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Her head dips. “I’m sorry, too. I knew that punishment was harsh. You’re not a bad girl, Devina. You never have been. I think, perhaps, your father and I were just worried. You’d tried to sneak out once already this year, and…we let you go that time because it was for your friend August and her fiancé seemed a decent man, but then you didn’t even come home that night, and we couldn’t reach you at all, and we only knew you were okay because August let us know you weren’t feeling well so you’d be spending the night with her, and we’re not stupid. We put the pieces together that you’d been drinking before you came home clearly at the end of a hangover.” So much pours out of her, all at once, pricking in her eyes and mine. “When Wynnter showed up, and after what happened, it just…” Her shoulders slump. “We regretted letting you go at all. We assumed you’d had a taste of rebellion and liked it. We feared this exact thing would happen if we weren’t strict enough when you snuck out again.” She looks toward the glistening front counter displays. “I fear we overcorrected. And I apologize for that. But, please, reconsider this mistake. If you’re rebelling against our rules, if you’re trying to escape them by launching in the other direction, please let’s talk about it before you ruin your life.”

My heart pounds, filling with something akin to hope. Stepping closer, I say, “Mom, I left when I was angry, but I didn’t leave to rebel against your rules. None of this is a rebellion. I’m grateful for the care you and Dad have put into raising me. I just don’t hold the same beliefs that you both do where it concerns what I want my life to look like.”

“Then why is this happening so fast?”

“Because it isn’t. I’ve been in love with Wynnter from the moment I first saw him in high school. I never told you because I knew you wouldn’t approve.”

My mother’s hand lifts, thin and cold yet so wonderfully my mother’s when it cups my cheek. “Appearances mean nothing of substance in this world, my darling.”

I reach for her hand and fight back tears. “I know. I know that. But he’s so much more than that first moment. He’s August’s brother. I’ve had years since we met to get to know who he is.”

“I don’t like his temper.”

I wince. “He doesn’t really have a temper. That day was the first time I’d ever seen him actually mad. Most of the time, his moods are fairly consistent.”

“It should be all the time.” Shifting her touch, she squeezes my hand, searches my eyes, and pleads, “I beg of you, Devina. Reconsider.”

I can’t.

I won’t.

Because I have been considering this decision for ages already. A decade sits between when I started and now. More than a decade, actually. Ten years, nine months, and two days of consideration have passed. I have journals packed with the considerations I’ve always assumed were meager dreams. In all that time, hardly a moment has gone by where this hasn’t been on my mind in some hopeful way.

That said, this is the first mature conversation I can ever remember having with my mother. One-on-one. Adult to adult. So I don’t dare to let go of her hand when I say, “Please give him a chance. You…are staying, aren’t you?”

Her jaw locks, but she nods. “Your father and I managed to clear my afternoon. He couldn’t get away, but so long as this plan of yours to be married on Christmas persists, one of us will be here with you. For everything.”

I battle to blink away my tears. “Thank you.”

“We love you, Devina.”

“I know.” A droplet I can’t stop skates down my cheek. “I know you do. I love you, too.”

A deep breath fills my mother before she shifts her attention past me, toward the rest of my family—August and Alister, Mr. and Mrs. Winslow…and Wynnter. Gaze lingering on him, she says, “You’re certain an establishment of this caliber will be available on such short notice? When your father and I got married, we had to book our wedding cake months in advance. It seems…” She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “…unwise to attempt to book a tasting in person when you need the cake finished in a matter of weeks.”

I tilt my head. “Wynn made the appointment a few days ago. We’re just waiting on his grandmother, Leeann, before we get started. His grandfather runs the Bear’s steakhouse and also couldn’t get away today.”

My mother’s lashes flutter at me, then she says, “Oh.” She stares. “Odd.” She looks around at the elegant displays and the exorbitant prices. “I…wouldn’t think business that slow here.”

“It isn’t,” I say. “Wynn knows the owner.”

“Huh…” My mother’s lips purse. “Well then.”

Well then indeed.

Shortly after Leeann arrives, the owner personally greets us and leads us into a back room with a long table. Lovely paper flowers decorate the lacey tablecloth and spill from the corners in an ethereal display. Everything sparkles, perfectly enchanting, and I’m giddy as I take a seat next to Wynnter. My mother settles herself into the upholstered chair beside me, and I smile between them, trying not to let my heartbeat run away with itself.

This is amazing.

More than I could have hoped for.

My mother is here. She’s not yet said anything too egregious. And we’re about to have cake!

As soon as everyone is settled, the owner—in his pristine double-breasted chef coat—draws his hands together before his ample midsection. “I’d like to extend a warm welcome to the friends and family of Wynnter Winslow. It’s an honor to have been chosen as the bakery for this momentous occasion.” Presenting a set of double swinging doors, he says, “We’ll begin with an arrangement of three of our classic favorites.”

From beyond the doors, a woman rolls a cart filled with rectangle plates in. A line of three ornately decorated cylinder cakes sit atop each plate, and she delivers the first serving platter to me.

“It’s so cute,” I whisper, touching the tiny gold fork resting beside the quaint masterpieces.