“Non-practicing. She passed when I was fourteen, but up until then we had oliebollen every New Year’s. They just bring back so many great memories.” Before my family let all their crazy hang out. I realize I’m getting misty, which is embarrassing in front of a bunch of people I’ve just met who are related to my new boyfriend.

Thankfully, Leslie seems oblivious. “Do you know how to make them?”

“Blaire runs Buttercream and Booze, the place next to The Knight Cap.”

“This is Alice in Wonderland?” Aiden’s eyes dart between the two of us. “I mean. Damn.”

“You’ve mentioned me before?” I arch a brow, waiting to see how he’s going to try to get out of this.

“Mentioned you before? Dude was obsessed at the end of the summer, pretty much every single time I got on the phone with him he was moaning about how good your cupcakes were.”

“Aiden,” Ronan snaps.

“What?”

“You’re a dick.”

“Yeah. I know. I have zero social skills; just ask Leslie.” He thumbs over his shoulder at his fiancée.

“He’s right,” Leslie chimes in. “But his brain is big and full of numbers, and I find that hopelessly sexy, so I decided to keep him.” She passes her apron to me. “Please help us. All I want to do is eat donuts. I’ve been saving myself for these so all I’ve had today is a yogurt cup with blueberries and the ones I’ve made so far aren’t all that great.” She pokes at the overdone balls.

“They look super for your first time!” I lie. “Give me twenty minutes, and I’ll have a fresh batch for you.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’m fully prepared to make cookies,” Ronan interjects.

“Or we could do it together.” I pull the apron over my head.

He grins. “Okay. Sure.”

“Sheesh, I feel like I’m watching foreplay. Come on, babe. Let’s leave them alone.” Aiden claps Ronan on the shoulder. “Make sure you wash your hands if you put your fingers in places you’re not supposed to.”

“Aiden! Enough, or she’ll never come back!” Leslie swats him on the butt with a dishtowel.

“Get your head out of the gutter. I meant places like his nose. All the pheromones must be getting to you. Should we go upstairs for a few minutes and check on that light bulb that needs to be changed?”

“What—” Her confusion turns into an eye roll. “Celia is napping upstairs, but nice try.”

He ushers her out of the kitchen, leaving the two of us alone. I split the dough into several bowls so I can add the cinnamon apples, dried fruit mix, and the raisins to some. While I work on the add-ins, Ronan puts on a seventies-era apron and starts dropping balls of dough into the pot of boiling oil.

“Sorry about the razzing from my brothers. And the girlfriend designation. That probably should’ve been a conversation prior to me opening my big mouth.”

I shrug, not wanting to give him a hard time about it. “It’s cute.”

He cringes. “Cute?”

“Okay, maybe cute is the wrong word, considering you’ve turned a really horrible green color. How about sweet? I think it’s sweet that you introduced me as your girlfriend. I like you, Ronan, a lot. And as your girlfriend, I can say I’m definitely interested in repeating the events of last night on a very regular basis.”

He pulls me into him. “I can certainly accommodate that request. Once we’re finished stuffing our faces with donuts.” He gives me a quick peck, and then we get back to work.

Half an hour later, we have three bowls piled high with oliebollen. We have honey, sugar, powdered sugar, cinnamon sugar, and a delicious maple butter for dipping.

Celia comes down from her nap as we’re getting settled at the dining room table. Ronan introduces me, and she promptly bursts into tears, blubbering about how she’s so glad Ronan is finally settling down and how they’ve always wanted him to find someone.

Once she’s no longer sobbing all over Daniel’s shirt, he tucks her into the table and flits around, making sure she’s comfortable. Then he loads up a plate for her, careful to make sure the maple dipped ones don’t touch the cinnamon sugar.

“Sorry about that,” Ronan mutters as we fill our plates.

“I think it’s sweet that your family cares so much about you. It’s nice to see.” So much nicer than my boyfriend-stealing sister and my attempted-boyfriend-thieving cousin.

No one talks about which famous person they ran into last week, or the newest keto diet, or which plastic surgeon botched up what surgery. As predicted, the stock market comes up a couple of times, but Ronan is quick to shut down the hard sales pitch Daniel lobs my way.

They regale me with stories about Ronan and his science experiments as a teen. Apparently the desire to brew started early. Pre-legal drinking age early. By sixteen he’d made his first batch of moonshine.

He shrugs. “Booze was expensive and hard to get ahold of. I found a way around it.”

After we stuff ourselves silly, we retire to the living room. Just like the rest of this house, it’s a time warp back to the nineties. The carpet is an awful rose color, the furniture is boxy and worn, and the curtains boast a garish, retro floral pattern. It’s horrible and homey and wonderful.

“I just need to help Daniel with something. You’ll be okay for a few?” Ronan asks.

“Of course, you go right ahead.”

He kisses me on the cheek and I cross over to the fireplace so I can check out the pictures on the mantel. A sixtieth wedding anniversary photo sits in the middle, Henry and the late Dottie dressed up as though they were ready to party. As I take in the background I realize they’re in The Knight Cap.

“That was my Dottie.” Henry picks up the framed photo, his smile fond but also sad.

“You look like you belonged together.”

“Aye. We did. Met when we were just kids. I was eighteen and a fool. She smiled at me and I was a goner.”

“Just like that, huh?”

“Sometimes you just know.” His thumb smooths along the edge of the frame.

“I believe that. I love the wall of photos in The Knight Cap. It’s like watching the progress of your love through still shots.”

“Every year I made sure to put a picture on that wall so we could walk by and see our good times together. I know in this day people don’t really make photo albums, but we always had one going.”

“Will you show me?”

Henry’s face lights up. “I’d be happy to.” He ambles over to a bookshelf lined with photo albums. It’s five shelves high, and there have to be at least ten albums on each shelf. He taps his lip. “Where to start. Ah!” He lifts an album from the shelf and motions for me to take a seat on the couch.

Setting the album between us, he flips to the first page. Old, yellowed, black and white images with captions and dates line each page.

The very first image is of a young woman, a teenager based on the softness of her features and the innocence of her smile.

“That’s the first picture I ever took of Dottie.” He taps the image. “Our parents were against us dating. I was a few years older and she was serving tables at the time, but love doesn’t care about approval. We kept it a secret.”