Page 51 of Question Everything

“I know. Thanks,” she said, but in her mind, she grappled with the dilemma at hand. The opportunity to tell him hadpassed. She would need to find a time and a way to divulge the truth.

Organized chaos.That was the only way Mia could think to describe the scene in the kitchen. The smell of rosemary, thyme, and citrus scented the air as the overly large turkey roasted in the oven; there were both sweet potatoes and yellow potatoes peeled and boiling away on the stovetop and Sibby and Colleen were both wielding large knives as they chopped celery and carrots, onions, and garlic to mix into a large bowl of dried cubes of bread for something they called “stuffing.”

“I made a large pot of coffee, but breakfast is on you, today, Mia. Do you think you can handle scrambling some eggs and frying the bacon in the fridge?”

“Of course. Let me throw these cinnamon buns on a baking sheet and get them going. I think you’ll like them.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Sibby said. “I love a warm cinnamon bun.”

Mia quickly arranged the raw dough on the parchment paper that covered the baking sheets. She felt good to be included and she knew she could handle eggs and bacon, so she pulled the refrigerator door open to retrieve what she needed from inside. It was all the other food prep that was going on this morning that confused her. Plus, she was truly baffled as to why none of it was familiar. This was clearly a time-honored, national holiday.Why don’t I remember this?she asked herself.Maybe my family doesn’t celebrate Thanksgiving…but if that was the case, there must be a reason. Do I even have a family? Or wait…she wasn’t from here at all…And then it hit her so hard that she had to stop herself from falling over.I’m not American! I’m British!It was fuzzy, but she had the distinct memory of Kyle asking her about that when they first met.

Besides, things weren’t adding up. Did all professional bakers use metric measurements as she did, instead of imperial ones? Kyle seemed confused when she asked him to measure out one hundred milliliters of milk and fifty grams of butter for the rolls they made last night. It took a minute for her to figure out the conversion back to ounces and tablespoons.Something was most definitely off. Could she be from London? And if so, why did she not have a more distinct accent when speaking?

“Mia?” Sibby’s voice broke into her inner monologue. “Are you okay over there? You’ve had that refrigerator door open for quite a while.”

“Have I?” Mia looked around and realized that Sibby was right. She had been lost in her own thoughts and still hadn’t pulled out the bacon, eggs, and butter. “Oh. Right. Sorry.” She quickly took the items and placed them on the counter, then closed the door. “I’ll get breakfast going now.”

“I know you will,” Sibby teased. “Once you get your mind off my brother, that is.”

Mia blushed but was happy to let Sibby think that she was daydreaming about Kyle instead of questioning everything about her own very existence. The vortex of uncertainty that constantly swirled around her head these last weeks seemed to pick up speed for a moment. She tried to shake the feeling away, but it continued to build until she lifted the tray of uncooked cinnamon rolls and turned to put them in the second oven underneath the one that held the turkey. As she opened the door, a wave of warmth bathed her face and she had a clear vision of that happening before, with a much larger oven in a commercial kitchen. It felt like déjà vu.

Just like that, she remembered.

It was familiar because she owned a bakery. Not just any bakery, either, and she was no ordinary baker. She had created one of the most iconic wedding cakes of all time, for two of themost famous people in the world. Panic overwhelmed her as she remembered, and her hands began to shake. These weren’t run of the mill people, not just another bride and groom. They happened to be high ranking members of the royal family. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she knew that somehow, this was the reason she was on the run. As if a door unlocked, her memories flooded back to her, washing over her and nearly knocking her off her feet.

I am British!She felt the shockwaves deep in her soul.I don’t recognize Thanksgiving because I’ve never celebrated it before. I have a brother, Finn. Somehow, he helped me get to the States. I was supposed to meet him at a safe house in Port Hope. Shit! My name isn’t Mia. It’s Maeve.

She composed herself enough to finish her task and begin making breakfast for the family by finally removing the last of the ingredients from the large kitchen refrigerator. She didn’t want to let on that her memory had returned, plus, she now had the beginnings of a headache that pounded along her forehead with an increasing intensity.Let me make it through breakfast. Then I’ll figure out my next steps.

Maeve didn’t know much in that moment, she only was sure of one thing: she had to take her daughter and leave here, and she had to do it fast. It was the only way to protect Kyle and his family. She was sure of it.

CHAPTER 29

Her next thought was that she had to confess to Kyle. She had an obligation to tell him all that she’d remembered. As soon as breakfast was over, and his brothers volunteered to clean up, she turned to him and said, “I need some help bringing some of the desserts up from the basement freezer.”

He took one last swig from his mug and said, “Of course.”

“Meet me back here in a minute. I’ll ask Millie to keep an eye on Daisy for me.”

He nodded and she turned to lift her daughter from the bouncy seat, then went into the living room where she found Kyle’s younger sister trying to get her nephews settled in to watch an episode ofBlueyon the big screen.

“Can you hang on to this little one as well?” she asked. “I just need to organize the downstairs freezer. Won’t take long.”

“Of course,” Millie said, taking the baby from Maeve. “At least she doesn’t talk back yet! That’s a blessed relief.”

Maeve smiled. “True. I can feel that coming, though. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Once she knew that Daisy was properly cared for, Maeve turned and went to the basement door where she found Kylewaiting for her. The activity in the kitchen had ramped up even more, and she was grateful for the chance to speak to him privately in a quieter space. “Let’s go,” was all she said, and he followed her down the wooden steps without protest. When they reached the refrigerator, she said, “I have to tell you something. I’ve remembered more of my past.”

“You did?” he asked, reaching out for her arm.

“I did. I can bake because I owned a bake shop, a successful one at that.”

“Do you remember where? Was it in the US?”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t visiting London. I live in London. It all adds up. This holiday and all that goes along with it is unfamiliar for a reason. I’ve never celebrated it before today.”

“And…” he prodded.

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