Love, Laughter and Happily Ever After: A Short Story Collection

by Daisy Prescott

  Not that long ago I was his wingman, the dark to his light. Being the better looking of the two of us, I probably made his life easier after I fell for this beautiful, brown-eyed girl.

  Whipped, smitten, whatever they wanted to tease me with, I didn’t care. I nearly lost this woman once due to idiocy, I wasn’t going to let a few insults bug me.

  She laughed and kissed my neck between my beard and the collar of my T-shirt. “Let’s get you home before you punch your best friend. If you do that, who will be your best man?”

  Right. The wedding.

  I, John Day, was getting married. Thirty-three years as a bachelor and then Diane stumbled into my life. After turning down my offer of a trip to the Hitching Post in Idaho back when I proposed in February, Diane agreed to a small island wedding in May. Neither of us wanted anything fancy, and to be honest, I was still hoping to convince her to elope.

  So far no luck.

  Instead, my lackluster pool skills and inability to turn down a bet meant I was going to some fancy bakery over in Seattle to taste wedding cake.

  It had better not be one of those over-the-top places all in pink.

  Chapter 2

  The following weekend, I parked my truck in front of Sweet Endings Cakes in Bellevue. Pink and white striped awnings did not bode well for this going anything but disastrous.

  “Stop grumbling and acting like you’re being tortured.” Diane hopped down from the truck. “You get to eat cake. Lots of cake. You like cake.”

  I grumbled some more. “I like my aunt’s chocolate cake. Can’t we just have that?” I stared through the window. “If there’s lace and tiny plates, I’m out of here. Nothing froufy.”

  “Focus on the cake, and you’ll be fine.” She gave my arm a gentle shove.

  Taking the hint, I opened the door. A wave of butter and sugar scented air hit me squarely in the face. Okay, maybe this wouldn’t be terrible.

  As I inhaled, my attention caught on a wall covered in pink flowers. Row after row of frilly, frou-frou girly cupcakes and little miniature cakes in pinks and purples sat on lace circles inside glass cases. I coughed and gave Diane a pointed look.

  “Buttercream” she whispered.

  We weren’t the only people in the bakery. A few pairs of women, mostly resembling mothers and daughters, perched at tiny tables on tiny, delicate chairs that looked like they were made of pipe-cleaners.

  Feeling like a bull in a bakery, I attempted to make my six foot four frame smaller by slouching and stepping closer to the door. I tugged at my beard and scratched the back of my neck. Without meaning to, my ass hit a small bookcase and sent it wobbling.

  “Oh shit.” I settled the shelves and the books on the top. I felt several pairs of female eyes focus on me. “Shit, sorry for swearing.”

  All heads turned and I felt the weight of a thousand staring eyes on me. Okay, so it was more like six, but they were judgmental looks.

  Diane grabbed my hand and laced her fingers with mine. “What is wrong with you?”

  I was about to say my balls were shrinking from all the pink in the room, when a woman resembling Mrs. Doubtfire came through a pair of swinging doors at the back of the space. She smiled at the other ladies, checking in and chatting with them as she walked through the bakery.

  “You must be Diane and John. I’m Cassandra.” She shook Diane’s hand. Her scent of sugar and spice enveloped us a few seconds later.

  I wondered if this was how the witch smelled in Hansel and Gretel. Probably.

  After she seated us and promised to return with the samples, Diane stroked my thigh. “Quit grinding your teeth. I can see your jaw ticking and it’s beginning to look painful.”

  I unlocked my jaw, rolled my shoulders, and placed my hand over hers. Normally her hand on my thigh would get the blood flowing, but sitting on a delicate white chair in Barbie’s Dream Bakery had destroyed my libido. Diane’s hand swept higher and she let her nails scrape along the denim covering my thigh.

  Okay, maybe my libido wasn’t completely DOA. Her hand moved toward my fly and I didn’t stop her. Less blood in my brain would make this experience easier.

