46. The Wrong Words
Mara
I almost dropped the container twice on my way up the small office steps. It has been built on top of what used to be the clubhouse and since the old loft had been burned in the fire, stairs it was.
I had banana bread. I had never made it before, and the first loaf came out looking like a brick someone had tragically tried to frost, but the second batch turned out right; golden, cracked perfectly down the middle, still warm enough that I could feel the heat through the foil.
I had spent twenty minutes deciding whether to tie a ribbon around it before deciding that was insane, it was banana bread, not a wedding gift, and shoving it into a tote bag instead.
Also, it wasn't as if I was courting Zander, he was already mine and I was being nice enough to make one
