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**Pumpkin Pie and Second Chances** 

Thanksgiving at the beach house wasn't a tradition for either of us, but Sophia thought it would be fun to escape the chaos of family dinners back home. She was right—Cousins in the fall had a magic all its own. The summer crowds were long gone, replaced by a quiet stillness that made everything feel softer, cozier. 

"Jer, I'm telling you, your mom's recipe can't compete with mine," Sophia said, her voice teasing as she rolled out dough for the pie crust. She had flour smudged on her cheek, and her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun, with a few stray strands escaping. 

"Excuse me?" I leaned against the counter, arms crossed, feigning offense. "My mom's pumpkin pie is legendary." 

"Legendary for being too sweet," she countered, sprinkling flour over the dough. "I, however, have mastered the perfect balance of spice and pumpkin." 

"Oh yeah?" I grabbed a pinch of flour and flicked it at her. 

She gasped, brushing it off her sweater. "You're asking for it, Fisher." 

"What are you gonna do about it, huh?" 

Before I knew it, Sophia had grabbed a handful of flour and thrown it right at me, hitting my chest and shoulders. I stared at her, stunned for a moment, before lunging for the bag of flour. 

"Don't you dare!" she shrieked, laughing as she dodged me. 

But I was faster, grabbing her around the waist and spinning her away from the counter. She laughed so hard she could barely breathe, and when I finally set her down, we were both covered in flour, looking like two kids who'd gotten into a food fight. 

"Truce?" she asked, holding up her hands in surrender. 

I grinned. "Only if you admit my mom's pie is better." 

She shook her head, still laughing. "Never." 

We cleaned up as best as we could, though the kitchen looked like a bakery had exploded. While the pie baked, we sat on the couch with mugs of hot cider, the sound of the waves crashing faintly in the background. 

"So, this was a good idea, right?" Sophia asked, tucking her legs under her. 

"Definitely." I looked at her, and for a moment, I forgot about the pie, the mess in the kitchen, everything. All I could think about was how easy it felt to be around her. How much I'd missed this. 

"I needed a break," I admitted. "From everything—school, family. I think I needed...you." 

Sophia's eyes softened, and she set her mug down. "I needed you too, Jer. You make everything feel lighter, easier." 

The timer for the pie interrupted the moment, but neither of us moved right away. Finally, she stood, reaching out a hand to pull me up. 

"Come on, Fisher. Let's see if you can admit my pie is better." 

As we sliced into it, the house filled with the warm scent of cinnamon and nutmeg. Sophia handed me a plate with a piece of her creation, her smile challenging. I took a bite, savoring the creamy filling and perfectly flaky crust. 

"Well?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. 

I chewed dramatically, making her wait, before grinning. "Alright, it's...not bad." 

"Not bad?" She rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away. 

"Okay, fine," I relented. "It's amazing. But don't tell my mom I said that." 

Sophia laughed, and for the first time in a while, everything felt right. Thanksgiving wasn't about where you were or even what you ate—it was about who you were with. And being with Sophia? That felt like something I could be thankful for every day. 

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