Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
I’ve done my homework in these chairs. I’ve watched and absorbed a thousand lessons and grown up in them.
I wanted to go to culinary school, but I didn’t. For the first time, I see that as a beautiful thing. Everything I know about cooking and baking, I learned here. And not just from my dad. My mom might not have grown up with this as her family legacy, but she married into it. It might not be her passion, but she loves my dad, and she loves me. She’s imparted plenty of knowledge to me over the years, things my dad wouldn’t have thought to tell me. Of the two of them, he’s more patient, but she has a way of explaining things that makes them so easy to understand.
Luca and Dad wash up at the big stainless sink. Dad tosses him a full apron and a hair net, and Luca gives a rueful laugh as he sheds his hoodie.
Dad doesn’t miss a beat, and Mom keeps her eyes on me. We know about Luca’s accident, but I’m not sure what they were prepared to expect. To their credit, they give nothing away. They don’t stare, and they don’t make him feel like he’s broken or ruined or an outsider.
I didn’t just learn how to bake in here.
I learned so much more about life. About kindness. About patience, persistence, continuity, teamwork, and love.
That’s what I went to New York to save. It wasn’t a building. It wasn’t even a family legacy. It was our hearts. Our family.
I clench Mom’s hand, and we sit and watch my family’s kitchen miracle play out in front of our eyes.
Dad works on the filling. Apple and blackberry. It’s one of our blue-ribbon-winning pies from a few years ago. It also happens to be my favorite. My parents could have picked anything. The bakery has over fifty different types of pies available for custom order. It hits me right in the feels, and it’s already feeling, thank you very much, like they did this for me. It’s doubly as special that Luca is side by side with my dad.
Luca doesn’t make pie crust like anyone else I’ve ever seen.
I mean, his methods are strange.
I have no idea why he’s putting cream cheese into it, but my dad just watched him go into the walk-in cooler and get it, so this must be standard practice for them.
Secret recipes.
I try very hard not to watch Luca specifically, but the counter is across the kitchen. He has his back to me most of the time, and it’s a struggle to keep my eyes from continuously seeking out his ass like a homing pigeon and then fixing my gaze there. I decide the apron strings are the safest place to look, but they’re tied at the small of his back, right above his rock-hard, incredible ass.
Not very helpful.
Full temptation mode was activated ten minutes ago.
Is there anything sexier than watching someone in their element?
Speaking of miracles, it’s definitely a miracle that I haven’t spontaneously combusted or had to reach for the fire extinguisher to put out the internal smoke show that’s going down in my insides. If my ovaries get any hotter, we won’t even need an oven to bake that pie. I could make comments about my nipples being sharp enough to cut the pie after. Yeah.
I really need to focus on not being Captain Total Fucking Obvious while my parents are right here, but I’ve had more than a low-level buzz going on ever since I second-hand tasted that champagne straight from Luca’s mouth. That was the strangest and also the hottest thing anyone has ever done with me.
It makes me think Luca would be a little bit… on the wild side in bed. And into things that other people wouldn’t even think of trying.
Great. Not helping.
I focus on the pie instead of on Luca. It’s hard but not impossible. The longer I force myself, the easier it gets. I’m not just warm in a physical sense. The spirit of contentment in this kitchen wraps around me. This is the sense of peace that’s been missing. I couldn’t comprehend it because I wasn’t here the last time it was this real. But I see it now. I get it.
It’s not just my dad. It’s Luca too. They don’t say very many words to each other, but they work side by side as though they’ve done it for a lifetime. Their postures are easy. They exchange smiles, and they laugh with their eyes. They pass each other ingredients and make space for each other. When they divide the dough and start rolling it out side by side, my mom and I both sigh. I’m officially slain.
The curse might not have been real, but this is. Happiness. Contentment. Elation. Joy. Camaraderie. Brotherhood. And the boundless depths of friendship. If I keep thinking about it, I’m going to get weepy again.