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“Did your mom teach you how to bake?”

“My best friend’s mom, actually.”

“How nice.” Isla watches me from where she works beside me, flouring the countertops.

“You’ve been running this kitchen for a while now?”

“Since I met Adam.” Her eyes take on a daydreaming look. “His gran ran the kitchen since they built the place, and I worked here with her every day after school when Adam and I started dating.” The sense of family around the entire property is palpable. I hate that more and more, I find myself forgetting that I’m not actually from here, that I’m not really part of this family, the way they so easily make me believe I am. “I’ve made the place my own over the years, adding a bookshelf and changing some paint here and there. My kid’s artwork,” she adds pointing to drawings tucked into the windows of a hutch in the corner. “And my hope is each new generation will continue to add their own personal touch along the way.”

My chest swells and aches. Vivid memories crash into me, and clear as day I see my eight-year-old self, two dirty blonde braids hanging down my back, and Mrs. Sanchez pulling up a stool beside her at the counter. Visions of assembling sandwiches and learning how to dice an onion come flooding back and I have to fight back against the wave of nostalgia that burns my throat now.

“I’ve noticed Liv in here with you often. It’s nice that you get to share this with her,” I say, moving closer to help her roll out her cookie dough.

“It is. But it’s not her passion and as crazy as it sounds—because I love my children dearly.” She gives me a pointed look over the rim of her glasses. “I hope she won’t stay around much longer.”

My head tilts as one eyebrow peaks. “I can understand not wanting Knox in here.” We share a smile. “But why Liv?”

Isla’s shaky hand slides a basket of cookie cutters in front of me. “My Olivia just doesn’t have the heart for it. She hangs around because I need the help,” she says, holding up her swollen hands. “Some days are better than others, weather depending, and I’ve got the fancy gadgets to help, but there are still times I need help.” I listen intently to her every word as I continue to cut out flower-shaped cookies. “I’m grateful to have her around to help now, but she’s not a little girl anymore, and soon, I’ll need to start looking to hire someone to take over the kitchen for me. She doesn’t have the same passion I’ve always had in here, and I would never want my children doing something that they aren’t a hundred percent passionate about.”

I keep my eyes laser-focused on the task in front of me for fear of what will happen if I look at her. I don’t know what it’s like to have a mother like Isla, a woman who loves you so fiercely and unconditionally that she would always putyour needs, wants, and desires before her own. But I do know what it’s like to be in the kitchen with someone like her. I fight the burning in my eyes unaware of how badly I needed this. I had forgotten how much I missed this feeling. Being in the kitchen with Mrs. Sanchez, as young as when I was missing my two front teeth, had always been my safe space. As I grew older, the kitchen was the place that gave me my peace and calm, my sense of belonging. In there, I was okay. I could get lost in creation and forget the worries and fears that I spent my days masking. Those memories with Mrs. Sanchez, and now of helping Isla in any way I can, are what fill me with the most purpose. I reroll a scrap of dough that I messed up and blink back the emotion trying to slip through my waterline.

“It shows.” My voice betrays me, cracking ever so slightly and I clear my throat before pressing the cookie cutter into the dough again. “I mean, look at Knox. You clearly encouraged him to do what he wanted, and he was incredibly successful.”

“Well, Knox is a different kind of animal. Nothing short of a cruise ship could have stopped that boy.” I choke on a laugh and finally bring myself to look at her. The warmth of her eyes matches her smile when she talks about him. “I’ll admit, I was worried about him after his injury. Before he left he was always the friendly, big, loud, guy. The life of any party. If at times a bit obnoxious.” She rolls her eyes with a playful smile. “But when he came home—he was a shell of himself. He seemed so lost, and I feared his entire identity was wrapped up in that sport.” She shakes her head as if releasing a memory. “Even though we were, and still are, so proud of him, he issomuch more than rugby. But I know my son, and he wouldn’t hear any of that.”

I think about how he shut down the other day in the barafter—potentially accidentally—telling me he felt like ‘nothing’ and she’s right. I don’t see Knox as the type you could just sprinkle some nice words at and he takes them and believes them. But I’ve also seen that big, fun, playful guy she seems to remember.

“You said you were worried.” I drop the cookie cutters in the sink and lean my hip against the counter. “Are you not anymore?”

She moves closer to me and covers my hand with her own. She gives the world's lightest squeeze, a stark contrast to her deep eyes when she smiles at me and says, “He seems to be finding his way back to himself.”

I don’t want to pull my hand out from under hers, but the burning sensation behind my eyes is threatening to break free. I bite my cheek, keeping my gaze locked on where our hands meet.

“You’re a wonderful mom, Isla.”

She lets go of my hand and my chest skips a beat when she quickly wraps me into a hug. I stand stiff for a moment before I wrap my arms around her, being careful not to squeeze her too tightly. Her clean scent, mixed with a hint of rosemary and light coffee beans, makes it difficult to swallow. There is something so overwhelming about a mother’s hug. Even though she isn’t my own mom, it still makes me feel wanted. I pull in a deep breath, trying to hold on to this moment just a second longer. One lone tear slips down my cheek and I quickly bat it away before pulling back.

“And you’re just wonderful, Taylor.” I swallow hard before Olivia bounces into the kitchen.

“Hey! I wanted to see if you want to get ready together?”

Her mom rubs my arm before stepping back. “Go on, I’ve got the rest of this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes. Go, we’ll see you down there later.”

I give her an appreciative nod before heading upstairs.

“My brother is goingto fall over dead when he sees you.” I roll my shoulders back and puff my chest a little higher at Olivia’s words. The body-hugging, floor-length, emerald green, strappy dress I found the other day in a neighboring town seemed more fitting for an award show than a small-town wedding, but it was either this or my sweatpants, so what was a girl to do? “Ugh.” Liv runs a hand down her perfectly pressed, baby pink, silk dress. As far as bridesmaid dresses go, it's one of the most beautiful ones I’ve ever seen. “I wish I looked like you.”

I stop midway down the stairs, grabbing her arm. “Olivia Talullah Browning.” Her head physically rears back. “Was I way off?”

“It’s Nora,” she says, with a small giggle.

“Right. Olivia Nora Browning, you are stunning.” I grab both her shoulders, forcing her to look at me. “Always remember that beauty is subjective and it’s about learning to feel like your best self. Once you master that, you’ll have so much confidence, that you’ll have to start selling it at the local farmers’ market because nothing is sexier than a person with confidence.”

Her eyes light up as her smile and chin lift and I give her a curt nod.