Chapter 25 Dane

Chapter 25

Dane

“You’re very stressed for a man who’s marrying the love of his life tomorrow,” Lorelei says as we stroll down Kringle Lane toward the Gingerbread House.

I slide a look at her.

We’re both in light jackets and sunglasses. Everything’s still wet from the storm last night, though the sky is blue and cloudless and the sun is working on clearing up the puddles. The crews are out placing the life-size snow globes where they’ll fit downtown, with the rest planned for a display in Reindeer Square.

Yes, it’s early to set out holiday decorations.

But that’s how we do it in Tinsel.

“Just saying, weddings should be happy,” Lorelei adds.

“Uncle Rob gave us a shitty apology this morning.”

“Esme stopped to get gas after they left Amanda’s place. She kicked him out of the car and told him to walk the rest of the way home and think about what he’d done. You could uninvite him if you don’t want him there.”

“That’ll be great for the rest of our lives.”

She doesn’t answer, and I cringe to myself. “Sorry for the sarcasm,” I say quietly. “Not your fault some of our families are still being dicks.”

She loops her arm through mine and squeezes. “No apology necessary. It’s frustrating for me, too, and I’m not the one trying to marry an Anderson.”

“You’ve been friends with Amanda longer than I’ve known her name. This matters for you too.”

“It’s a lot easier to sneak around being someone’s friend when they’re only in town a couple weeks a year than it is to sneak around being married to someone.”

I glance at her again.

She grins. “It is .”

“This sucks.”

“It does, but look what you two have already done. You’ve won over our parents to the point that I think they might even become friends. That’s something. And I like Kimberly. A lot, actually. Which makes sense, considering how much I like Amanda.”

She’s right. We’ve made progress.

But it’s not enough. And I don’t know if we can finish what we started before we have to break up or get married.

We reach the Gingerbread House. I start to turn in, but she tugs my arm and stops me. “I’ve never been in here,” she whispers.

“If you don’t want—”

“Are you serious? Of course I want to go in. But give me a minute. I need to make sure I’m prepared.”

I smile my first real smile since leaving the cabin this morning as she closes her eyes and sucks in a large breath beneath the fake arch of the gingerbread doorway. Smells like cinnamon and ginger and nutmeg here in the doorway.

Honestly, it smells a little like Lorelei herself.

Dad used to say she’s loved baking since before she was born. She brings all the baked goods except the fruitcake anytime there’s a family gathering.

Never gingerbread, though.

Unless it’s just the two of us, and even then, only when she’s visiting me in San Francisco.

I stop and stare at her.

Fuck me.

Fuck. Me.

That’s the answer. Lorelei is the answer.

At least, she should be.

But I don’t think either of our families are ready for that.

I don’t know if Lorelei is ready for that.

“Okay,” she says. “I’m ready.”

I hold the door for her, brain puzzling again if this could work, and the two of us step inside the bakery.

“Oh, wow,” my sister whispers as she pauses to take in everything from the gingerbread floor to the gumdrops and candy canes to the menu and the candy light fixtures, which I hadn’t noticed the other day. Peppermints light the bakery.

That’s awesome.

If you’re into this kind of thing. Which I would like to be without remembering how many times my family has insisted that the people running this bakery are terrible.

I stifle a sigh.

It’s killing me at the moment that there are solutions that would likely make everyone happy if it weren’t for a family feud that we’ve only begun healing.

Lorelei and I are the only people here except for a lone woman I don’t know behind the counter. She’s arranging gingerbread men on a plate, and her entire expression lights up when she sees us.

“Amanda’s in the kitchen,” she says. “You can go on back.”

“It’s like a magic candy land,” Lorelei says.

“Without Hansel and Gretel,” I mutter.

She bumps her shoulder into mine with a laugh. “You are in a mood. We’re gonna have to fix that before tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.

When somehow, Amanda and I will be breaking up.

That’s what has me in a mood.

It’s not Uncle Rob. It’s not wedding stress. It’s not last night. It’s not any of our grandparents.

It’s breaking up with Amanda.

She’s been in my life for less than a week, but I already miss spending hours of every day with her. I miss how easy it is to smile at her. I miss how funny she is and how thoughtful she is.

I tell myself both of us are on our best behavior this week, putting more effort into being the perfect partners than either of us would if this were real, if we lived in the same city, but I don’t believe myself.

I’d race her to the kitchen to make coffee in the mornings.

I’d order her fruitcake as often as she wanted it.

I’d go explore with her anytime she wanted company.

I’d take her with me to Thailand just to watch her face light up every time she discovered something new.

But that’s not my future. This isn’t real .

