by Sara Whitney
After a long couple of seconds, she sighed. “C’mon, Man Bun. You’re supposed to answer with a ‘What?’ or an ‘I don’t know.’”
He wasn’t a nickname guy. “I don’t know. What?” He flopped on his couch in irritation, and it creaked as he searched for a comfortable spot.
“Why, thank you for asking.” She laughed. “What’s wild is that I volunteered to take care of the last of their wedding details while they’re both out of town.”
She paused, and Erik forced himself to make the effort. “Why’s that wild?” Look at him, chatting on the phone with a girl. If only Pops could see him now, he might’ve worried about his solitary, long-haired grandson a little less.
“It’s wild because I’m the perpetually single lady in our group,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’ve never even come close to getting engaged, let alone married, and they’re leaving me in charge of all the details until they’re back? Madness!”
From the little he’d seen, she was an emotionally expressive woman with fancy shoes and lots of hair. That basically described every bride he’d ever worked with. She might not appreciate that comparison though, so he packed away the comment.
“Anyway,” she said, “it’s good that you called me because—”
“I didn’t. You did.”
She gave an exasperated sigh. “Pedantic. Okay, so it’s good that I called. You were on my list. Did you mean it about making the cake for the wedding?”
“Of course.” Had she forgotten he was out of a job? He’d bake them a cake every week if it would cover his living expenses while he searched for permanent work.
“Oh yay!” she squealed. She actually squealed. He should hate that overly loud enthusiasm, but for some reason it made him smile, maybe because he’d seen her interact with Richard and believed she was actually that excited to be helping her friend. “When can we meet to hash out the details?”
“You’re the client. Your call.” His own days were terrifyingly empty.
She hummed in thought. “Let’s see, tomorrow’s Thursday, and I’ve got a late-afternoon meeting in Schaumburg. Could we do evening? Like eight? We could meet at Blake’s again since we both know where it is.”
“Sure.” So that conversation was done. Was it time to hang up yet?
“So how’s the job search coming?”
Apparently not. He shifted on the couch, and it creaked again. With his luck, it’d finally splinter into wood shards just when he really shouldn’t spend money on a replacement. “It’s coming.”
While he choked back the panic that came from hearing nonstop “sorry, but no” for days, she said brightly, “Well, if all else fails, you could always open your own shop, right?”
She tossed the suggestion off lightly, and he almost dropped the phone at hearing her voice the dream he was afraid to let himself want. Before he could muster a response, she wrapped up the call with a chirpy, “Okay then, see you tomorrow!”
He sank farther into his couch, allowing himself five minutes of blissful blankness before he hauled himself to his feet. Time to bake.
Erik’s fingers drummed out a rhythm on the table as he waited for Josie to arrive on Thursday night. Unlike Saturday morning, Blake’s was almost deserted, so his heavy tap tap tapping was audible in the small shop. When he noticed the reedy barista glancing his way, he forced himself to stop the fidgety action. He wasn’t nervous; it’s just that his life was in a state of anxiety, and waiting for the inevitable chaos of the manic-pixie wedding planner wasn’t helping things.
His phone buzzed to life on the table next to him, and he flipped it over to find a message from Gina on the screen, probably wanting to talk about her upcoming move to Chicago. He picked up the phone to let her know he’d call her later, but Josie chose that moment to burst through the door, all wild hair and pink cheeks.
“Hi! Sorry I’m late!” She dropped her bag and shrugged out of her tan coat. “I’m desperate for a chai tea. Give me a sec?”
He forgot all about the text to Gina as he watched the Technicolor tornado of perfume and pointy shoes spin to the counter, direct far more words than the situation warranted at the barista, and return to claim a seat.
“Thanks for coming.” She beamed. “I talked to Richard this morning, and when he heard we were meeting, the first thing he asked about was your chocolate hazelnut cake.”
“Good choice.” He didn’t hold back his smile. He’d never get tired of hearing praise for his creations. “First some paperwork.” He tapped his thumb on the notebook in front of him. “Groom names?”
“Richard Washington and Byron Cutter.”
