MARION

By the time we pulled up to my parents’ place, the sun had already dipped low, painting the sky in those soft golds my mother always claimed were “good omens for family gatherings.”

I parked the car, got out, and walked around to open Demetria’s door. She smiled up at me, cradling the two dessert boxes from her bakery like they were priceless artefacts.

“You sure you don’t want me to carry those?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No. I made them. I’m presenting ...