Arrow to the Heart: A Dark Cupid Romance

Chapter 17

Jillian lines up another two dozen rolls on the sheet pans and stacks them on the last remaining inches of open countertop.

"Okay, we're officially out of counter space," I say.

"Well now it's step two," she says, blowing a piece of hair out of her face—probably to avoid touching her face with her dough-covered hands.

"Step two? Geez, Jills! How many steps are there?"

"Just two," she says, eyeing the recipe. "Unless you count the baking part."

I can't help but laugh. My sister is in way over her head.

Jillian showed up at my apartment this morning with a panicked expression and several armfuls of dough. Apparently her power went out at 5 am and she needed to bake several dozen buns for her in-laws' anniversary party.

I just had to offer to help.

Now I'm elbows deep in flour and butter and my kitchen and dining room are covered in unbaked pastries.

"What are these called again?" I ask.

"Pineapple buns. They're Mrs. Chen's favorite."

"So do we put in the pineapple now?"

"No, there's no pineapple. They're just called pineapple buns because they look like pineapples."

"But they don't look like pineapples. They look like... spheres."

"Well not yet, Bree! That's step two." She huffs and I can tell she's stressed out.

"Okay, what do I do?"

"Could you roll out that dough from the blue bowl?"

I nod and pull out the dough, doing my best to find a scrap of space to flatten it out.

"I'm sorry," she says with a sigh. "I'm coming into your apartment and commandeering your kitchen and telling you what to do like I own the place and you're not doing me a huge favor. I'm turning into Mom."

"You're not turning into Mom. If you were, you'd have made a snide comment about my hair by now," I joke.

She laughs and shakes her head.

Alex, my sister's husband, walks over from his spot on the couch. He's a terrible cook, but he came along for moral support. Alex is a clean-cut guy with neatly styled black hair and warm-toned skin. He's really a great guy, even though he wears polos and slacks that make him look like a trust fund kid who walked in straight off a golf course. He walks up and wraps his arms around her shoulders, planting a soft kiss on her temple.

"You're nothing like your mother, Jillian. You're gorgeous and sweet and kind. Look how you're doing this lovely thing for my parents. You can do this, just breathe."

Most days I'm quite content not being in a relationship, but every time I'm around these two they make me feel like the most pathetically single human being on the planet.

You're in love. You mutually support each other. You're adorable. We get it.

"Speaking of," Jillian says, turning to me. "Mom called me yesterday."

"Oh boy. Why?"

"She's coming to town in a few weeks. She's planning on staying with us for a few days. I swear to god, Bree, I'm going to tear my hair out. I know she's just going to spend the whole time complaining about my life choices."

"I'm pretty sure I'm one of her least favorite of those choices," Alex says.

Unfortunately he's right. Jillian and Alex were high school sweethearts and Mom blamed him when my sister decided not to go to college. She nearly refused to go to their wedding because she thought they were too young. It was one of many points of contention between her and Alex's family and she still loves to bring it up.