Page 6 of Perfect Pairing
“You’re mean,” she pouted. “You need to get laid. Get rid of some of that aggression. When was the last time you had sex, anyway? Wait…have you ever even done it?”
“Of course I have.”
“Yeah, Lia,” Ella piped up. “Don’t forget about Brad on promnight.”
While I wanted to be embarrassed, I couldn’t help but grin as my sisters devolved into laughter.
In the most cliché moment of all time, I’d given my virginity to my senior prom date in the back seat of the limo. We’d thrown an after party at the Villa, and I’d used the parent-free opportunity to take care of that little problem. I hadn’t wanted to move to New York with it hanging over my head. It hadn’t been romantic or particularly comfortable, and it had lasted all of five minutes—both because he’d also been a virgin and because my parents had decided to stop by and check up on us.
Someone had told my dad where we were, and he’d unceremoniously wrenched open the limo door, brandishing a baseball bat and threatening Brad within an inch of his life until he ran away crying.
To this day, I still had no clue where he’d even gotten that bat.
Also, I was pretty sure I was the reason he’d enacted the no-messing-around-with-employees rule he happily bandied about when hiring some new guy. Brad had worked at the winery in various roles for years growing up.
I settled my hands on my hips and stared Delia down, but I softened immediately at the sadness lining her face.
Having sisters so close in age—barely four and a half years separated Chloe, the oldest, and me, the youngest—was both a blessing and a curse. Growing up, we’d been at each other’s throats and joined at the hips in equal measure. But now that the drama of high school and our formative years was mostly behind us, they were my best friends, and I didn’t really have too many girl friends outside of them. Sure, I’d made a few in college, buteven in the few months since graduation, when we’d all flung ourselves to the four corners of the world to start our new lives, we’d lost touch. And I hadtried, sending semi-regular texts in those early weeks just to check in and see how everyone was settling. But with different time zones and schedules, it became easier to just…let it go.
Maybe Chicago would be different.
Then again, I wasn’t going there to play. I was going there towork, to cut my teeth at a patisserie under the tutelage of one of the most talented and world-renowned pastry chefs of our generation.
Bryce Newsome was a badass and kind of my idol. I still couldn’t believe that out of the thousands of people who applied and the fifty she personally interviewed, she selectedmeto serve as her apprentice for the next year.
I was really looking forward to the opportunities the next twelve months would bring and to better honing my craft so I could return to Apple Blossom Bay and realize my dream of opening my own bakery.
Was the apprenticeship necessary to accomplish that goal? No. But when the application went live, I filled one out on a lark, including a video submission and recipe for my dad’s favorite baklava. I’d taken it from my grandmother’s old recipe book and tweaked it to make it my own, and it wound up being one of my favorite creations to date.
Bryce was equally as impressed as my dad, both by the recipe and my personality in front of the camera. Remembering my one-on-one interview with her still felt like floating through a dream—her kindness, how enthusiastic she’d been about mysubmission and my career potential. I still hadn’t figured out what exactly had set me apart from all the other applicants, but I wasn’t complaining. Chances like these didn’t come around every day, and I wasn’t taking a single second of it for granted.
“It really is a shame you’re leaving, though,” Chloe said, pulling me from my reverie. “I’ve been looking forward to you baking us those fucking delicious spiced apple cupcakes with those apples.”
She pointed out the window to the grounds surrounding Mom and Dad’s new house, which they’d finally completed construction on and moved into only a month ago. It was strange, finishing my culinary arts programs in New York and moving back to this house instead of the Villa or the one at the edge of Traverse City where we’d grown up. But the weirdness quickly dissipated when I settled in this new room and remembered home was wherever my family was.
At the edge of the property was a small apple orchard, filled with trees that had been planted there ages ago—well before any of us existed—and stood the test of time against the sometimes-harsh Michigan winters. The Granny Smiths were the same variety of apple that could be found closer to the winery as well as all over Apple Blossom Bay. In fact, the Bay was named because of the way those trees flowered in the springtime, their pretty soft pink and white blooms bursting from the trees and scenting the air with their incredible natural perfume. And when the petals started to fall? It was like nature’s confetti littering the streets.
The variety was also ironic, given that my paternal grandmother’s maiden name was Smith—so we referred to her asGranny Smith.
She loved to cook, and though I was barely a year old when she passed, I loved that our mutual obsession with baked goods was something that connected us, even beyond death.
“You know what?” I said, an idea striking with Chloe’s comment.
“Hmm?” Ella asked from where she stood at my floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, absently running her fingers over the spines.
“All of this can wait. What do you say we spend the afternoon with a little baking demonstration? I’ll teach you how to make thosefucking delicious spiced apple cupcakes.”
Ella’s head whipped in my direction so fast, I heard her neck crack. Chloe’s mouth dropped open, and Delia gave me a wicked grin.
“Bee,” Ella said quietly. “You just swore.”
After a beat, I burst out laughing, and my sisters and I tangled our arms together to head down to the kitchen.
While I orchestrated the construction of the cupcakes, my sisters and I chatted about everything and nothing, alternating between reminiscing on our childhoods and making plans for the future.
There wasn’t anywhere else I wanted to be in that moment, and my heart squeezed painfully at the thought of leaving in two days.
I knew I’d be back before long, but it didn’t make it any easier to stomach the time we’d be apart.
