Page 1 of Someone You Deserve
Prologue
Astrid
Five Years Ago
I lick the frosting from my lips and a satisfied moan escapes me, barely audible over the noise Bentley and Lilly are making in the living room. “Yup. I think those are my best yet.” Placing each of the cupcakes carefully in the container for the bake sale tomorrow, I admire my handywork, wondering if I’ll ever be able to turn it into something more than a hobby.
It’s not always easy to create something sweet and delicious uninterrupted, especially during the day when the kids are home. But when they find a new movie to fixate on, I use that as my opportunity to experiment in the kitchen, creating the perfect mixtures of flavors and textures, eager to see if I can top what I created last.
And I think these lemon raspberry cupcakes with white chocolate frosting and extra slivers of white chocolate on top are one of my best creations yet.
“Are they watching Moana again?” My husband, Brandon, walks through the front door, surveying the chaos of the house before his eyes land on our kids who are glued to the television.
“Uh huh. It’s the third time today. I’m pretty sure I have the soundtrack memorized by now.”
He drops his bag by the door, kicks off his shoes right beside it, and then heads for the couch, plopping himself down in his usual spot. “Can you grab me a beer, Astrid?”
No “Please.”
No “How was your day?”
No kiss hello.
I can’t even remember the last time he bothered.
Sighing, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and then reply, “You can get it yourself.”
His head whips in my direction. “What?”
“I said you can get it yourself, Brandon.”
He eyes me curiously. “Jesus. What crawled up your ass today?”
My jaw tightens as indignation courses through me. “Excuse me?”
He stands from the couch, crossing the living room to meet me on the other side of the island in the kitchen. “I just walked in the door and you already have an attitude.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that me telling my husband who’s a grown ass adult to get his own damn beer is me having an attitude.” I roll my eyes sarcastically. “Forgive me.”
The look on his face is one of uncertainty until he casts his gaze over the mess on the counter I’ve yet to clean up. “So this is why the house is a mess and the kids are being babysat by the tv? You’re baking again?”
Irritation bubbles up inside of me like lava ready to erupt from a volcano. “Is that a problem?” I ask instead, wondering where the conversation will go this time.
It’s usually one of two avenues, and if he decides to go down the path of self-destruction, I’m not going to hold back tonight.
“Well, I mean, I know the women at the elementary school appreciate your baking, but aren’t there more important things you could be doing?”
Yup. Looks like he chose violence.
Slamming the spatula into the bowl and throwing the measuring cups in on top of them, I glare at my husband and say, “You know what? No, Brandon. There aren’t more important things for me to be doing because no matter how much I do, none of it is appreciated by you anyhow.”
He rolls his eyes as he moves to the fridge. “Oh, great. Here we go again…”
I watch him take out a beer, close the fridge, and then turn back to me. “Is it unacceptable for me to have this one passion that makes me happy?” I hold up my index finger. “One thing that is only for me, and every time I get a chance to spend time on that, you demean it?”
His eyes dart to the cupcakes and then back to me, his brow furrowed. “I don’t understand how cupcakes make you happy. It’s not like you’re going to be on The Next Greatest Baker or something.”
Tossing my hands up in the air, I raise my voice now. “And that’s the problem! You don’t get me at all!”