Cupcake (The Fluffy Cupcake Book 1)

by Katie Mettner

  “Come in,” called a voice from the other side of the door.

  I pushed it open, and Mrs. Mulberry sat at the makeshift desk with piles of paperwork and ribbons around her.

  “Hi, Mrs. Mulberry,” I said, scooting sideways to fit into the small office. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  She motioned around and chuckled. “Hi, Haylee. I’m just working on the usual stuff that has to get done before the parade. I’m secretly glad today is the last day of the fair. I’m exhausted, but it sure was well attended this year, wasn’t it?”

  I nodded my agreement. The older woman was echoing what I was feeling about it, too. “It grows every year, which is wonderful to see.”

  “Did you hear the good news?” she asked, standing up to join me by the door. “Mrs. Barton had a baby boy last night at six o’clock. Phillip John Barton was six pounds and healthy as a horse. Probably all those cupcakes,” she said with a wink.

  I chuckled and gave her a little shoulder bump. “That’s wonderful news. We were worried when we hadn’t heard anything when we left last night. I’m so glad everything turned out well for them.”

  “Was this a social visit, dear, or did you need something?” she asked right before she snapped her fingers. “I bet you’re here for your sticker, aren’t you? Oh dear, I wonder where that is,” she said, tapping her chin.

  I waved my hand immediately. “No, the committee always delivers it once everything is ready. Don’t worry about it, please. I’m here about a different matter. Well, two, actually.”

  “Oh, well, hopefully, I can help,” she said, “I don’t have much time.”

  “I know, that’s why I’m here early. I wanted to let you know that we won’t be competing in any further cupcake competitions as a bakery. I think after all these years, I can no longer consider myself anything but a professional, and that’s not fair to the other teams who want to compete.”

  “Hmmm,” she hummed, her lips in a frown. “I suppose you are right in that matter. There is no rule about it, though.”

  “I know there isn’t, and the committee should probably consider changing that. If they do, they could even consider doing a bake-off between bakeries or something that gives the professionals a handicap. The bragging rights are fun and all, but I feel like when others know they’re going up against professional bakers, they won’t even bother to sign up. Does that make sense?”

  “It does,” she agreed. “I’ll bring it to the rest of the committee to consider before next year.”

  “Great. Let me know if I can help with judging or for ideas on ways to get the professionals involved but still keep the competition clean for the amateurs. I knew it was time to stop competing when I decided to give the trophy to the second-place winner if we won again this year. It no longer felt right to keep it.”

  “Oh, should I have the sticker go to Darla then?” she asked, her head tipped to the side.

  “No. I didn’t give it to Darla. I will be giving the trophy to the Bartons, though. It can be a fun story they tell little Phillip when he’s old enough.”

  “Whatever you’d like to do, dear,” she said with confusion.

  “Darla is the second reason I’m here,” I said, swallowing down the panic, so my voice stayed even.

  “I know you two have never gotten along,” she agreed. “Did something happen?”

  “You could say that, on both accounts,” I agreed. “I don’t know where her issues with me come from, truthfully.”

  “Darla is just that way, Haylee. She picks the person she thinks is the weakest and uses them to make herself look better.”

  “That’s what Brady said, too,” I whispered, doubt creeping in about what I thought I knew about Brady Pearson. “Regardless, I heard she won Strawberry Fest Princess last night.”

  “Fair and square,” she said. “We brought in judges from outside of the county, so there was no favoritism.”

  “That was a good idea,” I said, pulling my phone from my pocket. “The thing is, I don’t know if you want someone like Darla representing the city as the princess. I didn’t know it yesterday when she approached us after the competition, but my recording app was still open on my phone. I always record the judges’ decision and use the sound bites for advertising and such,” I explained, nervously swallowing around the lump in my throat. “I was playing it back last night and was surprised to hear that it had also captured an exchange between us that occurred after the judging. Can I play it for you? Fair warning, some of her language is colorful.”