“Guest count?”
She pulled out her phone and consulted a screen of notes. “About eighty. How big a cake is that?” She grinned as she peered at him over the top of her phone. “And by that I mean, how many of your amazing flavors can we have?”
You can have as many of my flavors as you want. He frowned as the come-on floated through his mind. He wasn’t a pickup-line guy, and even if he was, he’d like to think he’d never use one that cheesy on any woman, let alone someone as sophisticated as Josie in her tight dress and frighteningly tall high heels.
He cleared his throat. “We could do three layers. Four if the guys are okay with leftovers.”
“Cool.” She typed away on her phone, oblivious to his wandering thoughts. “I’m sure they’ll want leftovers.” When the barista appeared at their table with her drink order, she looked up with such a dazzling smile that the kid almost upended her tea. “My hero! You’re a beverage artist. Thank you.”
The barista smoothed a hand over one of his exuberant sideburns and stammered out a dazed combination of “thank you” and “you’re welcome” and “refills on the house” before escaping behind the counter, looking as if he’d just stared into the face of the sun. Erik sympathized. The woman across from him, sipping her tea with a euphoric look on her face, was… a lot.
“Mmm. So good,” she said. “Anyway, they’ll want one chocolate hazelnut, for sure. What else do you suggest?”
Yes. Back to cakes. Here went nothing. He reached into his backpack and pulled out two plastic containers. “Richard said he’s from Georgia?”
Josie nodded.
“Thought so. Here.” He nudged the first container over to her, along with a plastic fork he’d scrounged from the coffee station. It was a far cry from Dora’s guest china at the Cake Shoppe, but the result should speak for itself.
Josie wasted no time trying a sample, moaning as the first bite hit her tongue. “Oh my God. Heaven. What is this?”
Pointedly not thinking about how good her moans of pleasure sounded, he said, “Peach cake with a pecan filling.”
“For Georgia!” she exclaimed around her mouthful. “He’ll love that.”
Pride swelled in his chest; he’d come up with the recipe on the fly, hoping it would mean something to Richard. Beyond the good word of mouth, it sounded like the guy could use a little happiness right now.
He slid the other container toward her. “I also have a cardamom cake that you didn’t try on Saturday. I think it’s a strong counterpoint to the sweeter flavors, but Dora always said it was ‘too ethnic.’”
Josie rolled her eyes. “Of course she did.” Her expression turned rapturous as she sampled the new selection, and Erik congratulated himself on correctly estimating the range of her palate.
“Amazing!” She was typing again. “Options for layers: chocolate hazelnut, Georgia peach, and bigots-be-gone cardamom. Oh, and Richard loved the pistachio too.”
She grabbed a second mouthful of cardamom cake. Another moan. Another sound for him to ignore as it crossed those velvety lips.
“I prefer buttercream icing if they’re okay with that.” Abrupt, but it kept the meeting on track.
“Oh sure,” she said. “Fondant’s gross.”
“Exactly. I want my cakes as delicious on the outside as they are on the inside.”
She set her fork down
with a gasp. “That’s great! That’s your tagline.”
“My what?”
“For your new bakery!” She sketched a rainbow arc through the air with her hands. “Hot Buns: Delicious outside, delicious inside.”
“I’m not calling my shop Hot Buns,” he muttered, feeling ridiculous even joking about it with someone else.
She slapped a hand against the table with a hoot, causing the barista to peer around the cappuccino machine to make sure his new customer-girlfriend was safe.
“Aha! You are considering opening your own bakery.” She shot him a smug grin, and he gave her his most forbidding look in return to get her to drop it.
It worked too well. The teasing light vanished from her face, and she frowned down at the notes on her phone while he battled back the urge to apologize for frightening the joy out of her. But wanting to coax that smile back to her face wasn’t the smartest impulse in the long run; she was only here to help pick out a wedding cake, and he wouldn’t see her again until the wedding itself, if even then. No need to confide in her like she was his friend.
Smarter to stick to the facts. “When’s their wedding date?” Not that it mattered since he had no other work on the horizon at this point, but it got them back on track. Of course, it also reminded him that he had no other work on the horizon at this point. Panic roiled in his belly again.
