She stormed out of the kitchen, Jeremy close behind. A minute later, the front door shut, and a small handful of ice cubes rattled from the fridge door. One skidded to a stop in front of Steve, who turned his nose up at it with practiced disdain.

Mitch eyed the fridge with the same look. Now that he was alone in the house, maybe he could do what he wanted. It was his birthday, after all.

“All right, fridge.” Mitch clapped his hands together once. “It’s just you and me. Let’s wrassle.”

The moment the church service was over, Bea made a beeline for the door. She had no idea what Pastor Frank’s sermon had been about. Her mind had been preoccupied with her dad’s birthday party the whole time he was talking. Hopefully, the subject wouldn’t come up at lunch.

Jeremy caught up with her and opened the passenger door of the Toyota. “What’s the big rush? Aren’t people coming at noon?”

She slid in and buckled. “Yep.”

“It’s 11:32.”

“Which means we better hurry.”

Jeremy walked around the front of the car and got in. Why hadn’t she told everyone to come at twelve-thirty? What had she been thinking? Pastor Frank never got out of the building by noon on a Sunday.

Jeremy started the car and drove out of the parking lot, singing along to Alabama on the radio. Bea was too distracted to even tease him about it.

He turned onto Town Road. “Why are you so stressed about a birthday party?”

“I’m not stressed.”

“You are.”

She clasped her hands together and looked out the window. It was hard to explain. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to. He always got so sad when she brought up her mom. But maybe this was part of what he meant when he said he needed her to choose him.

“My mom always made a big deal about birthdays.” She tucked her hands under her legs. “And was obsessive about Dad’s German chocolate cake. It was always perfect. I helped her in the kitchen a lot growing up, but that was one thing she insisted on doing herself. Something she wanted to do for him. I’ve never made one myself.”

“I’m sure it will be great.” Jeremy turned onto Second Street. In front of them, a mass of stratus clouds cut the Bridgers in half, covering the peaks so the mountains looked like buttes. “How hard can it be?”

Bea felt tears forming and fought them back. No. She would not cry again. He didn’t mean anything by it. The voice telling her he was dismissing her concerns was only her hormones trying to destroy her life. But what a thoughtless thing to say.

“Pretty hard, actually.” The words erupted from her mouth. “Have you ever made a German chocolate cake?”

He looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Uh, no.”