Frosted Sweets (A Taste of Love Series Book 1)

by A. M. Willard

  “I am and sorry about that, I have a habit of not paying attention. Let me go in the back and grab your order.”

  When I approach the side table in the back, I feel the prickles in my lips notifying me that they are indeed swelling. Crap, just what I need. I know better than to do that, I repeat to myself silently.

  With one deep breath, I turn my back against the doors and prepare to hand him his order. Then I notice the expression on his face and try to pull my lips between my teeth.

  “Everything okay? You seem to have something going on,” he says, swirling his fingers around at my face.

  “Oh yes, I’m fine, just a little reaction to chocolate. No worries.”

  “Umm … you sure that’s it? I mean, they’re huge, and what’s wrong with the chocolate? I’ve never been here before. Should we be worried on the ingredients?”

  “I promise we have the freshest ingredients ever; it’s just me,” I try to explain, but Zara walks out and lets out a loud yelp as she notices my lips.

  “Morgan, they are going to kill you! I told you to keep your fingers to yourself.”

  With a shrug at the guy staring at my swollen lips, I say, “Allergic to chocolate.”

  “Okay, and you work in a bakery. Smart, real smart.”

  The feeling of them swelling even more alarms me just a little, and I hand him his white box that has our stickered logo on top. “Here you go, enjoy and do come back,” I say quickly as I race off to the ladies room to examine myself in the mirror.

  As I flip the light on and take a glance at myself, I’m startled. Let’s just say Angelina Jolie has nothing on these bad boys. They appear as if they have been sucked up by a hoover for a week. Zara barges in with her hands on her hips. As she begins to raise her hand to point at me, I stop her and shake my head. I know the speech well and don’t need to hear it. Instead, I drag myself to my office and rumble through my desk drawer in search of a Benadryl. I grab a bottle of water from the mini-fridge behind my desk and plop down to knock the magic pill down my throat.

  “You have got to stop taste testing the products; I told you I’ll do that. What’s going to happen when you do this and something bad happens?”

  “It’s been like this for years. I promise I’ll try to stop. You do know it really sucks that I can’t taste all the chocolate.”

  “I know, and I would die a million deaths if that were me, but we need the bride alive for her wedding day.”

  “Fine, I’ll behave until after the wedding,” I say and hear a knock coming from the front of the store.

  “Come on, big lips, that must be the girls.”

  Zara’s already let them in, and I move over toward the section that has now been transformed into wedding mayhem. Place cards need to be written and are stacked next to the turquoise pen for Natasha, who has the best handwriting in the entire world. Her penmanship is to die for, which is why she gets to handwrite two hundred place cards. The test tubes for the hot cocoa mix are stacked in their protective boxes, and the ingredients are laid out on the table. Frankie designed the label to plaster on the front: Love is Brewing 12-12-15. Just add water for a Warm Cuddle. It’s been printed on white sticker backing in our wedding colors. On the other side table, next to the mess, are the boxes and boxes of sparklers, which we need to cover with the tag that reads: Let Love Sparkle – Simon & Morgan 12-12-15. After we have them labeled, they will sit in a clear vase next to the guest book. I didn’t want bubbles, bird seed, or the traditional good wishes; Simon and I have always sparked from the start, so what better way to start our marriage?

  “OH … MY … GOD … Your lips,” Natasha yells at me.

  “They aren’t that bad. I just took some medicine. It’ll go down soon.” As I explain this to calm Tasha down, I catch Zara and Frankie shaking their heads at me.

  “All I’m going to say is those lips need to be tamed. You better stay away from all sweets until after the pictures. No amount of Photoshop will cure those.”

  “Har har har … I get it. Now let’s get to work. We need to finish these so I can get some rest.”

  “Tasha, you start the cards while we label the test tubes,” Frankie directs with a laugh. She’s found this favor to be the funniest of them all, and I love them. Little bundles of cocoa, sprinkles, and tiny marshmallows stuffed inside with a cork to close them.