“June twenty-eighth. Fast, right?” She was smiling again, but it was a little less bright this time. “They only got engaged in February, and they still have tons of decisions to make.”
She swapped containers and took a big bite of the peach cake, rolling her eyes heavenward as the fork hit her tongue. She might be far too vivid for his everyday life, but her over-the-top expressions made her his ideal cake-tasting client.
“So that’s why I’m freaking out,” she said around another mouthful. “I offered to take care of some of the details while they’re both in Rochester since I’m the best maid and the only semilocal family is Byron’s brother, who’s way too bro-ish to bother with ‘girly wedding shit.’”
So many words to convey such simple ideas. Yet even though their business was mostly concluded, he wasn’t ready to go back to his empty apartment. So he did the unthinkable and kept the conversation going. “Nothing girly about wedding prep. What’s already done?”
She twirled her fork in the air as she thought it through. “Let’s see… the venue, the band, the photographer, the flowers, the invites. What else can there possibly be?”
He scratched his jaw in thought and ignored her pink little tongue darting out to capture a crumb off one of the fork tines. “Cake, obviously,” he said. “Honeymoon. Rehearsal dinner. Gift registry. Guest book. Seating chart. Catering menu. Reception favors. Attendant gifts.”
She slapped her forehead. “Duh, attendant gifts. How could I forget after all the engraved flasks I’ve gotten for bridesmaid duty over the years?” She tapped a note into her phone and then cut her eyes over to him. “Hey, you’re good at this. Are you married?”
He almost choked on his herbal tea at her abrupt question. “I bake wedding cakes,” he said. “I’ve picked things up.”
“Oh! Of course. Well, thanks. I just added all that to my list.” She finished typing as a wide yawn overtook her. “Ugh, sorry. It’s been nonstop at work, and I’m wiped out. Things start slowing down for me by the end of the week, thank God.”
She paused and looked at him expectantly, although Erik had no idea what she wanted. After a moment, she rolled her eyes. “Since you asked, I’m in marketing.”
He winced. Right, back and forth. Give and take. The thing he’d always been bad at.
“You’re so lucky that I talk enough for three people.” She snagged another forkful of cake. “We’re a match made in heaven actually. You, strong and silent. A Great Pyrenees. Me, little and yappy. A Chihuahua.”
She batted her long lashes at him, and he bit his lip to hide a smile. This was the strangest business meeting of his life, and he wasn’t supposed to be enjoying it. She was a client, and he had a career to get back on track. It was definitely time to stop lingering.
“I should go.” He lurched to his feet, and she looked up at him in surprise.
“Oh, okay. Sure.” She frowned and started to replace the lids on the cake containers, but now that he was standing, he wanted to get gone. Being with her unsettled him, and he no longer had an orderly kitchen where he could retreat to find his center.
“Just keep them,” he said. “Too complicated.” Unwilling to consider whether he meant the GladWare or her, he turned on his heel and left her sitting alone at the table with some of the finest cake he’d ever baked.
Six
“Are you kidding me?”
Josie let out a frustrated scream and slammed her laptop shut on the email that had just landed in her inbox.
That harpy. That fucking harpy.
All those hours she’d spent on the proposal for the clothing boutique opening in Streeterville, and Valerie had swooped in and snagged it. Valerie, who hadn’t had an original idea in two decades, would be the one overseeing the new business rollout from the ground up, likely with the launch plan that Josie herself had created. Good ol’ team player Josie, who’d shown her brilliant ideas to Val when she’d expressed an interest.
She squeezed her eyes shut to banish the burn of tears. What an idiot, thinking she’d finally get the chance to lead a project of that size. And she’d been so well suited to it too. Who better to launch a business devoted to fashion than someone who’d devoted herself to mastery of the topic out of necessity since she was a tween?
Only one thing might ease the bad feelings. Josie left her bedroom and shuffled to the kitchen, where she stopped short at the ghastly scene she encountered. “Finn! You didn’t!”
