My bedroom for the weekend had black stained hardwood floors, white walls, and original crown molding. A plush duvet was thrown over a four-poster bed and covered in a million pillows. My feet sunk into a fake bearskin rug as I approached the fireplace. Looking at the remote on my nightstand, I tried to make sense of which button controlled what. I gave up with a sigh and sat crossed legged on the floor. With thirty minutes until I had to go back downstairs, I pondered Andrew’s and my future. Up until two weeks or so ago, I didn’t have to factor anybody into my life plans. Although Andrew hadn’t asked me to, as a couple you made decisions together.

My road trip around the United States then Europe didn’t have an end goal. Basically, I would go wherever the wind blew me, which would put the kibosh on our relationship if he didn’t join. It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask him to wait around. Meanwhile, the idea of taking this journey solo seemed lonely all of a sudden. I had gotten used to Andrew being my partner in crime. A knocked sounded on my door.

“Come in,” I yelled.

Andrew stepped into the room, looking dashing in a sweater and faded jeans. His hair slightly damp from the shower curled at the base of his neck. Happiness warmed my stomach. I didn’t know whether or not Andrew belonged in my dream but I did know he belonged in the here and now with me.

“Hey, my mom wants to know if you are up for a bake-off between my sister and you?”

“Seriously?”

“My family is competitive.”

The last competition I’d entered ended in tears and humiliation. Granted, my mom’s idea of entering me in a spelling bee at six years old wasn’t the best idea. I was a horrible speller but that didn’t matter. My mom had her eye on the thousand dollar grand prize. When the judge had asked me to spell fragile, I threw up on the stage. A thousand people staring at my puke-stained clothes was mortifying. If that happened in front of Andrew’s family, it would be scarring.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to pass. I’m not a baker,” I said.

“How do you know that if you haven’t tried?”

“I have tried and it’s not pretty.”

Andrew wasn’t a man to give up. That’s where we were similar. “There has to be something you’re good at making.”

“Yeah it’s called poor man’s chocolate croissants and I don’t think your family wants toasted white bread with melted chocolate.”

“What are you talking about? That sounds great! Make that.”

In that moment, I wanted to squeeze the daylights out of him. His encouraging nature was incredibly enduring. I felt as if he would support whatever hair brained idea or dream that manifested during our time together. Conceding, I got to my feet and brushed past Andrew into the hallway. The sounds of a large party happening downstairs were filled with joy.

“Is the apple cider laced with alcohol by chance?” I asked Andrew.

“Of course. My mom may have been Amish once, but she isn’t anymore.”

“Alright then I’ll do the bake-off.” I waved my pointer finger at him. “But only once I have a drink in me, and only then.”

“Your wish is my command.”

Grabbing my hand, he tugged me into the middle of the gathering. Little kids ran free squealing, while the adults nibbled at appetizers and sipped their chilled glasses of wine. There had to be at least thirty people milling around the house. Mark wasn’t kidding when he said to enjoy the silence while it lasted. Andrew’s dad’s side of the family was huge.

I must have appeared as overwhelmed as I felt because Andrew’s thumb begun to knead my palm. “Relax,” he whispered.

“I’m relaxed.”

Andrew glanced over his shoulder, his eyebrows raised. “Then lessen up on the steel grip, Rocky.”

My hand went lack as I mumbled an apology. Crowds of people weren’t my forte. Walking into the kitchen, Andrew’s mom and sister stood kneading bread dough on a marble slab. Flour dusted their aprons. They glanced up at our entry.

“Did you get settled in all right?” Candy asked.

“Yes, thank you. It’s a beautiful room.” I replied.

“I have been saving it for future grandkids, but so far that doesn’t look like it’s going to happen anytime soon.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Michael is dating somebody. Maybe he will marry this one.” He glanced around the room. “Where is that bastard anyways? He said he would be here.”

His mom swiped her brow with the back of her hand. “The snow delayed his flight, but he will be here soon.”

“All right, well Haven said she would go head to head on a cookie duel if you are still up for it,” Andrew said to his sister.

“Hell yeah I am! There is a new recipe I have been perfecting. My roommates at college were my taste testers but they got mad at me for making them fat.” She pouted. “They didn’t have to eat all the samples.”

Nerves twisted my stomach into knots. “Do we have to go into this blind? I haven’t memorized any recipes.”

Andrew’s mom spoke. “Of course not. Constance is an overachiever, always has been. That’s why she was the first in the family to get into an Ivy League college.”

“I’m standing right here,” Constance said.

“I know, pumpkin. We are so proud of you.” Candy smiled sweetly then glanced over at me. “Do you bake often, Haven?”

I shook my head. “No, but I’m an old pro at burning things.”

Andrew squeezed my shoulders. “She is being modest. There is a recipe she would love to bake everybody tomorrow morning.”

His family wouldn’t eat processed white bread with melted chocolate. They probably didn’t have white bread in the house. If I had to take a wild guess, their pantry was stocked with artisan ingredients and natural flours like almond or whole wheat.

“No there isn’t, it’s nothing.” I said quickly then proceeded to change the subject. “Would you like any help?”

Andrew’s mom and sister shared a look. Constance moved a couple inches to the right and threw an extra ball of dough on the marble slab.

“We will get your feet wet first with kneading. After dinner if you are up to it, we can have the bake-off,” Andrew’s mom said.

I pushed my sleeves to my elbows. “Sounds good.”

“Have fun, girls.” Andrew slipped back into the chaos without getting me a glass of cider first like he’d promised.

Guess I would have to do this conversing thing sober. I watched Constance’s hands fold the dough over onto itself, flip it around and repeat. Replicating her movements, a rhythm between us three was formed. A peacefulness settled over me as a white washed light slanted across the floors. Cinnamon and clove hung in the air and kids’ laughter floated in through the swinging kitchen door. If I closed my eyes, it almost felt like this could have been my life. The large family gatherings, inside jokes, and endless outpouring of love. An ache thrummed underneath my breastbone.

Andrew’s sister broke the tranquility. “How did you and Andrew meet?”

“We met at the coffee shop I was working at. He subdued an outraged customer before the man could strangle me.”

Candy gasped. “People these days are too wound up. Andrew taught me a few yoga moves and they have worked wonders for my stress.”

I couldn’t help but wonder if Camilla and Andrew’s mom practiced yoga together. For somebody who moved halfway across the world, Camilla was an unshakable presence.

“Mom, doing down dog, or whatever you call it won’t solve the world’s problems.” Andrew’s sister slapped the dough. “What we need to do is implement Europe’s take on life. Naps during the day and two months of vacation.”

“You already do that and you have three months of vacation,” Candy reminded her daughter.

“Whatever, Yale is hard.”

“It better be for the sixty thousand dollars I’m shelling out per year.”

Now it was my turn to gasp. Their heads swiveled toward me and I coughed. “Sorry, something was in my throat,” I lied.