No matter how real it felt last night.

Lorelei and I head down the hallway toward the kitchen. Unlike the last time I was here, it sounds like the mixer is running just fine. The hallway smells even stronger of fresh gingerbread.

We crack the door and peek inside.

Amanda’s bent over a sheet of dough, pressing cookie cutters into it while her grandmother supervises, pointing to the dough and making Amanda move her cookie cutter.

“She’s really not built for this,” Lorelei murmurs.

Agreed.

She looks like she belongs in the kitchen about as much as a zebra belongs at a spa.

Or possibly less so.

A zebra might enjoy a spa day. Who am I to judge?

But Amanda’s jaw is tight. Her lips are turned down, and her shoulders are bunched. I’ve had only a few days to get to know her, but I have a pretty good idea that she’s up in her head, unhappy with how the morning has gone but uncertain how to say so.

The exact opposite of how my sister would look if she were in this kitchen.

But that’s not happening.

We’ve worked a few miracles this week, but getting Lorelei hired in the Gingerbread House?

That’s a pipe dream.

I push into the kitchen. Lorelei follows.

Vicki glances at us, and her cheek twitches.

But when Amanda’s gaze meets mine, all I feel is gratitude.

Gratitude from her that we’re here. Gratitude of my own that I can bring a hint of a smile back to her face, even if her eyes are shiny and her chin is doing that wobbling thing again. “Hey,” she says. “I have successfully not murdered any gingerbread this morning.”

“Kitchen’s closed,” Vicki says.

Kimberly rolls her eyes. “Good morning, Dane. Hello, Lorelei. Lovely to see you both. Did you need the bride?”

“We do,” Lorelei answers for me. “My dad’s experimenting with fruitcake flavors for a special side cake that he’s making just for Amanda, and he wants to know which kind she prefers.”

“Today’s my day with her,” Vicki says. “Your family had their chance yesterday.”

“I like all of the flavors,” Amanda says to Lorelei.

“If you can’t leave, we’ll bring them by. You can sample on your lunch break.”

Vicki sucks in a breath.

Kimberly visibly suppresses a smile.

Amanda looks at me again. The utter misery in her face is so opposite how she looked in bed this morning, and it’s pissing me off.

Family shouldn’t make you miserable.

“We just have three more batches to make,” she says. “I might get the thickness right by the last batch. Maybe.”

She hasn’t told them.

She hasn’t told her grandmother that she can’t take over the bakery.

That’s why she’s stuck here. She’s still playing along.

Or maybe this isn’t playing. Maybe she’s completely given in.

That’s why she’s so unhappy.

Because she’s giving up a life she loves to fulfill an obligation her family’s putting on her shoulders so that they don’t have to change anything about their lives.

Fuck unhappy. Fuck obligations.

Fuck the continued stubbornness from family members who are standing in the way of everyone else’s peace.

“You can watch from the windows,” Vicki says, shooing Lorelei and me away.

Fuck watching from the windows too.

I slip around the prep table until I’m standing behind Amanda, settling my hands on her waist and pressing a kiss to her hairnet-covered hair. “You okay?” I ask softly.

“Fantastic.”

If that’s fantastic, I don’t want to know what she’d sound like if she ever confessed to being miserable.

“I could use your opinion on a tux today,” I say, louder.

“She’s busy,” Vicki says.

“I can make the gingerbread,” Kimberly says.

“Amanda needs to.”

“She’s getting married tomorrow and we all have your party tonight and the world won’t stop if we run out of gingerbread one or two days in late summer.”

“She’s marrying the enemy and trying to get out of her family duties.”

“She doesn’t owe us this, Vicki.”

“And what happens to the Gingerbread House next?”

“Stop,” Amanda says. “Please. Please stop. Grandma, weddings are hard enough when the families do get along. And you can’t just tell someone that she has to give up her entire life to move home and expect her to just go along with it when I’ve never been able to bake, I’ve never loved baking, and I’ve always been told Ben would do it, and now I’m supposed to walk away from a job I love and a community I love and volunteer work that I love to move home because you don’t want to consider that maybe it’s time for the Gingerbread House to have new owners.” She yanks off her prep gloves and sets them on the table. “I can’t do this today. I need a break. I need to breathe. I need to think. Okay?”

She spins to me and grabs my hand. “Let’s go pick a tux. Lorelei, tell your dad we’ll be by to try fruitcake soon, okay?”

“Amanda, if you walk out that door ...,” Vicki says.

Amanda’s shoulders bunch even higher.

And that’s when Lorelei breaks through the tension with a single question. “Where’s your engagement ring?”