Josie’s roommate muted the old episode of Barbarian Time Brigands she was watching and twisted around on the couch to face the kitchen. “Didn’t what?”
Josie brandished the empty, unwashed cake container she’d found on the counter. “Did you or did you not finish the last of the peach goodness?”
“Umm,” a disembodied voice said, “was I not supposed to?” Finn’s boyfriend Tom popped up from where he’d been reclining with his head in Finn’s lap, his brown hair mussed.
Josie leveled a flat look at him. “I don’t know, were you supposed to eat the last piece of the best cake I’ve ever had in my mouth? The piece I was saving for breakfast before I lost all self-control ten seconds ago, only to be disappointed?”
He offered a my bad grimace and disappeared behind the couch again. Seconds later, his words floated back to reach her ears. “Worth it!” he called as Finn twisted around again to mouth an apology.
Josie flounced to the sink, where she looked longingly at the sad little icing smear that was all that remained of Erik’s magnificent dessert. With a sigh she pulled from the soles of her feet, she turned on the water and scrubbed the empty container, leaving it next to the counter to dry.
Then she flopped onto the chair next to the cuddled-up couple. “Is it not enough punishment that Tom fell in love with my roommate the day after I went to all the trouble of picking him out and bringing him home for myself—”
“Not quite how that happened,” Finn objected, a blush spreading across her face.
Josie eyed the way her prim-and-proper roommate’s fingers tangled in Tom’s curls. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you not in love?”
“We are.” Tom cracked one eye open and slid his free hand under the hem of Finn’s shirt. “Disgustingly so. Right, Huck?”
Finn’s blush deepened, but Josie ignored all the lovey-doveyness to vent about her latest disappointment. “So get this: my nemesis snaked the lead on the boutique project I thought I had in the bag.”
“Val.” Finn hissed the woman’s name with all the venom a best friend should.
“Val,” Josie agreed gloomily. “Bright side, I’ll have tons more free time over the next few months since I won
’t have my own team to manage, which is good because Richard just texted this morning that their florist had to cancel.”
“Bad luck,” Finn said.
“Yeah. Something about a date mix-up and a conflict with the mayor’s nephew’s college graduation party. So yay,” she said flatly. “Now I just need to find somebody who’s magically free on the last Saturday in June.”
Tom’s wandering hand paused in its exploration of the hidden mysteries of Finn’s stomach. “Why not just skip the flowers?”
“Ugh, you’re such a man,” Josie grumbled.
Finn flicked his ear lightly. “Not a romantic bone in your body.”
“Oh, you want a romantic bone in your body?” he replied, catching Finn’s teasing fingers. “I’m on it.”
In a flash, Tom rolled off the couch, tossed his squealing girlfriend over his shoulder, and carried her off to their bedroom.
“That’s gross, you guys! And you still owe me cake!” Josie shouted at Finn’s closed door. Then, to herself, she said, “I have got to get my own place.”
Rather than hanging around stewing in the dangerous mixture of jealousy and frustration that threatened to engulf her, she slid on her shoes, grabbed her jacket, and let herself out of the apartment.
She trudged down three flights of stairs and crossed the checkered floor of the lobby, exploding through the heavy entrance door. She halted just outside the building and filled her lungs with the early-evening air, uncertain of where to head. She’d been joking just now—well, mostly joking anyway—but in truth, she had spotted Tom from across the bar in February and she had brought him home, hoping that she’d finally found a good guy. Turned out she had… just not for her. Tom chose Josie’s roommate, just like Josie’s mom chose her work and Josie’s boss chose Val. It was enough to give her a massive rejection complex.
Oh wait, she already had one.
She jolted herself into motion and walked briskly down the sidewalk as if speed would let her escape the excess of emotions buzzing in her skull. After a block, she realized she was headed in the direction of the neighborhood bar, Jeb’s Tap, which seemed as good a place as any to spend an hour or so feeling sorry for herself. As she approached the squat pub, her phone vibrated. She slid it out of her jacket pocket and read the message Richard had sent her, then tapped to enlarge the accompanying photo.
