Sweet Cheeks

by K. Bromberg

  The awaiting photographers scramble and stumble over each other when they see me striding out of the store like a woman on a mission.

  “You want a statement?” I shout out as they fumble to slide their cameras over to video mode to record what I have to say. “I’ll give you a statement. You want to know how I feel about everything that’s going on? How it feels to be accused and vilified and lied about when no one has a clue what the truth is?”

  I set the box of cupcakes down with a resounding thud on one of the tables I have out front for customers. I pause for dramatic effect to make sure I have their attention and give them time to get the best angle.

  “I get angry. But I don’t make up more lies and spread them around to make me feel better and to get more attention. I don’t call reporters, lie to them about where to find more gossip, and drop hints that aren’t true. No. Because if I did, you’d know I’m not the story here. Not in the least. But I have more class than that. More couth. Instead I bake. I eat chocolate. And I get out my anger by doing this.”

  I pick up a cupcake, flash the top—make sure the One To Smash is showing to the cameras—and then I smash it between my hands á la the grudge-match cupcake war I had with Hayes. The photographers startle as cupcake shrapnel flies everywhere.

  The image of Hayes’s bare chest covered in cupcake crumbs fills my mind and how I wanted to lick them off of him. And the thought is ten times more appealing than the slew of paparazzi in front of me but it makes seeing them that much more bearable.

  “I make grudge cupcakes. Where there’s one for me to get my chocolate fix.” I hold up the one that says Oats To Sow. Take a small bite. Then hold up the One To Throw cupcake as shutters click. “And this one’s to get my frustration and aggression out.” And this time when I smash it, I earn a chuckle from them.

  “So you see? Nothing important is going on here that you can take a picture of to sell, other than the ones you just took of me making grudge cupcakes and smashing them. But if you do sell the photos, make sure they’re accompanied with some ridiculous headlines like, ‘Saylor Rodgers goes crazy on a cupcake-smashing spree because Hayes Whitley has left her for Medusa’s little sister.’ Because if you’re going to lie, why not go all out, right? So print what you will. Say what you want. I know the truth. Hayes knows the truth. Jenna most definitely knows the truth. That’s it. I’ll just be in here making more cupcakes. I might even send a few out to compensate for your time since I’m not giving you any camera-worthy breakdown moments to sell. Everyone here like chocolate? Good. Sit tight.”

  With that, I lick a piece of frosting off my fingers, look to the box of remaining cupcakes, and decide to leave it on the table so they can take a closer look and maybe even take a picture or two. Perhaps that’s why I make sure to strategically position the box so the pair of cupcakes I want to be seen are front and center for the camera lens: One cupcake says YES, it’s always been HIM and its match says NOT YOU, Golf Boy.

  Yeah. Those cupcakes are keeping me warm, now. Asshole.

  And with a smug smile on my face because I know Mitch will see it and understand my message, I turn my back to them without another word.

  When I open the door to the bakery, I feel the best I have since I woke up in Hayes’s arms before the shit hit the fan.

  And when I look up, Ryder is staring at me with wide eyes and a shocked smile, pride written all over his face. “That was brilliant, Say.”

  I shrug. “If you can’t give them what they want, you might as well give them what you want.”

  “Free publicity is never a bad thing.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve had enough publicity for a lifetime the past few days.”

  I move to the back, wash my hands, and feel a little more sure of myself now that I know facing the beast wasn’t as horrible as I thought. Of course I know the crowd outside is nothing compared to some of the other mob scenes I’ve seen surrounding Hayes when he leaves a club or a premiere or does anything, and yet it’s still better than expected.

  Baby steps. One after another, right back to Hayes’s arms.

  “For you.” Ryder’s voice startles me. I dry my hands on a towel and narrow my eyes at the package as he sets it down.

  I carefully set down the box, but when I remove the top, it is empty.

  All except for a red heart drawn on a piece of paper. The words written in the center bring tears to my eyes.

