I am.
Loreleishouldjoin the bakery. She loves to bake. It was her family’s recipe. She’s always been a sister of my heart.
She belongs there.
I’m thrilled that my mom is willing to recognize it.
Provided Mom’s also willing to make everythingfullyright, considering the stolen recipe.
“Are you sure this is happy?” Lorelei says.
“Amanda, honey, what’s wrong?” Mom rushes into the gazebo and pets my hair. “Sweetie, what happened?”
“I love Lorelei,” I wail. “So—happy—for all—of us.”
“This is ... happy?” Mom asks dubiously.
“Furiously . . .hic!. . . happy!”
Dammit.
Dammit.
I’m crying so hard I have the hiccups.
My thighs shake. My belly grumbles. My heart—
My heart is being pulled in so many different directions.
Happiness for Lorelei and Mom and the Gingerbread House. Relief that I haven’t been disowned. Lingering irritation with my grandmother for all the times she faked heart attacks, making me doubt a true medical emergency, and gratitude that she seems to be turning a corner, willing to face that this long-standing feud might have been our family’s fault. Utter misery for being alone at what was supposed to be my wedding.
But it wasn’t real.
None of it was real.
I know this, and yet—“But I—miss—Dane,” I gasp out.
“Oh, sweetie,” Mom whispers.
“He’s such—a good—man.”
“He’s the absolute best,” Lorelei agrees.
“I think—I—love him.”
Lorelei squeals a short squeal, like she’s reining it in, while she hugs me tighter.
“And he’s—gone,” I finish on a desperate, sad sob.
“He’s notgone,” Mom says firmly. “He’s just in another place. Physically.”
“He had such a crush on you in high school,” Lorelei says.
“I know.” I hiccup. “Kind of. He—hic!—told me.”
“And the way he looked at you this past week ...,” Mom says.
“But heleft.”
