“No time to waste,” she says as she darts back into the kitchen. She pecks her grandma on the cheek, then her mom. “We’ll be back.”
She grabs my hand again and hauls me out of the kitchen, down the rest of the hallway, and out the back door.
“What happened to the mixer?” I ask as I unlock the car and open her door for her.
She does one of those comical eye rolls again where her eyes roll unevenly. “Me. I happened to it. Me and that stupid recipe.”
“What’s wrong with the recipe?”
“It’s in code, and I can never remember ifsnowflakemeans pound or tablespoon, ifcandy canemeans cup or quart, and ifsaltactually means salt or if it means ginger.”
I open my mouth.
Close it.
And then gesture her into the car.
“The code is so no one who’s not family can steal the recipe.”
“I guessed that part.”
“Right. Naturally.”
“But unless you put frozen butter and yarn and screws and bolts in that bowl ... I think odds are good the mixer was on its way out anyway, and you had bad timing.”
Her eyes meet mine, and then she sighs.
“Hey.” I grab her hand again before she can sit. She looks so damn sad. “Doing the big things isn’t always easy, but this’ll be worth it in the end.”
She glances back at the bakery, which is just as ornate on the backside, complete with fake gingerbread windows and a fake gingerbread chimney coming off the top of the house.
And then she sighs again. “If we can pull off planning a full wedding that neither one of us intends to follow through on and break up in a way that doesn’t make everyone who’s thrilled for us hate us and everyone who’s not thrilled about us hate us too.”
When she puts it like that, I get another knot in my stomach. But I still squeeze her hand again. “We will.”
I hope.
Otherwise—nope. Don’t even want to think about who’d be hurt byotherwise.
Chapter 8
Amanda
Dane Silver is a lot funnier than I ever would’ve suspected.
And I don’t say that only because he’s parking the car in front of a ring shop after we picked up the motor for the mixer.
He’s cracked me up at least a dozen times since we left Tinsel, pulling me out of my head and all the worries that we’re doing the wrong thing. And now he’s parking in front of a jewelry store.
This one is only funny because it’s outrageous.
“You arenotspending the money to buy me a ring,” I tell him.
“I’m sure they have a return policy.”
I gawk at him. “Are you serious right now?”
He cracks a grin.
