When Paisley and Sebastian, a rival florist and baker, are hired to collaborate on a wedding cake, they soon discover nothing's fair in love and family drama.
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Paisley DeGran...
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Paisley
On Friday night, my evening is spent distracting me. Distracting myself from anticipation.
Sebastian continues to refuse, not revealing where we're going on our date. My curiosity is at its prime as I make some easy jackfruit carnitas tacos.
I'm not vegetarian or vegan, but I'm trying to cut down on animal protein. I only eat meat twice a week as opposed to everyday like my family. I'm hoping one day I'll become a vegetarian or at least move meat products to once a month.
As I'm working away at dicing red onions and tomatoes, I hum along to the steady stream of music. Mom's idea to leave me behind doesn't bother me as much. With them gone, I can enjoy my food without being ridiculed. I can listen to music and have no one complain about the volume.
I can go on a freaking date with Sebastian King.
Popping a tomato in my mouth, I chew slowly, staring out the window.
I've never been on a date. At least, not a one-on-one date. Many times, I went out with my group of friends. There was always an even number, meaning we could pair up for activities like indoor mini-golf or riding the Ferris wheel at the fair.
The date I'm going on tomorrow night... it's different. What am I supposed to wear? Is Sebastian going to pay for everything, or do I chip in?
There are so many unanswered questions running through my mind.
Setting the knife down on the cutting board, I turn to the sink and wash my hands. After I've dried them, I grab my phone and dial Shakita's number. She lost her mind when I told her about Sebastian being in my bedroom. She has this assumption Sebastian daydreams about bending me over the bed and...
I shake my head. I'm not even going to finish that sentence. It's too vulgar for my mind.
Calling her may be a mistake, but I need someone to discuss the unwritten rules of a date with. Shakita has been on several dates.
"Paisley," Shakita answers on the second ring. Her voice is muffled and sounds strange.
I lean against the counter. "What are you eating?"
She smacks her lips together. "Peanut butter with chocolate chips," she replies.
Wrinkling my nose, I say, "Tell me they're not those gross semi-sweet chocolate chips." Eating peanut butter from a spoon is gross. It belongs on toast or in the middle of a peanut butter cup.
She fake-gasps. "I'm no heathen! They're milk chocolate."
"Good." I laugh.
Shakita chuckles along with me for a moment. She then asks, "What's up? Any more juicy details about Sebastian?"
As I comb through my thoughts, I remove the pan from the stove. A mix of jackfruit, onions, tomato paste, cumin, and jalapeños sizzles. My stomach grumbles. It smells delicious.
