Nobody could bake a pumpkin pie like Grammy. I had her precious recipe book, filled with her legendary dishes. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t match her skill, which was maddening.

“Ugh, I’ll never get this right. Sorry, Grammy! She’d have my head if she saw this disaster from above!” I sighed with a weak laugh, frustration written across my face.

Vance chuckled gleefully. “Marla, why not order the meal from a fancy restaurant this Thanksgiving? Wouldn’t that be simpler than… this? Besides, times have changed, love. People order out instead of making a mess in the kitchen!”

I sighed. How could Vance miss the emotions tied to a homemade Thanksgiving?