Page 43 of Wedding Bells in Silverwood

“They’re keeping you overnight.” Rachel pulled out her phone. “I’ll let Eddie know I’m camping out here.”

“No.” Mr. Mason shifted in his bed. “You’ll do no such thing. It’s bad enough I’m in here. I don’t want Avery anxious about when her mother will be home.”

“I can stay,” Nick insisted. He gave Holly a nervous look. “Cupid can sleep at Holly’s tonight.”

“Absolutely, of course,” Holly said. “I’ll pick him up on my way home.”

Mr. Mason sighed. “You know I don’t like all the bother. Makes me feel old.”

Nick squeezed his father’s shoulder. “It should make you feel loved. It’s no bother for us, Dad, honest. Let us do this for you. You’ve taken care of us your whole life. Allow us to return the favor.”

Mr. Mason nodded, his eyes welling with tears.

Chapter Sixteen

Viola’s shoulders were strained from the heavy bags she carried into the chateau. Aside from the fresh produce that would arrive two days before the wedding, these bags contained the last of the non-perishable supplies she required for the reception preparations.

While Viola was stoked about all her plans panning out, she couldn’t shake off her anxiety. She was counting on the logical part of her brain to take over, to concentrate on the job she needed to get done and to push past the part of her brain that was making her stomach churn and the muscles in her neck ache.

I can do this. All this hard work is going to pay off.

If this catering job proved successful, she could really make a name for herself. Her culinary dreams were within reach. She just had to press on a little longer.

As she walked through the building, a sweet, delightful scent drifted past her. Viola followed the smell to the kitchen, wondering what delicious smell emanated from the space she’d claimed in the chateau. Once she entered through the doors, she halted, surprised at what she saw. The last person she’d expected to find was Jonas standing at the counter, cutting into a pie tin.

He glanced at her over his shoulder as the kitchen’s double doors swung shut. “Oh, hi.”

Viola snapped out of her astonishment and placed one of the bags on the counter before she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She blinked quickly as if that would help her process what she was seeing. The sleeves of his pristine white button-up shirt were rolled up to his elbows. His expensive suit jacket draped over the back of a chair, and he wore Viola’s pink apron over his front. There was a smear of flour on his cheek, and apple peels littered the workspace.

“Hi.” Viola furrowed her brow. “What are you doing here?”

He smirked. “Itismy building.”

“No, I mean here in the kitchen.” She held up a hand. “Yes, I know. It’s your kitchen. What’s this?”

Jonas set down the knife and wiped his hands on the apron. “I made pie.”

Viola put the other shopping tote on a stepstool by the refrigerator. “I didn’t know that was something you did.”

“I’m willing to bet there’s a lot about me you don’t know. My fondness for making pies is just one.”

“Fondness?” She couldn’t bite back her smile. “Okay.”

“It’s something I do from time to time, especially when I’m feeling bogged down from work. It’s sort of like a meditation process, rolling out the dough and decorating the crust. Helps me relax.”

“Relax?” She crossed her arms. “I didn’t know you were capable of such a thing.”

The smallest of smiles appeared on his face. “It’s been known to happen on occasion.”

“And pie-making fixes that?”

“I can permit my mind to be at peace for a while, deter me from becoming a total jerk who blows up at people.”

Viola regarded him.

“I know you probably don’t believe me, but I don’t enjoy that tyrannical side that slips out when I’m stressed.” He pursed his lips. “I’m sorry for being so rude to you.”

She lifted a brow. “Which time?”

---