12. Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Benji
Hey Dad. I’m going to need your pancake recipe.
Benji
It’s still raining. I’m sitting on Gina’s sofa, alone in her cabin.
She left me here, telling me to shower and rest, and returned to the lodge with a promise that she’d be back before dinner.
I have to stay in—I’m out of clean and dry clothes.
Gina left before I remembered that minor problem.
I figured digging through her bedroom closet was a better option than sitting my naked ass on the furniture while waiting for my laundry to finish.
I didn’t want to touch Milo’s clothes, so I’m wearing a sleeveless T-shirt I found in Gina’s drawer and her loosest sweats—the kind where the elastic has entirely given up.
While I was in her room, I had a good look for her lost rings. I found a hair tie, a pinecone, and Trouble under her bed. No rings.
One of the guests, an older man named Wade, was out with a metal detector yesterday. Maybe I’ll ask him if he’s found anything. If he hasn’t, maybe I can borrow it.
I recline on Gina’s sofa and take a full-body selfie. Since I have her number after today’s misadventure, I send it to her.
Her response is immediate.
Love the new look.
Gina
Before I can come up with something to keep the text exchange going, a message pings from my dad.
THE pancake recipe? The pancake recipe for your mother. The pancakes I made so your mother would marry me. Your mother’s pancakes. Those pancakes?
Dad
Yeah. Those pancakes.
Benji
My phone rings immediately—a video call. Gina won’t be back for a few hours, and Milo took off in the truck. So I answer the call.
My parents’ faces fill the screen. The next few minutes are filled with ‘You met someone!’ and ‘Where are you?’ and ‘Tell me about them!’ and ‘That doesn’t look like Vegas—where are you?’
“Actually, I married her.” It feels so good to tell someone. All the guys at work knew, but since coming here, I’ve had to keep it a secret, and it feels good to say it.
My mother screams, but it’s an excited scream with a side of admonishment because I haven’t brought Gina home to meet her yet.
There’s no worry or dismay on their faces that I married a stranger without telling them, but my parents aren’t exactly normal.
They’ve always pushed me to do the things that make me happy, whatever happy looks like for me.
I can’t bring myself to tell them that my wife is engaged to someone else and that I need the pancake recipe to woo her away from him.
“We were drunk when we got married, and I’d only met her a few hours before that, and she left the next day.
I need to convince her to give us a chance. I need the pancakes.”
They both nod sagely. I love that my parents are such accepting weirdos. Once they feel confident that I’m happy and safe—and that I’ll introduce them to Gina as soon as I win her over—my mother hands the conversation to my dad, who walks me through the recipe.
Milo might be a lumberjack. He might look fucking cool chopping wood and riding a dirt bike, with his tattoos and man bun, but I don’t think Gina needs that.
She rode that bike through the rain like a total badass.
I’m confident she’s good with an axe—her arms didn’t get as toned as they are from cleaning cabins.
She doesn’t need him, and he doesn’t see her.
I don’t know why she’s marrying him. I don’t know if she knows either. It’s so clear she needs to laugh and have fun. She needs me.
Gina steps softly into the kitchen as I carefully flip the first pancake.
She joins me at the stove, her arm brushing mine.
I can see a future where she puts her arms around me and kisses me.
Where I kiss her back until the pancakes start smoking, and she laughs as I grab the pan and run outside before we set off the smoke alarm.
“You’re making breakfast,” she says.
“Sit, it’s almost ready. Your coffee is on the table.” I poured it when I heard her cross into the bathroom.
“You didn’t have to,” She says, gently touching my arm before she crosses to the table.
I grab a plate and hum a happy tune because that touch means more than any thank you. “I wanted to.”
I flip the pancakes onto the plate and turn off the burner.
Gina smiles as I set the plate in front of her and sit beside her. “Aren’t you eating?”
“I’ll make mine in a minute.” I push the maple syrup closer to her.
Gina pours a generous amount of syrup over her pancakes and grins at me. “If you’re trying to poison me for the life insurance, I should warn you I don’t have any.”
“It’s like that, is it?” I ask, picking up her fork and cutting a small square from the edge of a pancake, lifting it toward my mouth.
It isn’t like that—her fingers close over my wrist. When I look up, her mossy green eyes are playful. She guides my hand and the fork I hold, bringing it to her mouth. Her hand drops from my wrist, but her lips open, and her eyes close as the pancake touches her tongue.
Gina’s old pants, which I’m still wearing, are suddenly a lot tighter. Bust-a-seam tight.
So, of course, Milo is abruptly in the room. I set Gina’s fork back on her plate. She watches him shuffle to the coffee pot.
“Thanks for taking the morning shift,” she says.
He mutters something that sounds like a no problem , but he doesn’t look at her. Or me.
There was a moment yesterday in the rain when he got off the four-wheeler where I thought he’d apologize, but he didn’t. He looked at me, looked away, and took off on the bike. Didn’t say a word to Gina, either.
They might love each other. Maybe they could have a happy, long-lasting marriage. But if either loved the other the way they deserve to be loved, I wouldn’t be sitting here making pancakes for her.
When the dust settles, I want to be friends with Milo. He isn’t going anywhere. This place is his home, too. He’s going to be in our lives.
So I get up and put the burner back on. “The next batch is yours, big guy,” I tell him.
Milo’s eyes drop over the borrowed T-shirt and too-tight sweats. “I’m good,” he says, turning his back to me.
“Laundry day,” I say, dropping butter into the pan. “Had to borrow these.” My laundry finished late last night. I just wanted to wear Gina’s clothes a little longer. I’ll change into my stuff after breakfast.
“Sure,” he says dismissively, taking his coffee outside.
That’s okay. I am actively stealing his fiancé from him. It’ll take more than the best pancakes in the world to earn his friendship, but I’ll get him to come around.
When my own stack of fluffy pancakes is done, I join Gina again at the table. I didn’t get to watch her enjoy them for as long as I wanted to, thanks to Milo. But I get to watch her finish them off. She gives me a look like she knows what I’m doing, so I’ll tell her what I’m doing.
“When my dad asked my mom to marry him, she wanted time to consider it. So he made these pancakes for her, and she said yes. Both my brothers made The Marriage Pancakes before proposing and got yeses.”
Gina sets her fork down and pushes her empty plate back so she can cross her arms on the table. “We’re already married.”
“Legally, sure.” I lean closer. “But I want all the other ways. Choose me again, Gina.”
She grabs her mug, taking a long drink of coffee before leaning back in her chair and giving me a reluctant smile. “Those pancakes were really good.”
Am I winning? I can’t stop the grin that breaks out across my face. I want to lean over and kiss her lips, taste the syrup on them, and tell her I have other talents beyond pancakes. But I don’t want to push my luck, so I turn my attention to my breakfast.