Page 122 of Redeeming Heart

It’s been 37 days since Brandon left his Stanley ring with me after we made a promise to wait for each other.

It felt dumb for a moment that I begged him to not forget about me, but as time started to pass and he was so far away, I clang to the ring that meant a lot to him.

We spent almost every chance we got to talk on the phone for hours. We only started recently with face timing, but most of the time either of us will fall asleep during the call from being exhausted from our busy schedules and days.

With regional try-outs sneaking closer we started to focus more profoundly on practice twice a day and it kind of helped to keep my mind distracted.

My team was also curious about what is going on between Brandon and me since we weren’t shy when we said our goodbyes.

I couldn’t lie to either of them because they were there when we said our farewells and they are after all my team.

The news of us having feelings for each other didn’t come as a surprise for them—maybe they were a bit shocked that I finally confessed my feelings, but all this time Brandon’s were obvious. According to them.

Nobody was home when Megan dropped me off at home.

“Get a good rest, cap,” She joked when I stepped out of her car.

“You too, Meg. Maybe instead of having an endless hot make-out session with Jared let him rub your feet or something.” I joked with her grabbing my bags from the back seat.

She shot me a grin with a naughty glint in her eyes. “It will still lead to sex.”

I rolled my eyes at her and at the same time gave a soft chuckle.

“It’s my therapy session as it helps to relax after having a busy and stressful day.” She carried on.

“Doesn’t it make you more tired?” I questioned.

She shrugged. “It does, but it also helps as a stress reliever.” She winked at me before I shut the door.

Feeling hungry and having sugar cravings I decided to make my mother’s famous Beignets recipe.

After making sure we have all the ingredients I started combining them as instructed—not keeping an eye on the clock and almost missed when my father, Meredith, and Jonah joined me in the kitchen while I was deep-frying the dough.

“Hmm, that smells amazing,” Meredith hummed entering the kitchen and checking on what I am making.

I let her taste one of the square deep-fried doughs, stuffed with custard and dusted with powdered sugar while I was finishing off the rest.

She gave a delightful moan at the first bite. “Oh, my. They are delicious.” She complimented.

“Where did you learn to make them?” She asked.

I caught my dad reaching for a couple and handing a few over to Jonah.

“It’s my mom’s recipe,” I noted with a sad smile.

Memories of her wearing an apron covered in flour, icing, or any kind of ingredient she was working with the day, how our house smelled like a bakery with all the wonderful baked goods she made and seeing her smile when I walked through the door.

I spend any given chance I got to help her out in the kitchen wanting to learn her tricks.

“At a time, I thought she was using pixie dust to make everything taste and look so good and I was a bit disappointed when I found out it was only love.”

I met Meredith’s gaze and weirdly enough I didn’t feel threatened by her presence anymore.

It kind of bothered me that I can move forward like this—pretending that my mother didn’t die three years ago and that my father is getting remarried.

“I’m just going to get cleaned up,” I said, grabbing a plate before they finish everything.

“Sash,” My father called out softly and gently grasped me by my upper arm.

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