  A burst of cinnamon and sugar announced the return of our hostess-baker-lady-witch. She set a huge tray on the table. Rows of small bites of cakes, frostings, sauces, a few cupcakes, and cookies filled every inch of the surface.

  I eyed the chocolate frosting as Diane and Cassandra chatted about foundations, tiers, shape, and layers. For all I knew, they were building a house together.

  “John?”

  I broke off my staring contest with the cakes and met Diane’s warm brown eyes.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  I blinked at her.

  “You weren’t listening, were you?”

  “Nope.” I shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed, but not really caring, because, cake.

  “We probably should have discussed all this before you put the cake samples out.” Diane apologized, laughing.

  “Most men don’t care about the cake. They’re more focused on the honeymoon.” Cassandra’s face hid nothing. Sex. Men were more focused on sex, her eyes said.

  True.

  At least we agreed about that.

  “John has a sweet tooth about a mile long. I thought it would be fun to decide together. Plus, my mother is on the other side of the country.”

  “Isn’t that sweet. Well, I’ll leave you to it.” Cassandra’s eyes settled briefly on the spot where Diane’s hand rested on my thigh before she walked away.

  “Shall we?” Diane’s hand squeezed my thigh.

  I swallowed thickly, partly due to the thought of desecrating the pink palace by having my way with her under her skirt and partly due to the huge platter of cake in front of us.

  When I didn’t respond, Diane pinched my skin through the denim.

  “Ouch!” I swatted her hand away. Pain near that part of my body wasn’t a good thing.

  “Let’s start.” She pointed at the cupcakes and other stuff. Grabbing a fork, she gestured to the small cakes first. “Pick a cake, frosting and sauce, put them all on your fork and taste. That’s how we’ll decide what combination we like best.”

  “I like chocolate with chocolate frosting.”

  She stuck out her tongue at me, but loaded a fork with chocolate cake, chocolate sauce and chocolate frosting.

  “Here.” She held the fork near my mouth.

  “Are you going to feed me?”

  “If you’re going to continue to act like a giant bearded toddler about being here, yes.”

  “Make the airplane noises.” I gave her my best clothing incinerating smile, and chuckled.

  She shoved the forkful of food into my mouth.

  Holy amazing … damn.

  “This is mmamazing,” I said through a mouthful of the best thing I’d ever had in my mouth.

  I licked my lips to remove any extra frosting.

  “You have it in your beard.” Diane’s eyes focused on my mouth.

  I used the pad of my thumb to rub a spot near my mouth and then sucked off the chocolate I found there. “Good?”

  Her eyes glazed over. I knew that look. It took me a while to recognize it when we first met, but now there was no mistaking the lust that shone in her eyes. “Diane?”

  She inhaled and met my gaze. “What?”

  “Cake?” I put some white cake, red glaze and chocolate frosting on my fork.

  Her full lips opened and her pink tongue peeked out to lick a drop of sauce before it fell. Her stare never left my eyes.

  I gulped when she wrapped her lips around the soft cake and pulled back, wiping the fork clean. Her moan was loud and not at all appropriate for a bakery.

  Shit.

  I needed Divine intervention to make it out of this pink nightmare alive, so I said a little prayer.

  Lord, please keep me from getting a boner and tipping over this doll table with my dick.

  Appreciate it, thanks.

  Closing
my eyes, I inhaled and thought about soccer.

  “You have to try this one.” She held a forkful of the same combination near my face.

  No doubt about it, it was incredible. The red sauce tasted like raspberries.

  Sometimes Diane smelled and tasted like raspberries, right between her breasts, especially in the summer

  Damn. Not helping. I thought about Pelé.

  “Can we get this to go?”

  “You want to leave already? But we haven’t tried everything yet.” Her lips turned down in a frown.

  “I’ll create a distraction and you run out to the truck. Or I’ll walk out first and meet you out back with the engine running.” I licked raspberry flavored sauce from the corner of my lip. I suspected she had intentionally missed my open mouth again.

