Page 20 of One Pucking Destiny

I nod in approval. “It will be a good surprise.”

“I can’t say I’m not nervous about working full time, traveling with the team, and being pregnant at forty.”

“You’ll be tired, I’m sure, but you’ll be fine. You can do anything.” My words ring true. My mom has always been superwoman. I think back to some of the comments from earlier. “Oh, so the whole team knows. That’s what the comments about cookies and cravings were about.”

“Yeah, sorry. Beckett couldn’t wait a second to tell everyone. He’s just so excited. But I wanted to tell you in person.”

“Yeah, it was better that way.”

“I originally told Beckett that being with me meant no kids because I thought I was past the age when this was possible for me. He agreed to that, of course, but I knew he had always wanted to be a dad. So I’m just so happy I can give him this.”

“It was meant to be.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Life is good,” I say.

“It really is.”

CHAPTER

EIGHT

BASH

The white powder sprinkles onto the countertop, mimicking a winter wonderland, unlike the dreary gray landscape outside. Looking beyond the counter of cookie dough and flour to the grand Christmas tree makes it feel very festive. As long as I avoid looking at the nonstop rain outside the window, it feels like winter—as it should during the holidays.

“Not too much flour, or the cookies will be too dense,” my grandmother warns.

Originally from Mississippi, our grandmother Billie Rose, whom we affectionately call G-ma, is the best cook there is. She’s an especially talented baker and has taught me everything I know. She credits her Southern roots and the women in her family that camebefore her with her skills. We often kid that the cooking gene skipped my mother and my sister. Luckily, it didn’t pass by me. I love knowing my way around the kitchen. There’s a satisfaction that comes with preparing food that makes others happy.

“I know, G-ma.” I give her a smile. She’s said the same thing to me every time we’ve made sugar cookies over the past twenty-four years.

She tightens the straps of her apron and nods. “You know I just have to make sure.”

Hattie sits on a stool on the other side of the counter, reading a gossip magazine. Grandma is the only person I know who has subscriptions to a dozen or more magazines. “Ben and Jen are getting divorced again.” She shakes her head.

“He should’ve stayed with the other Jen. She’s a gem of a person.” Grandma sighs.

“How do you know?” I chuckle.

Grandma narrows her gaze, eyeing me with an indignant stare. “I watch her cooking videos with her mother. She’s very sweet to her mom.”

“What videos?” I ask.

Hattie answers. “Instagram reels. I set up an account for G-ma last time I was here. Now she’s obsessed with reels.”

“I am not obsessed,” Grandma scoffs. “I only watch a few short videos a day.”

“A few hundred.” Hattie giggles.

“Pfft.” Grandma waves her hand. “You two. Mind the flour, Sebastian,” Grandma warns yet again as I start to roll out the dough.

“You know he’s known for his baking skills, G-ma. In fact, the whole team calls him Cookie and begs him to bring in cookies every week,” Hattie states.

“Is that so?” Grandma eyes me with pride.

“Yep.” I nod. “I won a contest with your mini-chip chocolate chip cookie recipe last January.”

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