Page 45 of Whisk Me Away

I nodded my agreement.

"Oh, I'm so glad to hear that! Whisk Me Away has been so busy since it opened. It's good she got someone to cover her while she takes the time she needs," Mom said.

After the weighty conversation about Karis, the atmosphere at the dinner table gradually lightened as we shifted our focus to more cheerful topics. Mom regaled us with stories from her latest gardening endeavors while Dad recounted his latest fishing trip with a mix of pride and exaggerated humility. Brock interjected with his usual brand of sarcastic humor, keeping us all entertained with his quick wit.

After dinner, we all pitched in to clear the table and wash the dishes, a well-practiced routine that had become second nature to us over the years. Mom hummed a tune under her breath as she wiped down the countertops while Dad dried the dishes with practiced efficiency. Brock and I tackled the mountain of dirty pots and pans.

Once the kitchen was spotless and the leftovers were neatly packed away, Gram emerged from her cozy corner with a stack of Tupperware containers in hand. With a twinkle in her eye, she distributed the containers among us, each one filled to the brim with leftovers from dinner.

"Take these home with you," she said with a smile. "Can't have you going hungry now, can we?" She winked at Brock.

We all laughed as we filed out of her house and into our cars. I couldn’t help but long for the day when I could bring Karis to these dinners every week. That thought should scare me, but instead, it just made me realize how far I've fallen.

CHAPTER 31

KARIS

"Are you sure this is okay?" Aspen's timid voice called from the kitchen doorway.

When she showed up to open Whisk Me Away this morning, she walked in to find me elbow-deep in pastry dough. I couldn't help but smile at her surprised expression as she took in the scene before her. Yesterday, after church, I spent the afternoon lost in thought, brainstorming new recipes to introduce at the bakery. With the aim of diversifying our offerings, I wanted to add a few savory breakfast options to our menu.

"Really, Aspen. It's fine," I reassured her. “If you don't mind manning the front, I'll stay back here and make sure we are fully stocked,” I gave her my best attempt at a confident smile.

Aspen gave me a quick nod before heading back to the front. I was thankful for all her hard work. This place would have gone under if it hadn't been for her. Aspen gave me the peace of mind to grieve without worrying about the future of my bakery.

As I worked on perfecting the dough, my mind buzzed with excitement, envisioning the reactions of our customers when they tasted these new creations. I have always enjoyed experimenting in the kitchen, pushing the boundaries of flavor and texture to create something truly unique.

This was the first time since Mom left us that I felt this motivated to bake. Every time I stepped into the kitchen, I was assaulted with memories of my time with her growing up. All the times, she would sit me on the counter and let me get my hands dirty, teaching me the ins and outs of baking. I could still hear her laughter ringing in my ears as we mixed ingredients together, her patient guidance shaping me into the baker I am today.

But in the days following her passing, the kitchen had felt like a hollow shell of its former self, devoid of the warmth and love that Mom had infused into every dish. The thought of baking without her by my side was almost unbearable, a painful reminder of the void left in my life.

Yet today, as I immersed myself in the familiar rhythms of mixing and rolling dough, I felt Mom's presence surrounding me, a comforting embrace that urged me to keep going.

I hadn't realized I was crying until I felt the tears that coated my cheeks. I used my shoulder to wipe away the wetness when someone cleared their throat in the doorway.

The sound scared me so bad I flinched. My flour-covered hands flew to my chest as I spun around to find Brant standing just inside the kitchen, his hand still propping open the door.

"Brant!" I breathed.

The sight of Brant standing in the doorway caused feelings of guilt to bubble up. I'd been pushing him away, and now he's standing here looking handsome in his backward hat. His hands were stuffed in the front pockets of his dark-wash jeans, and he was staring at me with a look I couldn’t read.

"Hey, Peach," Brant said, his voice gentle yet tinged with something I couldn’t quite decipher. "Mind if I come in?"

I nodded, trying to suppress the uneasy feeling swirling inside me. "Sure, come on in."

He stepped fully into the kitchen, his presence filling the space with a familiar warmth that I missed. It's been too long since we’ve had a proper conversation, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret for pushing him away.

Brant came to a stop on the other side of my worktable, his eyes searching mine. "I've been trying to reach you."

My heart skipped a beat. Was he going to confront me for ghosting him? The thought sent a wave of anxiety coursing through me.

What if he's angry with me? I knew I'd been distant lately, but I just couldn't bring myself to face him. I've been struggling, and I didn't want to burden him with my problems.

"I just want you to know I'm here for you. I'm not going anywhere. I can't imagine the pain and grief you are working through.” Brant's voice was soft yet resolute. “I see you, Karis Thompson. Please don’t shut me out, trust me with that big, beautiful heart of yours.”

His words caught me off guard, and I was at a loss for words for a moment.

"I..." I started, my voice catching in my throat. "I didn't mean to shut you out. It's just—things have been really tough lately,” my words came out in a rush.

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