  She shook her head at me. “Stop doing that,” she whispered. “Those women are staring at you.”

  “What?” I turned in my seat and caught both women at the next table staring.

  “You know what. The thing with the tongue and the frosting. You’re putting on a floor show.” Diane’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes held a familiar sparkle.

  “This?” I asked, lifting a blob of frosting with my forefinger and bringing it to her lips. She sucked on the tip like I knew she would. “Yeah, I’m not the only one torturing someone at this table.”

  “Truce?” She brushed the toe of her shoe across my shin.

  “Truce.” I licked my bottom lip. “For now.”

  She exhaled an unsteady breath. “Let’s try the red velvet.”

  We tasted the rest of the cakes and frostings, and only once did I reach over to lick frosting from her cheek. I sucked at following truces when it came to her. Why should I deny myself something I wanted?

  Everything tasted delicious except the weird mango puree the color of boxed mac and cheese. Cassandra and her sweet fragrance returned. She clucked and cooed over us while talking about a cake per guest ratio.

  While studying the bakery and other patrons, I zoned out only to realize one of the mothers in a pink fuzzy sweat suit was staring back at me. She winked, lifted her fork, and licked the underside of it.

  What the hell?

  I quickly glanced somewhere else, anywhere else. Salvation: bathroom sign.

  “I’ll be right back.” I stood and my full height felt even more ridiculous in this space.

  The bathroom was not meant for men. No urinal. Although if there was one, I bet the urinal cake would have been pink. Flowers, cupcakes, and pink decorated every surface, including the toilet. Tiny donuts and cupcakes danced around the seat. I closed my eyes and thought about fishing and football.

  Hell, I was comfortable living with a woman and all of the girl shit that came with it, but this was man-hell. Pink man-hell.

  My hands even smelled like cupcakes when I finished up. Cassandra must bathe in the hand soap.

  Diane and I were going to need to stop at Ivar’s for a beer before taking the ferry back to the island. Maybe some college basketball would be on TV in the bar.

  “Ready?” I asked when I returned.

  “Cassandra’s just boxing up a few things for us.”

  “You’re the best.” I leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

  Back in the truck, I inhaled the scent of work: pine, gasoline and yeah, maybe some sweat. I scratched my beard on my chin and smiled. “You owe me.”

  “I totally do. I had no idea it would be so prissy.” She reached over and squeezed my arm. “However can I make it up to you?”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw her batting her lashes at me. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.” My hand rested on top of two small boxes sitting between us on the bench seat.

  The boxes were pink.

  Of course.

  Chapter 3

  A slim, dark moon hung low outside and the only light in the house came from the fridge. I stood in front of it in my boxers, trying to figure out something to eat. I poked through several foil wrapped leftovers inside: salmon steaks, crab cakes, some noodle casserole, and a half-eaten pork chop. I stuck the bone of the chop in my mouth and grabbed the bowl of noodles, and added a hunk of cheese on top. Not bad for a snack. Before closing the door, a pair of pink boxes on the counter caught my eye.

  Gnawing on the chop, I opened the top box and peered inside.

  Cupcakes.

  I glanced over my shoulder and listened for sounds upstairs to make sure I wouldn’t get caught.

  Nothing.

  Something bumped my leg and I dropped the bowl of noodles on the floor where it clattered and spilled its contents.

  Babe’s long tail thumped against the cabinet doors.

  Damn dog.

  At least I hadn’t squealed like a girl.

  Before I could say anything, he gobbled a big pile of casserole.

  “No,” I scolded him.

  He looked up at me and took another bite before sitting down.

  “Stay.”

  He cocked his head and his tail whacked the floor. I swear he licked his lips, too.

  I turned on the under cabinet lights and then grabbed some paper towels to clean up the mess. Bending over, I wiped up the noodles.

  “Midnight snack?” Diane leaned in the doorway behind me.

  “Yeah. I couldn’t sleep and thought I’d watch some soccer.” I stood and noticed she was wearing one of my flannel shirts. Her hair was all messed up and she looked sleepy and beautiful, and her arms were crossed.