  “Just a thought, but big lips might need to stay away from them. Lord, I can hear her mother now if we have to take her again to get a shot in the ass,” Natasha says, causing the girls to all laugh at my expense.

  “Fine, I’ll just do the sparklers.”

  We continue with small talk as we focus on the task at hand, and I notice the clock reads eleven already. I stretch and let out a yawn. “I say we call it a night.”

  “I second that,” Zara says, and she turns her neck from side to side.

  “Let’s leave this all here, and I’ll clean it up in the morning. I don’t think we’ll be very busy tomorrow, so I might have a chance to finish them all up.”

  “Keep your hands away from the name cards. Better yet, I’ll take them home and finish them.”

  “Perfect. Thank you all for helping me,” I say as I rise from my chair and walk over to the counter, placing our cups and plates down to be dealt with tomorrow.

  As we grab our stuff and close up the shop, I take off toward the park. It’s the safest way for me to walk to my loft, as it’s lit with a million street lamps and allows me to remove my thoughts from the day.

  When I approach Centennial Olympic Park Drive, I notice the very familiar car that’s parked at the stop light. A double take and stare, and I quickly realize that it’s Simon’s car, and I recognize the lady in the passenger seat with him. I’m close enough that I see her arm wrapped around his neck and her lips on my fiancé’s. He’s not due back from his trip for another four days, and Natasha didn’t say anything about him being back.

  I reach for my phone and open my favorite numbers, quickly hit Natasha, and wait for her to answer.

  “I swear I won’t mess the cards up,” she says when she answers.

  “No, I know that. Look, I have a question. Is Simon back from his trip? Have you seen him?”

  “What trip, Morgan? I mean, we’re on separate floors at the office, but I’m pretty sure I saw him getting on the elevator this morning.”

  “Okay, maybe I misunderstood him then. I’ll talk to you later,” I say and hang up before she can respond. I know that was him and the other lawyer I’ve seen him having lunch with before. What I don’t know is why he told me he was going out of town, or why her lips were all over my future husband.

  The rest of the walk home to my apartment is a blur. If someone wanted to rob me, this is their chance. My heart’s racing and my insides feel as if they’re on fire. The more distance I put between what I just witnessed, the madder I get. Should I have made a scene? It would have been easy to just walk up to the driver’s side window and bang on it, but I took the higher road with my back turned. I’m a complete zombie, as I just received the biggest shock of my life. It’s my fairy tale with a speed bump—one hell of a speed bump.

  AS I ENTER MY APARTMENT and toss my purse on the sofa, I’m not sure what to do. Do I call and figure this out? Or do I just crawl under my covers and figure it out tomorrow? Instead of doing any of that, I change out of today’s clothes and slip on my boy shorts and tank. Stressed, I do what I always do: I bake. I slide my iPhone onto the docking station and crank up the music as I pull down my baking pans. I search the cabinets for all the ingredients to make my signature mini orange marmalade cupcakes. With all my supplies ready, the orange peels grated, oven heated, I set out to whip it all together. For some godforsaken reason, I’ve doubled the recipe not even realizing, which means they go to the bakery tomorrow. I grab the mini scooper and load up the tin pan with batter, sneaking in a taste here and there. After I set the pans in the oven, I raise my hand and start to nervously tap my top teeth. It’s a trait that
drives Simon crazy, but it helps calm me as I process everything.

  That’s it, I decide that I have to call him or I’ll end up with a bakery in my kitchen tonight. As I grab my phone and glance up at the clock on the wall it shows it’s a little after one in the morning. Oh well, it serves him right to be woken at this hour. If I can’t sleep, he shouldn’t be allowed to either.

  On the fourth ring he answers. “Morgan, everything okay?”

  “No, not really Simon,” I say. I can tell he’s still asleep.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Well, I really don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to ask you. Are you home?” And that’s when the line goes silent; I’m not even sure if we’re still connected. “Hello … Simon?”

  “Yeah, I’m here, Morgan.”

  “Well, are you going to answer me or not?”

  “I’m home,” is all he says.