  Sorry. I’m not giving this one back. Hayes.

  Hey @SweetChks . . . Just giving you back all of the things I stole from you over the years . . . Whatever could I mean? #GrudgeCupcakes #10Days

  Chocolate Chip Cookies

  Kisses

  Time

  Your Heart

  And if swooning were a real thing, a physical reaction, I’d be doing it right now. Because damn if something so simple doesn’t mean more to me than the expensive oven.

  I read the post again, my heart bursting, and then when I look down at the thousands of comments that have been made on his posts to me today, I notice a shift. They started out being crappy. Negative about me. But by the last one, the comments started becoming more positive. A Get the girl, Hayes! Or If someone makes you this dedicated, you must love her.

  I switch over to my phone to text Hayes, like I have after every gift has arrived, and type: You can keep it as long as I can keep yours. Thank you for my gifts.

  FOUR DAYS LEFT

  TWITTER

  @HayesWhitOffcl

  Get ready for my mad A-game @SweetChks. Do you have a Band-Aid? I scraped my knee falling for you. #10Days #GrudgeCupcake #Determined

  I watch the video on TMZ of Saylor again. Of her walking out of Sweet Cheeks looking so composed and innocent with those brilliantly creative cupcakes, giving her little speech, and then smashing them in her hands. Shocking the hell out of the paps. The subtle dig to Mitch the Prick that will definitely be noticed. She comes off as playful, confident, and unaffected by the cameras being pointed at her. Like the unbelievably cruel things that have upended her world the last week don’t matter at all.

  She played them perfectly. And when she turns to head back inside, the angle of the video affords me a glimpse of the Saylor Rodgers smug smile that says she’s figured this game out. Goddamn sassy, gorgeous, and without a doubt going to be mine.

  God, I fucking miss her.

  We went ten years without speaking so why is my self-imposed moratorium of not talking to her for ten days killing me?

  Because this time I know it matters. This time I’m not willing to walk away from her again or let her walk away from me. I’ve chased my dreams. Followed my passion. Been successful. But what does it mean if I don’t have her around at the end of every day?

  To kiss hello.

  To laugh with.

  To dirty up a counter in flour with.

  Scrubbing my hand through my hair, I review the agenda sent over for the interviews being held the day after tomorrow and check the list of things I need to do to pull off the surprises I’ve planned.

  And then I hope like hell this has all been worth it. That not talking to her, not seeing her, not kissing her will only make her realize how damn lonely it is without me in her life.

  Now back to researching cheesy pick-up lines to tweet.

  If I’m making an ass out of myself, I damn well better be getting the girl in the end.

  FOUR DAYS LEFT

  TWITTER

  @HayesWhitOffcl

  You must be a banana @SweetChks because I find you a peeling. #10Days #GrudgeCupcake #Determined #MadA-Game

  I laugh when I see his newest tweet. I can’t help it. I’m standing with my hip against the butcher block, my hand to my mouth, and a smile on my lips. He’s relentless. And adorable.

  He has over one million followers, and he’s posting cheesy pick-up lines and doesn’t seem fazed in the least by what people are going to say about them. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe he wants me to know he doesn’t care and neither should I.r />
  I skim through my own account, surprised to find more positive than negative this time around, and notice a lot of people commenting on my cupcake-smashing incident with more amusement than degradation.

  “He’s adorable, you know?” I look up to see DeeDee standing in the doorway voicing my thoughts out loud, tissue paper in her hand, and a smile on her face. And maybe it’s because he’s softened me with his humor, but I just stare at her for a moment and realize how lucky I am having her here to help me take this all in stride: making the bakery work and the chaos that comes with Hayes. “His tweets and his posts and everything . . . they’re just adorable.”

  “I know. He’s the closest thing I’ve seen to the guys in those romance novels of yours, Dee.”