  She motioned for me to go ahead, so I hit the play button, the audio already cued up to play at the right spot. I let the whole thing play, even the part where I got snippy with her. I believed I was justified in what I said, but even if Mrs. Mulberry didn’t, she would have to agree Darla started the whole thing.

  When I clicked the phone off, she stood in disbelief, her mouth hanging open. “She just started that out of the blue?”

  I shrugged callously. “Not exactly out of the blue. She lost the bake-off and wasn’t happy about it. I probably shouldn’t have egged her on, but she could have walked away. That’s not taking into account what happened at the bakery a few weeks ago.” I explained to her about the fight and how I refused to press charges as long as she stayed away.

  “This isn’t good,” she fretted. “I wish we had known about that. We don’t allow anyone to participate in the pageant if they aren’t upstanding members of the community. They have to be good ambassadors. We all know she can be snippy, but I didn’t know there was this kind of thing going on in the background.”

  “She likes it that way,” I said, everything weighing heavily on my shoulders now. “The more people she fools, the more she can get away with.”

  “I need to call the other committee members. I don’t know what to do. Is there a way to get me a copy of that?” she asked, pointing at the phone.

  Anticipating that request, I had made an MP3 of it before I left home. “I can email it to the email address I have for the committee if that helps.”

  She patted my shoulder with her lips turned down in a frown. “That would help. I’m going to call everyone now.”

  I attached the file to an email and sent it, holding it up for her to see. “I put in the body that you’d be calling everyone. I’ll let you go. Thanks for listening to what I had to say. I just thought you should know.”

  She patted my shoulder on her way to the desk to make her calls. “Thank you for bringing it to our attention. I’ll let you know what our decision is.”

  I stopped in the doorway and gave her a sad smile. “Either way, I don’t feel good about this, Mrs. Mulberry, so just do what you think is best for the festival and the town. Enjoy the rest of the fair,” I said, tapping the doorframe and heading back to my car.

  What I said was the truth. I didn’t feel good about what I’d just done, but I also couldn’t give Darla another pass. She’d gotten nothing but passes for her entire life from the time she was a little girl. It was time for her to own up to her decisions in life. She needed to know her words would come back to haunt her.

  I sat down in my car, the weight of the world heavy, and rested my head on the headrest. Something told me if the committee pulled her crown, I’d hear about it sooner rather than later, but what was done was done. I started the car and pulled out of the parking spot and back toward the bakery, knowing I needed to face my responsibilities there, too. When I parked next to my apartment and noticed Brady’s car was still on the street, I decided those responsibilities could wait until he was gone.

  I quickly jogged up the stairs, so no one saw me, and locked the door. Just the thought of Brady’s conversations that I overheard at the fair made pain and anguish stab through my heart like a hot poker. There was no way I could work with him and pretend everything was okay.

  I sank onto the couch and buried my face in my hands, the tears falling again. I’d cried so many tears since yesterday afternoon I didn’t think I had
any left to cry. How could I be so naïve? Darla was right. There was no reason for Brady to be with me. If nothing else, shirking my duties at the bakery would prove it to him. Maybe then he would take that job in Milwaukee and leave me and my business far behind. Brady deserved to run a bakery. He deserved to be with someone who had fewer issues than I did, too. Someone with a family behind them that he could call his own eventually. I didn’t have that, and now, I never would.

  “IT’S TIME TO FACE YOUR fears, Haylee,” I said to the woman staring back at me in the mirror.

  I shut off the bathroom light and walked to the front door, somewhat ashamed of my behavior in the last thirty-six hours, but also proud I had stood up for myself against Darla. I hadn’t heard anything from the committee, which meant they hadn’t done anything about it. That was okay. My conscience was clear. I’d done what I could to make it known the kind of person she was behind the community’s back. It still stymied me that she had lived here all these years and had managed to fool everyone with her lies. She wasn’t fooling me. With any luck, she wasn’t fooling the members of the committee anymore, either.

