Page 47 of Mom Com

“No, it’s fine,” I say, now feeling a little silly, and walking forward once more. “I want to go.” And as I say the words, I realize they’re true. I’ve been here a week and a half, and I’ve been so worried about what people might say or do that I haven’t gone to the one place I love the most. And as we cross through the wrought iron archway onto the snow-laden green bustling with stalls, I lift my chin.

Fried dough and warm chocolate scent the air, making my stomach rumble and my mouth water. The market is abuzz with people and laughter and there is so much wintry goodness that I fear my heart might actually explode.

“Follow me,” Wilder says, as he leads me past the spiced apple cider booth and through the crowd.

I look everywhere at once, trying to soak it all in and store it away like a pretty dream for later. But as Wilder slows, I look ahead and come to a stop so fast that I actually hear brakes screeching in my head.

There, in front of me is the Nothing Batter Bakery booth, and for once in my life, I don’t know what to say. I move forward, slowly, carefully, like I might blink and find out it’s just an illusion, an alluring memory from my childhood that’s come to haunt me with its joy.

My gaze flits along the edge of the booth wound with sprigs of berries, branches of pine, and fairy lights up to the handmade fabric awning my mother custom ordered in Paris when I was seven. There are bags of peppermint bark tied with bows, sweet ricotta filled zeppole dusted with powdered sugar, and cannoli decorated with snowflake sprinkles—all the things Dad and I used to make.

Wilder says something to Jenna, who’s currently manning the booth dressed like a sexy elf, while I attempt to remember how to breathe.

“My dad—” I say, and stop, taken by surprise by the flood of emotion. “He would have loved this.”

Wilder smiles a slow, sad smile. “He always talked about starting the booth again when you came home, and I just thought...” Now he stops, realizing what he implied. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said—”

“No,” I say, a little too firmly, my eyes watering of their own accord. “I know it’s my fault he discontinued the booth. I know—” I swallow, trying to regain control of the wobble that is seeping into my voice.

Wilder shakes his head. “It’s not your fault, Maddi. You have every right to live your own life.”

I look away. While it’s a nice thing to say, it’s only words. It can’t undo what’s done. “This was really thoughtful, Wilder. And I’m sure it was no easy task getting a booth on such short notice.”

He smiles. “You’re telling me. I practically promised the market committee my firstborn child to convince them to give it to me for the day. Albert and I spent all of yesterday and most of last night baking to pull it off.”

My eyes widen. The big mysterious obligation Wilder had yesterday wasthe booth? But I thought his parents said it was his anniversary with Kate?

“Here ya go!” Jenna says with an extra dash of pep and a big wink as she hands me a small plate. On it is a steaming hot lava cake drizzled with what smells like a mulled wine reduction—my favorite dessert since always and one the booth has never carried before.

“No way!” I say in utter disbelief.

He grins. “Thanks, Jenna.”

“Yes, thank you. Seriously,” I parrot.

“Not a prob,” she says before she returns to the line of customers.

I stare gluttonously at my dessert, not hesitating to scoop up a bite of the deliciousness.

“What do you think?” he asks.

I groan. “Okay fine, you keep these beauties coming and maaaybe we can be friends.”

He laughs. “You should grab an extra one for Spence.”

I perk up at the sound of his name. “Holy shit. Spence is going to love this booth. We have to go—” I stop, realizing that I was just including Wilder in my life like that were normal.

“Pick him up?” Wilder asks. “I think that’s a great idea.”

I give him the side-eye. “You do?”

“Yes, I do. You and I went mad over this place when we were nine. And I’d really like the chance to meet him properly.”

I don’t know whether it’s Wilder’s kindness or being drunk on chocolate, but it actually sounds fun. “Okay, fuck it, let’s go get—” Only I don’t finish my sentence because as we turn around, Kate’s standing behind us in her camel peacoat and beret, looking just shy of livid.

“Really?” she says to Wilder, readjusting her bag on her shoulder. “Thisis what you had to do this afternoon that was so important you canceled our plans?” She flicks her hand in my direction and I flinch.

Wilder sighs like he’s exhausted. “Kate, I really don’t think—”