Another Epilogue
ANOTHER EPILOGUE
Jillian
I almost have this recipe perfect.
As soon as I have it where I want, I’ll add it to my digital cookbook. Then, I’ll be one step closer to fulfilling my dream. Not that owning my own bakery and coffee shop isn’t living my dream, but I’ve always wanted to produce my own cookbook. Maybe even have my own cooking blog or YouTube channel, like Ryan. Someday, I’ll be brave enough to talk to her about it. I haven’t known her that long, but she’s become a great friend in a short amount of time. I’m certain she’d offer me any tips or tricks she can to get started.
I slip the pan of pastries into the oven and set the timer. I have thirteen minutes until I need to pull my latest creation from the oven, and usually I’d use the time to start cleaning up my workspace. Of course, my workspace tonight is my kitchen counter at home. Usually, I do all my creating in my bakery kitchen, having plenty of supplies and oven space to play.
However, tonight was a rash decision to bake. I had just returned home from having dinner with my parents, and that always goes about as well as you’d expect. Not that I don’t love my parents—I do—but they’re ready for grandbabies, and I’m their only hope. The problem is, I’m thirty-seven and don’t even have a boyfriend. I’ve spent every waking hour over the last decade, pouring myself into my business. Sure, having a boyfriend sounds nice—more than nice, actually—but the reality of it isn’t so easy. I work a lot and the only men I meet on a daily basis want me for my cinnamon swirl bread and banana chocolate chip muffins. Oh, and the caffeine. They definitely want that too.
So those grandbabies my parents want? They’re starting to get real restless and vocal in their disappointment. Tonight’s dinner wasn’t any different, except this time they took it a step further. Tonight, while enjoying honey-glazed pork chops, roasted Brussels sprouts, and creamy mashed potatoes, they offered up a list of available, single men in Pine Village.
A list!
Typed up and printed out on my dad’s company letterhead.
I almost threw up my food right then and there. I couldn’t get out of there any quicker.
That’s the reason I’m baking on a Sunday night instead of relaxing and preparing for the busy week ahead of me. I glance at the timer on the oven. Five minutes left. Just as I grab the container of sugar to place in the cabinet, there’s a firm knock at my door.
Hesitantly, I move toward the entryway. I’m not expecting anyone, especially at this point in the evening. All my friends would have texted or called first, so chances of the visitor being one of them are slim to none.
As I reach the door, I go up on my tiptoes and peek through the security hole. My mouth falls open when the individual on the opposite side comes into view. “Kameron?” I find myself asking, reaching down and releasing the lock.
“Hey, yeah, sorry to just drop by like this,” he says, glancing over my shoulder into my house.
“Are you all right?”
He sighs and shakes his head. “No, not really. I need your help.”
Worry fills my chest. I’ve known Kameron practically my whole life. He’s a few years older than me, but we grew up down the road from each other. He may not be one of my closest friends, but if he needs something, I’d readily help. “Okay, what’s up?”
He levels me with an intense look, his gray eyes full of anxiety as he drops a bomb straight in my lap. “I need you to be my girlfriend...”