  Uh oh.

  She stepped closer and bit into the pork chop still in my hand. “With dessert?”

  The lid to the bakery box stood open.

  Busted.

  “Were they off limits?’ I asked.

  “Not exactly, but I thought we could, um—” She paused. “—eat them together.”

  So much could be said within a single pause.

  “Together?” I held out the pork chop for her to take another bite.

  “Mmm hmm.” She licked her lips and chewing.

  “What did you have in mind?” I picked up the box and put it on the island between us.

  She removed the chop from my fingers and set it on the counter before opening the box. “Oh, I don’t know.”

  “Love?”

  Her eyes met mine.

  “I’m getting the feeling you meant something specific.”

  She stared at the frosting.

  I waited.

  Not meeting my eyes, she explained, “When we were at the bakery, I had this fantasy.”

  “Fantasy?”

  “Involving you, me, and some frosting.”

  “Food fantasy?”

  She nodded.

  I moved closer and caged her against the island with my arms. “Tell me more.”

  “That’s about it. All that licking and sweet frosting earlier did something to me.”

  “I’d like to do something to you.” I lifted her up to the counter next to the box.

  “All those women were lusting after you.”

  “So?” I nuzzled her neck.

  “I had this overwhelming urge to sit on your lap and make out with you so they’d stop trying to eat you with their eyes.”

  My woman was jealous. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her to the edge of the counter. “Jealous? Of the pink fuzzy woman?”

  “I saw what she did with her fork. It was pornographic.”

  I chuckled and kissed the spot at the corner of her jaw that always made her squirm. “Yeah, that was weird, but you know you have nothing to worry about. No cougar, no matter how hot her sweatsuit is, will ever lure me away from you. Ever.” I stared into her beautiful eyes.

  “I know, I know, but I still wanted to mark you as mine.”

  “You’re wearing my ring.”

  I let my gaze rest on her left finger on the counter where my mom’s ring sparkled. It has only been two months since I proposed, but I doubted I’d ever stop feeling my heart flip over every time I saw it on her hand.
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  Her arms draped around my neck and she pulled me down to her, kissing me while she wrapped her legs around my waist.

  “You being jealous is all kinds of hot, in case you were wondering.” I returned her kiss, letting my tongue find hers. Her boobs pressed against my chest and my hands wandered between us to cup them through my shirt. “I love you in my shirt.”

  She hummed in contentment when my thumbs swept across her nipples. Her hips rocked forward to brush against the front of my boxers. Her warm heat transferred to my dick.

  I reluctantly pulled back from her lips. “So about this fantasy of yours? I squished my index finger into a cupcake and swept a line of pink frosting over her cheek.

  She squirmed and giggled. “John …”

  “What? This is your fantasy. Or was frosting on your face not what you were thinking?” Another swipe of frosting found its way onto her skin, this time on her exposed collarbone.

  Her hand moved to wipe the frosting from her cheek, but I stopped her. “No, let me.”

  I slowly, carefully, and maybe torturously, licked the sweet, sticky substance from her skin. Leaning back, I met her stare, and then licked my lips. “Delicious. But we’re going to need to lose the shirt.”

  My shirt fell to the floor in a blur of movement. I blinked, taking in naked Diane on the counter.

  This wouldn’t be the first time we had sex in this kitchen. My mind flashed back to pancakes, and more importantly, maple syrup, on this very island. I felt myself harden at the memory.

  Diane’s finger dipped into the frosting and she traced a circle with it on my bicep, before shadowing the line with her tongue. Her warm mouth contrasted with the cool air she breathed on my skin after, creating goose-flesh on my arm. I reacted by flexing my hips into her center.

  Her gasp let me know she felt my tip brush across her. Quickly after, her hands shoved my boxers down my legs. She used her feet to push them to the floor.

  “Lean back,” I told her.

  She followed my instructions and lay there, beautifully exposed to me.