I couldn’t help but reach up and touch the scarf on my head, though, hoping it hadn’t slid back. I knew a lot of girls at the masjid didn’t wear hijab at all, but Yulia had been dead set on me making a good impression on her new friend circle. I was pretty sure I looked more like a frazzled babushka than the all-American Muslim girl Yulia wanted to pretend I was going to be, but whatever. It wasn’t like this was permanent.

“You know: ‘Too salty!’ ‘Too sweet!’” The boy paused dramatically and then slipped into a deep baritone. “Mm. Just right.”

That was enough for me.

“Ah, I see. Okay. Well, if you’ll excuse me . . .”

“Rehan,” he said brightly.

“Pardon?”

“My name is Rehan. Nice to meet you, Sister Emmeline.”

“Oh, God, no.” I held up a hand, flushing. “No, I didn’t mean you. Emmeline is my grandma. Literally. I’m named after her.”

The last of my mother’s attempts to be a good daughter, tacked on after the agreement to marry my dad. Neither had done either of us any good, and even though, honestly, if you pared it down, none of it was my grandmother’s fault—or what she even asked my mother to do outright—it felt better for Yulia to make it one and the same.

“You can call me Em.”

“Sister Em.” He nodded seriously. “So, think you’ll find anything here that suits your fancy?”

“It’s not like I’m a picky eater,” I mumbled. “It’s just . . . I was looking for something a little more filling, that’s all.”

It didn’t help that, apparently, Brother Khalid was not only the new stepfather but also the new chef.

“I didn’t want to make trouble,” he apologized as I stared down at a plate laden with sweetly filled nut crepes. “These are just the way my mom makes them.”

“They are so good,” gushed Yulia.

I wanted to ask her when she’d had the opportunity to taste her new husband’s crepes when she hadn’t even had enough time to tell me about meeting him, but I decided against it.

This was the first morning they were back from their honeymoon, and though I’d considered bracing myself with a stiff cup of black coffee against the gooey banter and sheep eyes, they were being tame. I hadn’t seen so much more than a quick pat on the shoulder.

That was comforting. That was normal. Maybe Yulia was already cooling off from her recent exploration into cougarhood. If he wasn’t going to stick around, I could allow him a small victory and his presence in my kitchen, even though I wasn’t a sweets person in the morning at all.