and I thought, I’ve been waiting my whole life to talk to this man. And then, as the credits rolled, I kicked him out and locked the door.

Two weeks later, I told Laura he could stay at my house during the wedding, and at 1 A.M. on the first of July, he let himself in and disappeared, along with his dog, into the guest room. Lunch came and went, and I still had twelve chess pies left to bake. The wood-fired oven would have scorched them, so I cranked on the kitchen stove. I showered. Slipped on my favorite dress. Laced up an apron. Put on Billie Holiday and set to work. Melted the butter. Let it cool. Measured the flour, sugar, and cornmeal. Whisked the buttermilk, eggs, and vanilla. Folded the wet into the dry in three parts. Got out the beans. Cut parchment circles. Blind-baked the bottom shells and lined them with fresh fruit.

I didn’t notice him at first, leaning in the doorway. Without his shirt on. I hadn’t had a feeling from the waist down in years, and I couldn’t tell if I was experiencing attraction or food poisoning. I had wanted to be a nun ever since I was girl, and my current celibate streak was a source of pride. I thought, This is temptation. Resist. What would help? A rule. A rule would help. Raising a dripping whisk, I announced that visitors were required to wear shirts at all times. He didn’t budge. Instead he suggested that he was actually going to take off all his clothes and get in the shower. Pouring the custard into the pie shells, my hands were shaking. We have other rules here, too, I said, like you can’t watch me do this.

The pies found their way into the oven, and he managed to locate the shower. I went outside to fumble under the potting table for a pack of cigarettes I kept for emergencies. Pacing back and forth, I had one. And then another. He emerged fresh onto the patio with a furrowed brow. It appeared he didn’t have a date to the rehearsal dinner. My phone rang. Laura said there was a cancelation and suddenly extra room at the table. I told her I’d just put her very important pies in the oven. Just get here when you can, she said, and hung up. Looks like you need a ride to dinner and I need a date, he said. I looked up to meet his gaze: How do you feel about being late?

We sat in front of the oven watching the pies bake and played twenty-one questions. It was the longest hour of my life. The timer popped, and I scrambled to my feet, opening the oven door. A wave of warm milk and raspberry flooded the kitchen. We boxed jiggly pies, not waiting for them to cool, and ran out the door. Pulling bobby pins out of my hair, I tossed my apron on the woodpile and climbed into his truck. We rolled down the windows and turned up the Beach Boys. Speeding toward the lights of town, my arm out the window, a trail of dust clouding the taillights: for once, I’d left the kitchen without sweeping.

HOW TO MAKE A PIE THE BEST WAY

Everyone wants to know how to make the flakiest pie crust, but the reality is that there are many different ways a light dough can be achieved and experienced. The texture of pie dough can range from mealy to flaky. Mealy dough has a lower percentage of liquid, holding up well against filling with substantial juices or eggs. Flaky dough puffs considerably and shatters when bitten. In the middle is a sandy-textured, crumbly crust. Each kind of dough has its place depending on the filling and amount of detail you wish to impart in any design work. Firm doughs support decorative aspects, holding shapes and clean lines. Flaky doughs make excellent free-form galettes and open-faced tarts. Regardless, when baked, a good crust should be golden, shiny, and deeply browned.

Flour.

Source flour with a protein content of 10 percent or lower. I choose the Carolina Ground type 75 pastry flour for a provincial taste or the Crema pastry flour, also from Carolina Ground, for a crisp texture. Both are made from a soft, red winter wheat. Start with cold flour. I store mine in the freezer.

Fat.

Every fat has a different melting point. Shortening is a favorite amongst pie bakers because it has a very high melting point. However, shortening and/or lard can leave off-putting flavors for sweet pies and a filmy feel in the mouth. Butter has a lower melting point, yet a pleasant, milky, grassy character. I use an all-butter recipe that has an 82 percent butterfat content. I like to order in bulk from the local co-op. If you feel adventurous, try 80 percent butter to 20 percent lard.

European-style butters have a higher percentage of butterfat and are considered cultured butters, which means that the cream is somewhat fermented. This imparts a distinctly “buttery” taste. In today’s butter, bacteria (Lactococcus and Leuconostoc) are introduced after the pasteurization process. The water in butter is released as steam while baking, giving pie dough a lift similar to puff pastry. Whatever butter you choose, be sure to keep it cold throughout the process so the water doesn’t leach out. I cube my butter beforehand and freeze it, starting the process with frozen butter. Since salt is added in with the dry ingredients, be sure to use unsalted butter in your crust. Salted butter can be overpowering in a dough, but if it’s all you have, go forward and simply omit the salt in the dry mix.

Water.

Water is both inside the butter and poured directly into the dough. If the butter is worked into the dry ingredients too much, water will separate out, soaking the flour, and a dough will form without the required amount of liquid. This results in a brittle dough due to lack of gluten development. If the butter is barely worked in when water is added, the dough will form too much gluten, making a tough and elastic crust that will shrink and snap. In general, use as little water as possible to bring the dough into a workable consistency. Always use ice-cold water and make adjustments a tablespoon at a time. Any water that you would drink is fine to make a pie crust with, although stay clear of chlorinated water, if possible.

Sugar.

A few tablespoons of unrefined sugar in the crust tenderizes the dough and promotes browning.

Salt.

Salt preserves the crust and enhances flavors. I use sea salt from the co-op.