  “Well, if you are home then that means it was you I saw tonight in the car with that other lawyer. Wasn’t it?”

  “Morgan, I’m sorry,” he says, and I can’t respond right away. Now the silence is on my end. “Hello …”

  “Shut it, I’m thinking.”

  “Which means you’re baking. Go to bed and I’ll come by the shop in the morning. We’ll talk then.”

  “I’d rather not see you, Simon. You do realize we were getting married, right? Who does this? I have a dress hanging up in my office, favors scattered around my shop like it's Christmas, and you’re off screwing someone behind my back?”

  “Morgan, let’s talk in the morning.”

  “Hell no, she’s there with you now, isn’t she?” I ask and hear him exhale on the other side, but before he can answer, I start back in. “How about this, you can cancel the wedding and shove it up your ass for all I care. Don’t ever step foot in my shop again. What you have done is beyond hurtful. I mean it, Simon. You could have told me this before I wasted all this time. Have a joyful life, jerk face,” I say and hang up. Just as I toss the phone behind me on the counter, the oven timer goes off.

  I slide the pans out and set them up on the cooling rack. I’m certain sleep won’t come now, which makes me decide to go to work early. After a quick shower, I comb my long brown hair and let it air dry. I toss my makeup in my bag and dress in my jeans and uniform shirt. Satisfied, I throw the cupcakes into a baker’s box and leave my quiet little apartment. The bakery is where I need to be; I need to beat the dough. It makes sense since I’d only get an hour of sleep if I decided to go to bed now anyway. I’ll just get a jump start on all the orders this morning before Zara comes in.

  Instead of walking, I start my Camry and set off toward my shop. I hate having to park in the garage, but it’s safer than walking at this hour. The only good thing right now is that no one is trying to park, and I locate a spot right near the elevator. With a quick juggle of the items in my hand, I make my way down to the ground floor and out to the street. I round the corner and step up to the door and it all hits me.

  I’m furious, humiliated, and beyond pissed. I haven’t been able to cry, as I’ve pushed that down deep. When I unlock the door, I rush over to the alarm pad and punch in the numbers. It might have been a little rougher than needed, but it’ll survive. I drop the box of mini cupcakes and turn to lock the door behind me. I leave the lights off, as the only ones that need to be on are in the kitchen. The sparklers in the glass vase reflects the light coming in through the windows. It’s just enough from the street lamps to light my way to the tables covered with wedding crap.

  I let out a huge breath, pick up the closest vase, and hurl it to the ground. Yes, I know I have to clean it up before the customers stampede in, but I feel a little better. The choice to leave it for later wins, and I head to my safe place. With a quick snatch of the box, I knock open the double doors toward my haven. This is where I’m happiest, where I can clear my head and work out the frustrations of the day or week. I plop my phone in the docking station that Zara purchased for us a few months ago, slide my apron over my head, and stare at the work that needs to be done.

  First, I mix up some orange buttercream frosting and swirl it on top of the mini cupcakes, then finish them off with a sliver of orange peel. Once I finish those, I set out to whip up some yellow cake batter. I have two wedding cakes to create today, a few dozen cupcakes, and I need to replenish our stock of pastries for the front display. I don’t know how much time has passed when I hear Zara come into the kitchen.

  “What are you doing, and are those what I think they are?” she asks, pointing to the tray of orange minis.

  “I’m working, and yes they are.”

  “What happened? You only make those when you’re upset.”

  “Nothing is wrong, but before we open we need to clean up a mess out front,” I say while not stopping my hands from kneading the dough rolled out on the counter.

  “Okay, I’ll be right back,” Zara says with caution, and it’s not too long before she re-enters.

  “Mind explaining what is going on? You never beat me here anymore unless you’re stressed, and you made those,” she says, pointing.

  “I don’t feel like talking about it right now. I have orders to fill. And how about you and Hatcher don’t kill each other today?”

  “What’s he have to do with any of this? I love messing with Hatch.”

