Page 3 of Sweet Bred

But there’s no real attraction between us. That much has been blatantly clear from the moment I met him. Even holding hands with him feels forced, and the handful of kisses we’ve shared have been passionless, to say the least.

I was shocked when he asked me to marry him. I was bracing myself to be broken up with, not proposed to. But even though his proposal made my stomach clench, I said yes. With no other romantic options in sight, it felt like it was the best and only option.

As I drive over to my parents’ house, I try my best to put all of the confusing thoughts about the gorgeous baker out of my head. By the time I arrive, I’m feeling…a little better. My mom’s warm greeting when I walk into the house reminds me why the current direction of my life is for the best. Ever since Eric and I got engaged, she’s been in a good mood.

“Hi, honey,” she says, pressing a kiss to my cheek before returning to the pot roast she’s preparing. “Any luck with the cake?”

“I’m going back in a few days to do a taste test,” I tell her, helping myself to a glass of wine from the open bottle sitting on the counter.

“Wait! Don’t drink that. It’s only good for cooking. I’ll open up a nicer bottle in a minute.”

“It’s okay, Mom. I’m good with this.” I take a sip, and sure enough, I can’t tell the difference between this wine and the more expensive bottles that she and my dad prefer. “Can I help with anything?”

“You can open the oven door for me in a minute, if you wouldn’t mind.”

After I help her get the pot roast into the oven, I notice my mom look anxiously at the clock on the kitchen wall.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“I just hope I didn’t put it in too late,” she says.

“It’s not a big deal if we eat dinner a little late.”

My mom shakes her head. “The Kristoffs are coming over.”

“They are?” It shouldn’t jar me to hear that my fiancé and his parents are joining us for dinner. But I thought tonight was going to be one of our usual family dinners, just my parents and myself. “Oh. Okay. I didn’t know.”

“We’re all going to be family soon,” my mom says, throwing a smile my way as she pulls out more ingredients from the fridge. “It’s only right that we start spending more time together.”

Eric and his parents arrive just as my mom is pulling the pot roast out of the oven. I greet my fiancé and future in-laws at the door. Eric kisses my cheek hello and then goes off to find my dad, saying something about a business deal that he wants to get my dad’s opinion about.

I finish setting the dining table and help my mom bring out the food. When the guys come in, Eric looks pleased with how his conversation with my dad went. I’m glad to see that. My dad isn’t always the easiest person to get along with. I take a seat and Eric sits beside me, with our parents filling in the rest of the chairs.

The meal that follows is perfectly pleasant, at first. Dishes are passed around; the conversation naturally flows from topic to topic. Eric’s dad tells a funny story about a leadership retreat he just got back from, and everyone compliments my mom on the food.

But then my mom brings out the tiramisu she made especially for tonight, and because it’s my favorite dessert, I help myself to a generous portion. And that’s when I catch Eric’s mom, Ellen, giving my plate a disapproving look.

It only lasts a second, but it’s undeniable. Especially when I see how small of a portion she takes for herself.

“Oh, take more, Ellen!” my mom insists.

“No, no. This is plenty,” Ellen says, smiling. “I need to watch my weight if I’m going to fit into the dress I bought for the wedding.”

Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but that comment sure feels aimed at me.

“I’m sure you’ll look beautiful no matter what,” my mom says.

Ellen picks up her coffee cup and takes a small sip. “Speaking of dresses, I can’t wait to see you in yours, Juliet.”

I’m in the middle of taking a bite of tiramisu when she says that. I swallow too quickly, have a brief coughing fit, and then awkwardly say, “I’m looking forward to wearing it.”

“What an exciting time,” Ellen says with a happy sigh. “Our babies are getting married. Before we know it, they’ll be having babies of their own.”

A disconcerting feeling rushes through me. I do want to have kids. I’ve always known that. But now that I know who I’m going to have them with…I don’t know. I guess I don’t feel as excited about it anymore. Is that terrible?

I glance over at my fiancé, who also looks ready for a change in the topic of conversation.

“This is wonderful tiramisu, Mrs. Carson,” he says.

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