  That was then, and this is now. At almost midnight, I had to get downstairs and start baking. I had three hours until Brady would show up, and I planned to be done with everything at the bench, so I could be at the decorating table while he was making bread. We’d have to talk, but I couldn’t do it during work hours. I had planned to go in after he left yesterday, but I was too exhausted to remember my name. I hadn’t slept the night before, and there was no way I was going to be able to hold it together long enough to work around dangerous equipment.

  I’d texted Amber and told her I was sick and was going to bed. I promised her I’d be in at midnight to get the baking done, and she’d texted me back saying she understood. I half expected her to show up early to talk to me since she’d been trying since we left the fair on Friday night. I felt shitty about it, but sometimes, a girl just needed to sulk.

  I grabbed my keys and opened the door, locking it behind me and tucking my keys in my pocket. I was halfway down the stairs when a shadow stepped away from the side of the building.

  “It’s about time, bitch,” she said, her words slurring slightly.

  I froze, surprised to see Darla climbing the steps below me. “What do you want, Darla?” I asked nervously. “I need to start baking.”

  “What do I want?” she asked, spittle flying toward me. If her words were poison, I’d be dead. “I want to know why you were secretly recording me! And then to go to the festival committee to nark on me. Bad move, bitch.”

  “I wasn’t secretly recording you,” I assured her, tired of her vendetta against me. “I always record the competition. I didn’t know my phone was still recording when you came over to us. Lucky for me, but not so lucky for you. Now they know you’re a bitch. Then again, that’s not big news,” I said, giving her a shrug.

  Before I could brace for it, her arm darted out, and she slapped me across the face. “Watch your tone, fatso,” she spat, having to right herself from the momentum of the slap. She was drunk. I could smell it on her breath every time she opened her mouth. My cheek stung, but it wasn’t enough to give her the satisfaction of rubbing it. I did need to deescalate the situation and get away from her before she did something worse than slap me.

  “Listen, Darla, I need to get to work. If you’ll excuse me,” I said, trying to slide down to the next step to break away from her.

  “There is no excuse for you,” she hissed, her face right up in mine in a way that could only be construed as threatening. The smell of vodka on her fetid breath made me want to gag, but I resisted, afraid that would set her off. “They took my crown from me as I was getting on the float. Do you know how humiliating that was?” she asked, her voice going up several octaves as she encroached on my space more.

  “I’m sorry, Darla. That wasn’t my intention,” I said calmly.

  She laughed, but the sound was nothing but evil. “Oh, sure. The poor pitiful bitch who had her feelings hurt didn’t mean to start trouble. You’ve always acted the victim to get what you want. The game is old now, and you really should get new material.”

  “I’ve always acted the victim? Seriously?” I asked in astonishment. “You’re the one who has spent twenty-five years bullying me, Darla. I don’t know what I ever did to you to deserve it. Regardless, I’m done now. You can be you, and I can be me. As long as you don’t step foot on my property again, we’ll get along just fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a bakery to run.”

  Her growl froze me in my tracks. “There you go again, rubbing in how successful you are because you run a bakery. I can make you unsuccessful in less than two seconds,” she said, her eyes wild and crazy. They were the last thing I saw before I was lying on my back, staring up at the sky filled with bright, twinkling stars.

  “How do you like me now, bitch?” she asked, spitting in my face.

  I tried to get up, but I couldn’t make my limbs move when I gave them the order. I couldn’t get words to come out of my mouth, either. Darla was starting to swim above me like a freaky monster from a horror film. It struck me that I was going to die here without telling Brady I was sorry.

  “Are you out of words?” she asked, giving me a kick with the toe of her sandal. It dug into my hip, and I grunted, the pain flaring to life in every part of me. The only satisfaction I got was the motion made her tip to the side where she fell to her hands and knees on the ground.

  When she stood back up, she took two steps to the left before she steadied herself. “Here comes the fun part,” she said, her hand reaching for something in her pocket as the stars dimmed, and the roaring in my ears gave way to silence.

