EPILOGUE

CALEB

YEARS LATER

“Mom! Dad’s messing with my recipe again!” Nine-year-old Stella shouts from her position at the kitchen island, and I raise my hands like a perp caught red handed on an episode of COPS.

Sierra ambles into our family kitchen with our two-year-old Mason on her hip, amused gaze sweeping across the counter full of mixing bowls and ingredients for Stella’s World-Famous Snickerdoodles—or at least, Suitor’s Crossing-famous. Like mother like daughter, our oldest has a knack for baking, though I still try to add my flair every once and while. To little success.

“What’s he done now, honey?”

Stella wrinkles her nose and tips the stainless steel bowl in her hands forward. “He dumped coffee grounds into my cookie batter.”

“You said I could help,” I say, tugging on one of her pigtails.

“With mixing because my arm gets tired.”

“Go easy on your dad, Stell. He just can’t help himself.” Sierra rounds the island to lean against my side. “He’s never gotten over the fact that I beat him all those years ago at Pastry Palooza, so he’s still trying to prove his baking skills. Isn’t that right?”

“Both of you said you liked my coffee snickerdoodles last month. I figured I’d spice things up again.”

“Oh, my sweet summer child… They tasted fine, but you can’t beat Stella’s World-Famous recipe.” Sierra pats my cheek then Stella copies her mom by gently tapping my arm. My girls giggle at the aggrieved sigh I release, though I’m not bothered by their teasing. It’s one of the highlights of my life making the two of them laugh anyway I can, even if it’s at my expense.

“Alright, alright. Point taken. I’ll finish this batch of cookies while you start a fresh one, Stella. Maybe we should have a Pastry Palooza 2.0—Father vs Daughter, hosted at Crossing’s Cups Cakes. What do you think?”

Another laugh bursts from Sierra and Mason’s childish squeal follows. “I don’t think your ego could handle losing to a nine-year-old. Because my girl would kick your butt. Right, Stella?”

“Right!” Our daughter dumps the ‘ruined’ cookie batter in front of me before grabbing a clean bowl and measuring her dry ingredients all over again. I love watching her concentrate and flit around the kitchen, just like her mom. Their mannerisms are exactly alike. A mini-Sierra. Sass and all.

And I wouldn’t trade our little family for anything.

Not for Sierra and I’s old rivalry. Not for my old coffee shop, Brewed.

Our business and relationship turned out just the way it was intended, even if it took a while for the heart sparks to work their magic. The important part is that in the end I got my soul mate, my feisty Sierra Bear—the perfect partner for me.

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