Page 90 of Walkoff Wedding

I’m slightly freaking out.

By slightly, I mean I’m currently on my… fourth batch of strawberry meringue cupcakes.

Clearly, there’s a cupcake crisis happening. And it’s entirely my husband’s fault.

He’s the reason there are forty-eight cupcakes cooling on racks on the marble countertop in our kitchen.

Because they’re his favorite. And today’s his twenty-third birthday. The first birthday we’ve shared together, and I just want today to be all about him. He does so much for me and is the most giving person I’ve ever met; he should have an entire day dedicated to him.

And even then, it doesn’t feel like nearly enough.

Almost two weeks have passed since the break-in at the bakery, and now that the new glass on the front cases has been replaced, we should be able to reopen by the end of the week.

And Grant has been a pillar of unwavering strength through every step of the way.

He’s kind and patient and reassuring when I’m feeling like there’s no light at the end of the tunnel. He’s attentive and protective of not just me but also the things that bring me joy. He respects Amos and Earl like they’re my parents and understands that they are the most important people in my life.

He’s become my best friend, and I’m so in love with him that it scares me.

That’s part of the reason why I’m stress baking. Because I want tonight to go exactly as I planned.

After I set the last pan of cupcakes onto the counter to cool, I do a quick whirl around the kitchen and dining room, my eyes roving over all of the details I’ve been painstakingly working on since Grant left this morning for a meeting with the new brand he’s working with.

Breathe, Addie. Everything’s going to be great.

I keep telling myself the same thing, but it’s done little to quell the wave of anxiety that sits in my belly.

Not only have I spent the majority of the day working on his favorite cupcakes, but I ordered Gino’s for dinner and set the table with an array of candles. I’m wearing his favorite dress, the one with the tiny yellow daisies, and I picked out something… special for underneath it.

Hence the main reason my palms are clammy and my heart has been beating in an uneven rhythm the entire day.

I just don’t want him to think all of this is… I don’t know, silly.

It’s the first time in my life I’ve ever attempted to do anything like this, which makes the sliver of self-doubt inside me bloom.

I want it to be perfect.

Grabbing a spatula from the utensil holder, I fill a pastry bag and start piping frosting on the cupcakes in an attempt to calm my heart and force my brain to shut off for longer than five seconds.

I’m in the middle of filling another bag to frost the second half when I hear the front door slam, nearly causing me to drop the spatula and the entire bowl of icing.

My god.

My hand shakes as I run it down the front of my denim dress, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles, and then brush the braided front pieces of my hair out of my face.

A second later, Grant walks into the kitchen wearing a broad, maddeningly handsome smile that almost causes me to melt into a puddle on the floor. His dark blond hair is combed back, and he’s wearing a crisp white button-down tucked into a pair of fitted black slacks, the fabric hugging his muscular thighs.

His eyes find me the second he walks into the room, and it makes my pulse quicken, just as it always does. When he strides toward me, closing the distance between us, realization morphs his face, and he falters, his brows pulling together.

“Hi, beautiful. Uhhhhh… Why are there…” He trails off, his eyes flicking between the dozens of cupcakes on the counter. “So many cupcakes?”

I set the icing-covered spatula on the counter and launch myself at him before my nerves get the best of me, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Because it’s your birthday and they’re your favorite? Happy birthday, Grant.”

I feel the rumble of his chest vibrating against me as he laughs and slides his arms around my waist, holding me tightly against him. “Thank you, baby. But you know you didn’t have to make this many, right?”

He pulls back slightly, bringing his hand to my face and brushing his thumb lightly over the ball of my flushed cheek.

“Yes, well, once I started stress baking, I couldn’t stop myself.”

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