Chapter 1 #2
“I live in fear,” he mutters.
I tap my chin a couple of times. “Let’s see. I considered faking an engagement to Chris Evans, but apparently, he’s already married. Rude.”
He snorts. “That would’ve been ambitious for you.”
“Please. I can be very convincing. But since Chris is tragically committed and probably not emotionally available enough to adopt a puppy with me, I had to pivot.”
“To what?” he asks, like he’s not ready for the chaos about to unfold.
“If you must know,” I say with an exaggerated hair flip, “things with Chad are getting serious.”
Soren pauses like he’s buffering. “That guy . . . there’s nothing serious about him except maybe a calcium deficiency.”
“There you go again. Criticizing my choices like I didn’t grow up with two parents who turned guilt-tripping into an Olympic sport.”
“I’m not criticizing, I’m just—”
“You want to know my plan or not?”
“Yes, please. Give me the SparkNotes.”
I hold up a finger. “Drumroll, please . . . I finally signed the lease to open my bakery.” I clap for myself, and Skylar meows like she’s proud of me, too.
Soren blinks. “Wait, really?”
“Yep. An actual storefront with real countertops. It’s legit.”
“That’s . . . actually impressive.”
“Thank you. I’ll be accepting compliments in written form or chocolate.” I grin. “Plus, I’m hoping to convince Chad that we should move in together. Maybe even visit his family at the ranch.”
Soren blinks again. “He has a ranch?”
I tap my chin because was it a ranch or . . . “Yes. His family owns a farm or a ranch in Glacemont.”
He stares. “That sounds made up.”
I shrug. “Honestly, I’ve never heard of it either. Somewhere in Utah, I think? I haven’t looked it up yet, but it sounds quaint. Like rusty scenery and snow angels.”
“You haven’t been to Utah?”
“Details, Soren. Don’t get bogged down.”
He squints. “And your mom is into this guy?”
“She loves what I’ve told her about him.”
“What exactly did you tell her?”
“That he’s tall, has a jawline, has a loving family, and might one day call me ‘darlin’ while feeding me pie.”
“You really sold her the perfect boyfriend package.”
I lean forward and whisper. “Listen, the darling and the pie thing were made up, but the rest is legit.” Then I perk up. “Mom is excited for me.”
Soren shakes his head. “What’s his last name again?”
“Chad . . .” I pause and blink twice. “Chad . . . something.”
“You don’t know his last name?”
I point a finger at him. “Don’t ruin this for me, Soren. We’re in the fantasy-building stage of the relationship.”
He crosses his arms. “So, your plan to win the Wolfcraft Holiday Olympics is: open a bakery—solid start—and . . . possibly move in with a guy whose last name you don’t remember, to a town you can’t locate, on a ranch that may or may not exist?”
I shake my head. “No, you’re getting it all wrong.” I lift my hand so he stops while I talk. “He’d move here with me. Then we’ll visit his family often.”
“This isn’t going to work out.”
There he goes with his negative vibes. “It’s called vision, Soren. I’m manifesting . . . you wouldn’t understand.”
He exhales like I’m the one who is wrong in this conversation. “Fred—”
“Don’t say it,” I warn.
“—I’m just saying . . . maybe lead with the bakery,” he says, tone gruff but weirdly sincere. “Because that is something tangible. Impressive, even.”
My brows lift. “Did you just compliment me?”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“No, no. I’m writing this down. Framing it. Getting it embroidered on a pillow.” I pause. “Actually, I don’t sew. Can you sew? No, impossible. You have strong, judgy hands.”
“I swear, sometimes talking to you is like trying to argue with . . .” He rolls his eyes.
“No. No, you need to finish that sentence.”
He tosses his hands up in the air and shakes his head.
“Come on, Soren. You can do it.” I give him a playful smile.
“My mother. I can never win an argument with her. Ever.”
“Thank you,” I say, beaming. “I’m honored to be a good opponent like your mom.”
“That wasn’t—never mind.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, and I’m pretty sure I see a smile twitch at the edge of his mouth before he buries it under a sigh. “I just don’t want to see you crash and burn over some guy with mystery credentials and imaginary livestock.”
I glance down at Skylar. “You hear that? He gives a compliment and then kicks my puppy in one sentence. It’s an art form you shouldn’t learn.”
Soren gives me a long look as if he’s deciding whether or not to push further. Then, finally, he grunts. “The bakery’s a big deal. Don’t screw it up.”
My grin falters—just a second—but it’s enough to let the warmth in. Because beneath the sarcasm and stubborn glowering, that was . . . pride. Approval. The Soren stamp of reluctant support. And that? That means more than he’d ever admit out loud.
“I won’t,” I say softly. “I really want this to work.”
He meets my eyes for a moment, serious and unreadable. Then: “Good. Because I’m not babysitting your regrets if you change careers again.”
He’s so maddening. Not just because he’s clearly judging me like the rest of my family, but because he’s always there—right there—whenever things fall apart, no matter how hard I try to hold them together with ambition, duct tape, and the occasional vision board.
The catering business was actually doing well. Like, really well. Then fucking COVID came in like a wrecking ball—it nuked the entire operation.
Was that my fault? Nope. Did I still somehow feel like it was? Of course.
I still take the odd job because word of mouth says I’m good at it.
But here’s the thing no one seems to notice: I didn’t fall apart. I pivoted. I found other jobs. I didn’t go broke. I didn’t move back home or beg anyone to rescue me. I kept showing up, paycheck to unpredictable paycheck and made it work.
And maybe I don’t have a fancy title or a corner office with a view. Maybe my siblings have group chats about interest rates, and I still pay my bills on the due date and can’t afford to set them on autopay.
But I’ve never asked my parents for money like all my siblings have done many times. Not once. That should count for something.
Shouldn’t it?
Unless the universe has another way to fuck this up for me, I’m finally going to win at life and maybe the damn holidays.