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For a second, I consider making a quick getaway. Dealing with emotional women is not something I’m used to; growing up with only two men in the house will do that to you.
But instead, I take a step closer and see a glass bowl on the oven rack. Alright, so she talks to her desserts. It’s not the strangest thing I’ve seen.
“Who are you talking to?” I ask causing her to jump and accidentally hit her head on the oven.
“Oh.” She immediately puts her hand to her head.
I take a few more steps forward. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Mia told me I could come back.”
“It’s fine,” she responds curtly, rubbing her head again. “I was just talking to this stubborn bread dough. Trying out a new recipe. But it doesn’t seem to want to cooperate, so I guess I need to move on,” she says, slamming the oven door shut.
“Is this a bad time?” I ask. She pauses, locking eyes with me for a moment. “They said it was experiment day or something?”
“Ah, so they warned you. And yet you still dared to come?” she says, her eyes flashing with intensity.
“I was curious,” I admit. “Am I going to regret that?”
“Maybe,” she says cryptically, grabbing an apron from a hook behind her and tossing it to me. “Think you’re tough? Let’s see what you’ve got.”
“I’m sorry, what’s this for?” I ask, eyeing the apron warily. “I should tell you that cooking is not my forte.”
“That’s good because we are angry baking!” She smirks.
“Great,” I mutter under my breath. “How does one ‘angry bake?’”
“Well, first, have my mother critique every decision you’ve ever made—for the sixteen-thousandth time. Then your sisters take you dress shopping and squeeze you into a dress that’s a hideous shade of yellow and call it the ‘perfect match to her vision board.’ Then you take out your frustration while baking,” she rattles off while she rummages through the fridge and cabinets.
“So you’re not a fan of the bridesmaid dress?”
“I looked like a stuffed sausage in a dress the shade of something that looked like it was inside a baby’s diaper. The worst part? Olivia gets hunter green, and Missy’s best friend gets an autumn brown shade. They both looked stunning in theirs. I think they’re just tormenting me,” she sighs.
“I know weddings can be stressful—” I try to console her but stop when she starts throwing ingredients into a bowl, causing flour to burst into the air.
“Do you really? How many have you suffered through?” she challenges.
“Ummm…” I realize my mistake at that moment. “None. But I’ve read articles and seen it on TV shows,” I reply as she glares at me, and I give a sheepish grin.
“You think this is funny?” she demands.
“No, but I think you’re adorable when you’re mad,” I say, causing the tension between us to dissipate.
Her expression goes from anger to shock and then softens into a pink blush.
She lowers her head and then asks, “How do you handle it when your family disagrees with your decisions?”
“Well, my parents and grandmother passed away when I was young. Extended family wasn’t really involved in my life. So I don’t have a ton of experience with family dynamics…”
“Caleb, I’m sorry for the loss of your parents and grandmother. It must have been incredibly tough losing them at such a young age,” she says gently, her eyes full of empathy.
“Thanks, Piper. Fortunately, I’ve always had Grandad. We were able to work most disagreements out, but when we couldn’t decide, we played chess—and the winner got to make the call,” I explain.
She stares at me for a moment before her shoulders start shaking with laughter. She throws her head back and lets out a loud laugh. “I’m sorry, I was picturing my mom and I playing chess to hash things out,” she says between giggles. “My mother would think I’d lost my mind.”
“If she frustrates you so much, why do you let her opinion affect you?” I ask, confused.
She shrugs. “She’s family. You’re supposed to respect your parents, and they’re my rock. But right now, there’s just too much pressure with this wedding. I’m the last single sister. The focus today was about you and me,” she sighs. “I know I shouldn’t have lied to her about us. But when she found out who you are—well, let’s just say it didn’t go over well.”
“I’m a successful business owner, educated, come from a good family, wealthy, and that’s just the surface. What more could they want? Most mothers consider me a catch,” I quip.