  “Really? In all aspects?” Her eyebrows lift and a coy smile forms on her lips as I recall our conversation about romance heroes and guaranteed orgasms.

  “Yes. In all aspects.”

  “Damn.” It’s all she says, and I love that my comment has rendered the always-talkative DeeDee momentarily speechless. “What were we talking about?”

  I chuckle at the flush in her cheeks. “His adorable tweets and posts and . . . everything.”

  “Not many men would put that much thought into trying to win a woman over.”

  “I know. He’s being ridiculous.”

  “And you love every single second of it.”

  I nod. “Yeah. I just wish he’d pick up the phone and talk to me. He’s already won me over.”

  “Isn’t that the point though?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Winning you over is one thing. But now, he’s telling the world he chooses you. He’s making a statement so you don’t forget. And so they don’t either.”

  The phone rings by the cash register and she hesitates for just a moment to make sure I heard what she said. And I did.

  Loud and clear.

  @SweetChks It’s hard to breathe because you steal my breath every time I see you #10Days #GrudgeCupcake #Determined

  There’s no way I could have just heard that correctly. I stop moving ingredients to the butcher block and walk out to the front where DeeDee is in a conversation with a customer.

  “Can I help you?”

  Dee’s eyes flash over to mine and silently thank me for coming out.

  “Yes. One of the function organizers for The Club was saying she was looking for a bakery to supply morning tea on the third Thursday of the month. I am positive she would absolutely love your cupcakes. They’re the perfect combination of taste and presentation.”

  “Did you say for The Club?” I swore I misheard her the first time from the back, know I heard her clearly the second time, but want to make sure one more time.

  “Yes, dear. You know, The Club.” She pats her hair and smiles. “And pardon me for asking, but aren’t you related to one of the members?”

  Once again, I’m left to look around for a hidden camera. This has to be a joke, right? But there is no camera. Just DeeDee’s eyes widening and teeth biting into her bottom lip as she holds back a smile.

  This woman thinks I’m related to Rebound Sarah.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Oh, because you could be the long-lost sister of the organizer’s new daughter-in-law. You’re the spitting image of her.”

  The irony.

  I swallow over the sarcastic laugh threatening to bubble out and try to remain patient and professional with this obviously clueless-to-The-Club-drama customer. “No. I don’t have a sister.”

  “Well, good thing,” she whispers and leans over the counter and pats my hand. “The daughter-in-law is a tad . . . how do I put it politely? Pretentious? Conniving?”

  “A bitch?” I provide the word for her since she’s too polite to say it herself. Her cheeks flush instantly and the diminutive smile she grants me says all I need to know.

  “Something like that, yes. The whole family is for that matter.” She shakes her head indifferently and dismisses the matter. “Now where were we? Oh yes, cupcakes for The Club. It would be a great feather in your cap to get their business. The members have a lot of valuable connections you could benefit from. In fact, I’m so positive the organizer would love these, I’m going to go ahead and place an order for next week’s meeting.”

  My smile widens to epic proportions as I lower my voice just like she did a moment ago. “While I’d love to provide them, you make sure to tell the organizer I am currently backlogged on orders for the foreseeable future. Besides,” I shrug, trying to be cordial because she seems like a nice lady, which is a rarity for a member of The Club, “I think my cupcakes might be a bit too sweet for their tastes. Thank you, though.”

  “Well, I think they’re delicious. It’s a pity but I’ll be sure to deliver the message.”

  “Yes, please do so,” I say in my kindest voice as she nods to me in farewell before turning to leave the store. With a box of cupcakes in her hands.

  I’d love to see the look on Uptight Ursula’s face when she receives that message.

  “Say, there’s a phone call for you.”

  I murmur an acknowledgment, but keep my head down where I’m working on some elaborate icing designs. The convention center’s catering manager requested some samples so they could decide if we were worthy to make their preferred vendor list.

  “And not from The Club.”

