“If I started listing all the romantic comedies with baking scenes in them, we’d be here all day.” A seasoned baker, Kat had finished rolling out her dough and was already cutting it into shapes. “As my babcia likes to say, food is an expression of love.” She grinned, glancing at the prep table next to theirs, where Harry and Sally were laughing as they worked together. Her grin faltered as their laughter gave way to arguing. “Uh-oh.”

The couple seemed to be engaged in some sort of domestic squabble. Sally was waving a wooden spoon in the air and Harry was defending himself with a whisk. “Think I need to break things up with my referee whistle?” Andie wondered.

“Nah.” Julia shook her head. “They’re just having fun with each other.” She lowered her voice. “You should have seen the two of them go at it after paintball.”

A wistful shadow crossed Kat’s face. “I wish that was the kind of fighting my parents did.”

Julia winced. Kat didn’t talk about her folks much, but Julia knew it was a messy situation. She’d told Luke she’d be glad if her parents had been the type to fight more, but that was naive. She might not like the complacent disinterest her own parents had for each other, but it was infinitely better than the volatile household in which Kat had grown up. Was it any wonder that she and her friends liked to escape into the fantasy world of romantic comedies?

She reached out and squeezed her friend’s hand.

Kat squeezed back and straightened, as if shaking off the dark cloud of her thoughts. “Baking is rom-com shorthand for bonding time,” she said. “We can have some girl talk while connecting over a domestic activity.”

“How very patriarchal of us,” Andie observed drily.

“Oh, knock that judgmental chip off your shoulder,” Julia said. “Baking isn’t a gender thing. I’ve never been good at it,” she admitted.

“We know.” Kat tittered, watching as Julia tried—and failed—to roll out her ball of dough. “You need to sprinkle some flour over the top so it doesn’t stick to your rolling pin.” She added a handful of flour to Julia’s dough. “And there’s nothing wrong with enjoying time in the kitchen. I love baking with my babcia.” Kat’s blue eyes lit with a warm glow as she tossed a dash of flour in Julia’s face. “She promised to teach me how to make kolaczki cookies this year.”

“You win.” Andie held up her hands in surrender. She wiped the flour from her cheek and groaned. “Now I’m craving your grandmother’s kolaczkies.”

“Me too,” Julia agreed, her mouth watering at the thought of the buttery fruit-filled cookies Kat’s grandmother baked only during the holidays. “Arguments surrounding traditional gender roles aside, Andie does have a point,” she added.

“I do?” Andie blinked.