"Cheryl, we can't rewrite the old pages. But every page from here on, I'd like to write with you."
The day Stanley proposed, there were no roses, no grand gestures, no cheering crowd.
Instead, he gave me a brand-new blue cloth recipe binder.
The cover was hand-stitched. The stitches weren't perfect. But every one of them was neat and careful.
I opened the first page. Inside was a recreated copy of my grandmother's cookbook.
The missing recipes... I'd rewritten myself. One memory at a time.
Some flavors could never be recreated exactly. But this time, my hands didn't shake while I wrote.
Stanley placed a ring box on the table.
"You don't have to say yes. You can say yes later. I'm not asking to pressure you. I just want you to know something."
I looked at him. "What?"
"I want to