  “Ha. That’s funny.” And now she has my attention. “Can you take a message? I need to—”

  “No. I think you need to take this.”

  I look up, her expression one of guarded excitement as she holds the phone out to me. Curiosity has me to standing to full height and taking the phone from her.

  “Sweet Cheeks, this is Saylor. How may I help you?”

  “Hi. Yes. My name is Sally Destin and I’m calling on behalf of the organization Divorce Support California.”

  “Hello.” I narrow my eyes at DeeDee and am feeling slightly had here, but uncertain exactly how. “How may I help you?”

  “Yes, I was just explaining to your assistant and she thought it would be best if I spoke with you. Is this the owner?”

  “Yes, my name is Saylor. How can I help you, Sally?”

  “I was wondering what your capacity and reach is for your delivery range. Are you just local or all of California?”

  I grab a pen and pad to make notes. “Well, that depends on the quantity needed. If it’s a couple of dozen, then just local, but if we’re talking a larger volume we can deliver.”

  “Much larger.” She chuckles and I glance back over to DeeDee whose smile is growing wider as she watches me. “We are a company who runs, manages, and coordinates California’s largest network of divorce support groups. We have on average five different events a week in varying locations with an average attendance of a hundred or more members.”

  “That’s a lot of members. So how can I help you?”

  “We saw you on camera yesterday with those breakup cupcakes and would like to place regular orders.”

  My head starts swirling with specifics. Finding a reputable courier service. Volume packaging. Endless possibilities. I shake my head in hopeful disbelief, the excitement bounding off DeeDee starting to make sense.

  “You mean the grudge cupcakes?”

  “Yes, but we’d like to refer to them as breakup cupcakes. Divorce cupcakes or fresh-start cupcakes.” She chuckles at herself. “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself naming them. We can decide their name later once we schedule a standing order for them. Typically, I’m looking at about needing approximately five hundred a week. And once we establish those demands, I was thinking of creating some kind of partnership with you where when we unfortunately add a new member to the group, we send them a sampler as a welcome to the group type of thing.”

  Five hundred plus a week? Did I hear that correctly? Holy. Shit.

  I think I blink a few times. Open my mouth and close it as I try to gain my composure. “Oh. Okay. I’d love to work wit
h you and figure something out.” My voice sounds calm but my trembling hands reflect my excitement. “I’d have to see the delivery range and work with you on what you’d like them to say . . . the details . . . and then I can come up with a proposal for you.”

  “That sounds great. I’m on your site right now so is that the email to use to send the info over?”

  “Um. Yes. That’s perfect.”

  “And you know, we do have someone from our main office typically go to each of the meetings, so if some of the events are out of your delivery range, maybe you can ship them to the main office and the counselor or staff member heading to the meeting location can bring them. Just a thought.”

  “That’s perfect. Thank you, Sally. I look forward to getting the information.”

  “I hope it’s not out of line to say this, but you’ve been put through the wringer this week. Someone needs to tell you that the way you handled yourself yesterday—smashing the cupcakes for the cameras—was inspiring. And the idea is brilliant. We’ve been looking for an idea like this for a while now. I’d love nothing more than to give the okay to issue a contract for your company. It’s only a matter of time before other companies come knocking and I want to make sure we reserve our spot before you have to start turning orders away.”

  “Thank you. Truly. Thank you. And I look forward to making this work.”

  I hang up the phone and with eyes probably as wide as saucers look at DeeDee. We both give a little scream at the same time.

  “Holy shit,” I whisper.

  @HayesWhitOffcl

  You must be a keyboard @SweetChks because you’re just my type. #10Days #GrudgeCupcake #Determined #MadA-Game

  “You weren’t joking, were you?” Ryder asks as he looks up from the email to meet my eyes.

  “No. Can you believe it?”

  “That’s a huge amount of cupcakes.” I can see him mentally calculating the profit and what it means to the store. “Like enormous.”