Cara’s POV
Excitement coursed through my body as I thought of the dinner we were invited to, and I glanced at the wall clock above the kitchen counter. It was almost four-thirty.
We had less than two hours until we had to be at Dean’s house for dinner. Time always had a way of sneaking up on me when I was in the kitchen. The cheese and garlic crack bread was in the oven now, filling the air with a warm, buttery aroma.
I stood at the counter, cutting up fruits for the tart while the tart crust was cooling on the counter. It was the first thing I made before the bread, and now, everything was taking form. It felt good to keep my hands busy.
There was no way I would show up at someone’s house for an invited dinner empty-handed. My mother had drilled that lesson into me from a young age.
