We chopped the pork, and I showed her how to make the filling. Then we started on the dough. I wasn’t sure why Evan had bought a stand mixer, but it sure made some recipes a lot easier. I’d never suggested it because Brennan was anti-counter-clutter.
Taking out a pot and the bamboo steamer baskets, I started boiling water so we could steam the buns.
“Next step.” I showed her how to make the buns, pleating them like my grandmother had taught me.
“Like this?” Grace asked, showing me her handiwork.
“You catch on quickly,” I praised.
We lined the baskets with parchment paper, placed the buns inside, and then put them over the boiling water to steam. My phone buzzed.
Brennan
On my way home.
I texted him back.
Me
I can’t wait to see you.
“He’s on his way.” I couldn’t help but grin as I loaded the dishwasher.
“Thanks for teaching me,” she said as she wiped the counters.
We cleaned up, and I grabbed us beers. Grace told me all about her dress alteration and preparations for the party next weekend.
“I’m nervous about meeting Spencer’s mom. Have you met her?” Grace took a sip of beer.
“She’ll love you. Ilena’s a force of nature but considering she’s an artist with a professor husband and raisedSpencer,she has to be,” I chuckled. Oooh, would she cook for us?
“Okay. What about everyone else?” Grace frowned.
“I’m sure it will be fine, Grace,” I assured.
The door from the garage opened, and Brennan stumbled in, looking tired and a little worse-for-wear, his suit a bit rumpled as he pulled his rolling bag behind him.
“Jett.” His face brightened as he put his briefcase on the kitchen chair and pulled me into his arms.
“Bren.” I let his pine scent swirl around me, comforting me, and sent all my love through the bond. For a moment I let myself melt into his arms, savoring a quiet moment together.
The timer buzzed.
“The buns are done.” Letting go of him, I went over to the stovetop and checked the buns.
“Hi, Grace.” Brennan hugged her, and I didn’t miss how he melted a little as she snuggled into him.
I set the steamer basket on the table. “I made pork buns.”
“Ooh, you did? I thought I smelled food.” Riley popped up behind us, reached in, and grabbed one. “Ooh, hot.” She bounced it between her hands.
Grace handed her a paper towel.
“Thanks. Hey, Bren.” Riley added another to the paper towel.
“Hi, Riley.” Bren smiled at her. “Yes, I got you something. But you’ll have to wait until the morning.”
“Sounds good to me.” She added one more bun to her pile. “Laters.” Riley disappeared with her food.
