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I look back to the gifts wondering if they were meant for her and Alec.
“Not exactly. It wasn’t an official registry. Just a few items I put on a wish list. It didn’t even have Alec’s name on it. Only mine.”
I can see now that the guilt on Emma’s face isn’t because they were meant for a different couple—not for us—but because they weren’t meant for a couple at all.
“When I was with Alec, I was more focused on the idea of my wedding than the man who would be standing at the end of the aisle.” She looks up at me. “Isn’t that awful?”
I was the guy at the end of the aisle in Vegas. But other than her mom’s wedding dress and the bouquet of flowers we picked out beforehand, there were no extravagant details at our wedding.
I shake my head. “That doesn’t make you a bad person. Sometimes people’s priorities get mixed up.”
“Yeah, well, I seem to have thrown all my plans out the window in Vegas. I went from overplanning my nonexistent wedding to marrying a guy I just met in a detail-less wedding.”
“Come with me.” I motion toward the kitchen.
She looks longingly at the gifts one last time before following me into the kitchen.
“You’re awfully comfortable around here already.”
I shrug. “I’m comfortable in most kitchens.”
I start pulling out the ingredients I got at the grocery store yesterday.
“What are you making?” Emma asks.
“You mean, what are we making?”
“Right.”
I walk Emma through the process of whisking together the dry ingredients, cutting the butter into the flour, then mixing in the wet ingredients.
“This is a lot of work. You know they have these at the coffee shop down the street, right?”
“Baking is something Sophie and I would do a lot when she was younger. It was a cheap activity we could do together. We have a Sunday tradition of making chocolate chip pancakes with fruit and bacon faces and whipped cream for hair. Happy face pancakes are what she calls them.”
“That’s sweet. I love that.” Emma watches me shape the dough into a circle on the counter. “You’re an amazing big brother. She’s lucky to have you.”
I nod. “Yeah, we’re lucky to have each other.”
I move in behind Emma to show her how to cut the circle of dough into wedges. Her messy bun tickles my nose when I lean over her. Fuck, she smells good.
“What did she think about you getting married?” Emma asks as she uses the dough cutter to shape the scones.
“She was shocked. Like I told you yesterday, I haven’t dated in a long time. So naturally, she wanted to know everything about you.”
I help her move the wedges to the pan, then we sprinkle sugar on top of the scones.
“And what did you tell her?” Emma asks, turning to watch me place them in the preheated oven and set the timer.
“The basics. You’re a bridal gown designer who loves lemon drop shots and rollercoasters.”
“That pretty much sums me up.” She laughs, moving the mixing bowl to the sink.
“And you look cute with flour on your cheeks.”
“Do I—” she reaches up to wipe at her cheek, but realizes too late her doughy hands only make it worse.
“You’ve got flour on your nose.” She reaches up to swipe a finger over my nose.
