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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ISLA
The Thorn’s kitchen has never been so full of people.
And despite the whirlwind of the past week, my heart feels full. Really full. I glance around the room. Mom and Charlotte are at the bread station, pounding a massive mound of dough for the focaccia. Grace and Daisy are giggling together while they make shells for the macarons—I’ll fill them tomorrow before the festival. Dad is in charge of the cherry jam for the Bakewell tarts. I’ll make the croissants first thing in the morning. I’m doing one sweet (almond) and one savory (gruyere with ham). Caden is at the stand mixer working on the crust for the conchas—they’re Charlotte’s dad’s favorite pan dulce from his home in Mexico.
“Hey, cabron,” Charlotte calls to him teasingly. “Don’t fuck up those conchas or my dad will come for you.”
“Another dollar for the swear jar, Aunt Charlotte,” Grace says happily as my mother barely suppresses her sigh.
Charlotte holds up her hands. “Let me get this bread off my fingers first. You don’t want a yeasty dollar, do you?”
Grace wrinkles her nose. “Ew.”
“These smell amazing,” Daisy says, taking another tray of shells out of the oven as the timer beeps.
“Those are the peanut butter and jelly ones,” I tell her. “They were Grace’s idea.”
My sister beams.
“Am I doing this right?” Caden asks, looking down into the mixer with consternation. I check the consistency.
“Beat it just a little bit more,” I say. “You want it to be like a really smooth paste.”
“Isla, is this how the jam is supposed to look?” my dad asks, peering into a saucepan on the stove. I glance inside to see a hunk of overcooked cherries and burnt sugar. “I think I messed it up.”
“It’s okay, Dad,” I say. “Try again. Keep the heat lower this time, so the sugar doesn’t burn.” I move back over to check on Caden’s progress. “Good thing we got extra cherries,” I say quietly.
“I got extra everything,” Caden says. “I didn’t trust myself to do anything right on the first try and I didn’t know what you were going to assign me.”
He did get more ingredients than we need. It was sweet the way we walked around Milton’s Market and he just kept piling things into the cart, like we were feeding the entire North Fork. I liked grocery shopping with him. I like showing him how to make concha crust. I like how easy things are between us again.
I try not to think about it too much though. He’s going back to Argentina soon.
Still, I can’t help standing a little closer to him than necessary. Letting my arm brush against his as I check the consistency of the crust. Leaning in to catch his scent.
“This is good,” I say. “Add the vanilla extract now and beat it on medium-low for about thirty seconds.”
“Want to time me?” he asks, his mouth quirking.
His face is so close to mine. The kitchen is spacious but with so many helpers, it feels like we’re all on top of each other. My gaze drops to his mouth and I remember that moment in the garage before Mike showed up. The tension that sizzled between us.
I turn away quickly, my cheeks flushing. There can be no sizzling. Caden has made it clear from the start that he’s not back in town for good. And besides, aren’t I meant to be a heartbroken ex-fiancée?
I haven’t been feeling that way though. Yes, there’s been gossip, and of course the pain of Luke’s betrayal…but heartbroken? I’ve been there once before, and it was nothing like this. That heartbreak was agony. This is like…well, if I’m being honest, it’s more like a sense of relief. Like some part of me knew deep down that Luke was never the right man for me.
“Isla, darling, is this right?” Mom asks and I quickly leave Caden’s side to check on the bread dough. I’m glad her arthritis is better today so she can help. I know she misses being in the kitchen.
“Great,” I say. “Now roll it into balls and wrap it up in cellophane. You want to wrap it twice, just to be sure it’s sealed up tight. Then we need to put them on a greased baking sheet and stick it in the freezer.”
“We’re going to run out of room in there,” Dad says as he starts his second attempt at the jam.
“You can keep some things in the freezer at our house,” Daisy pipes up. She and Grace have been attacking each other with buttercream, and there’s a big dollop on her left cheek that falls off when she smiles. “Oops,” she says as Grace cackles.
“Yeah,” Caden says. “We’ve got tons of room. Just tell us what to take and I can bring it back over tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” I say.