orning. Snow was falling softly outside the ti

ma wa

tired eyes, said she'd just

he image of Jack's laughing face at Le Cirque, Bl

called.

cal paper. Our small town wrapped its arms around me, offering casseroles and co

stry Chef at 'Aura,' a Michelin-starred restaurant in Seattle. I'd sent ou

from Jack, from the

he crushing weight

a one-w

fessional-grade stand mixer (a gift to myself after my first big catering

most nights at Blair's penthouse since their engagem

ttle annoyed. "Still at it? I

, Jack. You tal

r. "Look, I know you're upset about your grandmother. I'm

y voice was dan

to put his arms arou

's gotten into you, Emil

t exist anymore, Jack. She

ise? Guilt? – in his eyes. "Don't be dramat

s your fault she d

offended. "That's not fair. I would

sound. "Like a beggar on the street? Is tha

ey, Emily. It was *our* money. Fo

air Kennedy's engage

nt. That's... business. Family expe

ed 'Baking Books.' "I understand that for seven years, I poured

g big. All the birthdays and Christmases where my gifts were thoughtful, handmade things, wh

ng me sick. "For groceries. For my share of the rent on *y

It was! It's important to

, you mean.

eping through. "Em, come on. Don't do this. We can work this out. I miss you

it is, Jack." I hefte

What about... what about the wedding? I told you, I'd giv

f his words, even no

't make it up to her. And

m. He didn't try

building, the cold November air