  I stop and wipe my hands off on the towel next to me. “See, that’s what I’m talking about. You know he hates that and is only helping us with the accounting crap. Somehow you have talked him into helping in the front.”

  “Because I can be charming, that’s how. And Morgan, what’s going on?”

  “Fine … Simon and I aren’t getting married because he’s a cheating bastard and ruined my fairy tale,” I explain and start pounding the dough.

  “Okay … I have no idea what you’re talking about or what you mean.”

  “It means that all that crap in the front needs to go to the dumpster, I can burn my princess dress, and cancel a honeymoon.”

  “I’m going to call the girls,” I hear her say as she walks away, but I don’t stop. Instead, I load up a few more trays and walk them out to the front. The store will open soon, and I have a display to fill.

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN you aren’t getting married?” Frankie squeals at the top of her lungs.

  “Just that. I don’t know what you don’t understand,” I say as I dump some chunks of chocolate in the boiler to melt.

  “First, you need to let Zara handle that, and then you need to come have some coffee and explain to me what occurred in just the short hours since we left you. Have you even slept?”

  Before I give in, I dip my finger around the edge and take an enormous lick off my finger as I walk past my friends. Zara called them all, but Frankie was the only one who was free this morning, as Natasha had court.

  “I swear if your lips swell, I’m hiding the drugs. Serves you right for not listening,” Frankie says, fast on my heels.

  I make a beeline to the coffee pot, set out two mugs, and fill them to the brim with some liquid energy. As soon as I sit down, I know my body will be ready to crash and burn. I have responsibilities to uphold and need to caffeinate my body so I can push through the day.

  “Hatcher, grab the counter,” Zara shouts as she follows us to the corner table.

  “Now, sit your ass down and explain. Did you get cold feet?” Frankie asks.

  “No, but I wish Simon’s penis would freeze and fall off. That would make me happy.”

  “Spill it before those lips seal and we don’t get anything from you.”

  I go to open my mouth and feel the tears I have suppressed start to creep up. I don’t fight them, I let them slide down my face as I stare down to my coffee mug.

  “Morgan, what’s the matter? We can’t help you without knowing,” Frankie says, and just as she finishes, Natasha shocks us.

  “That no good piece of shit. I can guarantee you he’s icing his balls right now,” she says as she
sits down next to me.

  “How did you know?”

  “He approached me in the lobby this morning, asking me how you were. Of course once he realized that I had no idea what he was talking about, I grabbed his balls. You know how I am; I twisted them until he told me everything. I promise he won’t be sticking that thing anywhere for a few weeks.”

  Her statement causes me to laugh, but it’s only because I can picture her in her business suit, heels, and hair done up as it is with a pair of men’s balls in her grip. Natasha is prim and proper until you mess with one of us or someone she loves. When that happens, the gloves come on and she’s a force to be reckoned with.

  “You caught him cheating? I can’t believe this. Simon of all people,” Zara says as Frankie’s eyes start to narrow.

  “Leave it to Natasha. Yes, I thought I saw him last night with that lawyer partner and then Tasha said she saw him yesterday on the elevator. I put two and two together, baked, and then called him. It’s over and I’m going to die an old maid.”

  “Oh sweetie, you won’t die an old maid. Maybe an old baker, but not a maid,” Frankie says trying to get me to laugh. She did get a smile but not a laugh. The tears have dried up, but the pain in my chest is still there. I was so wrapped up in the shop and planning the perfect wedding that I missed all the signs.

  The fact that he wasn’t calling as much, always busy after work saying he had meetings. I should have seen it, but I didn’t. That hopeless romantic in me said it was just the new position requiring more time. Now I have a gown, but no ball to wear it to. Plus, I have to call my mother and explain this little predicament. I should make Simon tell, but then my father might shoot him.

  “I want a brownie,” I whine.

  “No, you can have anything else but that.”

  “Cake then?”

  “Do we have something other than chocolate? I can bring you those mini cupcakes you made,” Zara says, and I shake my head no.

  “I’m heartbroken, tired, and that’s the only thing that will make me feel better. Well, that and more coffee.”