Page 94 of Three Pucking Wedding Dates

“Understandable,” Theo murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. “What else?”

“Then there’s the matter of enjoying my dad’s world-famous banana pudding,” I add, grinning despite the gravity of the situation. “No family gathering is complete without it, and I haven’t had it in ages.”

Theo chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Sounds like you have your priorities straight.”

As Theo’s arms tighten around me and the city lights continue to dance in the night, I allow myself a moment of peace and contentment.

51

OAKLEY

Theo and I pull up the gravel driveway, the crunch of rocks beneath our tires feeling like a familiar embrace. My heart races with a mix of anticipation and anxiety, knowing that walking through these doors will bring back memories both sweet and bitter.

“Ready?” Theo asks, his deep voice pulling me from my reverie.

“More than ever,” I reply, forcing a smile that I hope hides my inner turmoil.

We step out of the car, and I’m immediately struck by the absence of Tina’s ostentatious convertible and Georgia’s sleek sports car. Relief washes over me like cool water on a hot day. With them gone, the atmosphere surrounding the house feels lighter, more intimate. It’s as if the air itself has taken a deep breath and exhaled all the tension they bring.

“Looks like it’s just us and your dad tonight,” Theo notes, his piercing blue eyes meeting mine.

“Thank God,” I say, unable to suppress a genuine grin. “I could use a break from their drama.”

Theo chuckles softly, and for a moment, we share a look of understanding. Our shared history, including that intimate moment on my eighteenth birthday, adds layers of complexity to our relationship. But with Tina and Georgia away, maybe we can finally catch our breath and simply enjoy each other’s company.

The door swings open, and my father stands in the entryway, his eyes lighting up with genuine affection as he greets us. “Oakley! Theo!” he exclaims, wrapping his strong arms around me in a hearty hug that feels like home.

“Hi, Dad,” I breathe into his shoulder, soaking in the comfort of his embrace.

“Hey, Mr. Price,” Theo says, extending a hand for a firm shake. “It’s been a while.”

“Indeed it has, son. You’re always welcome here.” My dad’s smile is warm and inviting.

“Thanks, sir.” Theo returns the smile, and I can tell they’re both happy to reconnect.

“Come on in.” My dad beckons, stepping aside to let us pass. “I thought we could make some banana pudding together tonight. It’s been ages since we’ve done that, Oakley.”

“Sounds perfect,” I agree, my heart swelling at the prospect of reliving this cherished family tradition. We follow him into the cozy kitchen, which already smells faintly of vanilla and ripe bananas.

“Alright,” Dad begins, donning an apron and tying it snugly around his waist. “First, we need to slice the bananas. Thin, even slices are key.” He demonstrates with practiced ease, hisknife gliding through the fruit. I mimic his movements, finding a familiar rhythm in the simple task.

“Next, we’ll layer the sliced bananas with Nilla wafers.” Dad’s voice is steady and reassuring as he guides us through each step. “Make sure to cover the entire bottom of the dish, but don’t overlap too much. That’ll prevent any sogginess.”

“Got it.” Theo nods, carefully arranging the cookies in a neat pattern. His attention to detail is endearing, and I can’t help but smile as I watch him work.

“Once that’s done, we’ll pour the pudding mixture over the layers,” Dad continues, stirring a pot on the stovetop. “Now, the secret to perfect banana pudding is all in the consistency.”

“Really?” I ask, intrigued by this nugget of wisdom.

“Absolutely,” Dad confirms, his eyes twinkling. “You want it thick enough to coat the back of a spoon, but not so thick that it turns into a gloopy mess.” He demonstrates by lifting a spoon from the pot, allowing the silky vanilla pudding to coat it evenly.

“Wow, I never knew there was so much to it,” I admit, feeling a newfound appreciation for the dessert we’re creating together.

“Hey, Theo,” Dad says, wiping his hands on a nearby towel, “I was thinking about that time we all went camping when you were kids. Remember how Oakley here almost caught a fish with her bare hands?”

Theo chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he recalls the memory. “Yeah, she was always so fearless, even back then.”

“Still am,” I interject with a grin, basking in the nostalgia of our shared past.

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