Well, until the last two years, anyway.
“Will. Come on, now. Stop it.” Melissa’s voice, so much like their late mother’s, softly pulled him back from the brink. “I think this wedding will be good for you. You need to do . . . stuff. Things. Anything, really.” She reached over and squeezed his hand, just like she did that time they went to the state fair when she was five and she was afraid she’d get lost. Like she did during that scary movie he’d talked her into seeing in the theater six Halloweens ago. Like she did at their mother’s funeral.
Like she’d done when he stood by her hospital bed after the accident.
“You’re turning into a hermit.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “And it’s not flattering.”
“Hey now, enough with the insults.” But inside, he was just grateful she still had a sense of humor. She could call him anything she wanted and he’d embroider it on a pillow. What Melissa wanted, Melissa got. It was his job to see that happen.
Which was precisely why he didn’t have time for this wedding, or anything else that didn’t involve paying the bills and making sure Melissa had everything she needed.
“Maybe not a hermit. But you’re heading toward antisocial at best. It’s not healthy.” She settled back against her nest of pillows. “You don’t even work anymore. Besides part-time personal training.”
“I just do that to kill time until I decide what’s next.” Will had cut back to reserves after Melissa’s accident, so he could be around when she needed him. Thankfully, he’d been wise with his finances over the years and had been blessed with some good moves in the stock market. He could afford to take a breath for right now.
“It’s time for next, Will.” Her eyes dared him to argue, and he wouldn’t. But inside, he was yelling protests. It wasn’t her decision to make. He wasn’t ready.
“You’ve given up all your hobbies besides working out too.”
“No, I haven’t.” Man, when did cookie time turn into lecture time? “I still watch movies with you. And watch you make those crafty thingies you sell online. And I run.” He straightened, shoving his hair back, then smoothing it flat again. He couldn’t get too agitated. This was Melissa. She’d see right through it, anyway.
“Like I said, besides working out or wasting time being lazy with me.” She tilted her head. “When was the last time you went hunting? Or cooked?”
“Spaghetti—for you—two nights ago. Was it that forgettable?”
Melissa snorted. “I mean really cooked. Your famous gumbo recipe, for example. Or that barbeque quiche you made for Mother’s Day a few years ago. Or that awesome fried mac and cheese you used to make on my birthday.”
It was pretty awesome. He even put bacon in it—and ground venison. But he couldn’t cook anymore. It reminded him of his life before the accident, before everything changed forever. Reminded him of Mom.
Of how he’d failed them both.
“I don’t have time right now for any of that.” Straight-up lie. He had nothing but time.
Thankfully, Melissa got the hint and didn’t push it any further. “Well, who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone at Adam’s wedding.” She wiggled her eyebrows up and down in anticipation, and Will’s stomach tightened. He’d rather go back to the previous lecture than start this particular new one.
“You know that’s not going to happen.” An image of Charlotte in her apron flashed through his mind, and he shook his head to clear it. No. It wouldn’t happen. Couldn’t.
Melissa snorted. “You might be a hermit, but you’re still good-looking. It’ll happen eventually.”
He smiled to pacify her, but no. He couldn’t take any more time away from his sister. And what woman would understand his responsibility toward her? A girlfriend, or wife, was just a complicated mess waiting to happen. His duty was here.
Always the baker, never the bride.
She ought to needlepoint that and hang it on the wall.
“Mommy?”
Her five-year-old daughter’s tiny voice barely registered above the electronic beeping of her handheld game. Zoe accompanied her to The Dough Knot every Saturday morning and alternated between “helping” mix batter, playing games, and reading books under the high stainless-steel counter in the kitchen.
Right now, though, she sat at one of the tables in the vacant dining area, driving Charlotte semicrazy with her endless random questions. The elderly couple who had just left with their weekend brownies had found it adorable.
Charlotte half wished she could ask them to babysit.
“Yes, Zoe?” She tried to keep the impatience out of her tone. Usually, Charlotte loved their weekends together, but this particular Saturday was different.
She turned from putting the last few rose petals on the layered strawberry cake she had baked that morning, already boxed up for delivery. If she had a dime for every fake flower petal she had ever created out of icing or fondant, she could probably fund her own wedding.