  Twenty-Three

  I parked my car on the street, surprised that there were still no lights on in the bakery. Amber had texted me that Haylee was going to start baking at midnight, so I texted back that I was going to get here early to talk to her. It took some convincing, but she finally relented and agreed to let me try talking to her first before she stepped in. I knew Haylee was upset about Darla, but something told me there was more to it. She was scared of what was happening between us. The only person who could reassure her about that was me.

  I checked the clock, and it was only a little after twelve. Maybe Haylee overslept, so I decided to head up to the apartment and pound on the door until she opened it. Anxiety filled my stomach with dread at the darkness around the building at this time of night. I always hated the lack of lighting at the back, but Haylee refused to put in motion sensor lights. She said it was unnecessary in a town like Lake Pendle. Maybe she was right, but the small light over the bakery door barely offered any light for her to walk up and down from her apartment.

  I tripped on something lying on the ground by the steps and fell to my knee. “What the hell?” I asked until my eyes landed on the prone form by my leg. My breath caught, and my heart pounded in my chest as I gazed at the woman I love. She was out cold.

  “Haylee,” I yelled frantically, slapping her cheek gently in hopes she’d come around. “Haylee, sweetheart, come on,” I said, my hand going to her neck to check for a pulse. She was breathing, and her pulse was steady, but she wasn’t responding.

  I grabbed my phone and dialed 911, waiting impatiently for the call to be answered.

  “911. What’s your emergency?” the operator asked.

  “My girlfriend, she’s hurt. I think she fell down the stairs.”

  “Where are you, sir?” she asked, her tone bored as she typed away on the computer keyboard.

  “Behind The Fluffy Cupcake,” I said. “Uhh...the address is...dammit! What’s the address?”

  “Is this Brady?” the woman asked.

  “Yes!” I exclaimed, “yes, it’s me, Brady Pearson.”

  “This is Lynn Fleming. I’ve got a rig dispatched. Who is the victim, and what are her injuries?”

  “It’s Haylee!” I exclaimed, my throat closing in on the words. My hand was
wet when I pulled it away from her neck, and the red stain made my heart pound in my chest. “Oh God, she’s bleeding and unconscious,” I said, my tone of voice telling her more than my words. I was scared that I was watching the woman I love die. “I don’t know what happened.”

  “Hang on, Brady,” she said as she typed. “I need to let the EMTs know the specifics.”

  “Should I check her for injuries?”

  “No!” she exclaimed. “Don’t move her if you don’t have to. She could have hurt her neck if she fell.”

  I held the phone under my chin and rubbed Haylee’s face tenderly with my thumbs, whispering to her without moving her head. She moaned, and her lids fluttered.

  “She’s coming around,” I said to the operator.

  “Do you hear the sirens?”

  “Yes,” I said, letting out the breath I’d been holding.

  “Good. Don’t move her. Keep her still until they arrive.”

  “I will. Thank you!” I exclaimed, hitting the off button and sticking it in my pocket.

  I held her face gently, so she didn’t move her neck as she started to come around. “Hey, sweetheart,” I said tenderly. “The ambulance is almost here. They’re going to take you to the hospital and check you out.”

  “Brady?” she asked, her voice low and whispery.

  “Yes, it’s me. I found you here at the bottom of the stairs. You’re okay now,” I promised, even though I was worried she was far from okay. I didn’t want to check her over and risk her moving her head. “What happened, cupcake?”

  She blinked a couple of times and swallowed, grimacing when I wouldn’t let her move. “Let me sit up.”

  I shook my head as the sirens screamed closer. “No can do, pretty lady. The 911 operator said to keep you still until the EMTs arrive. They’re almost here. Did you fall?”

  “Pushed,” she said, coughing once and then grimacing again.

  “You were pushed down the stairs?” I asked, stymied by what she was saying. Who would push her down the stairs?