Page 7 of Leo and His Love Bunny

“We’re completely sold out,” Matt says as he holds his hands up as though showing that he truly isn’t hiding any of my cupcake breasts on his person.

“It’s a good thing I went to the store and bought enough ingredients to make an entire new batch.” Stephanie looks exhausted. She decorated each and every one of the 2000 cupcakes we sold that day. Of course, I have no idea how tiring it is to make cupcakes look like breasts, since I’ve never done it, but Stephanie looks exceptionally tired.

“Thank you for making the trip.”

Stephanie smiles like I gave her the biggest compliment in the world. She is such a sweetheart, and I love working with her, and the things she makes make me a lot of money, but... I know that I have only just begun to start paying the price for it.

I am bone weary though, and with a last look around the kitchen, I say, “Tomorrow will be soon enough to start working on the almost one thousand orders we got today.”

“I figured I would go home, go straight to bed, and be here at three AM tomorrow. You get more rest, and I’ll cut out early tomorrow.” Matt gives me a small fatherly smile, and I give him a weary grin back.

“Are you sure?” I ask, knowing that what he suggested is fair but always having a little bit of a problem prying my fingers off doing everything.

“I’m sure.” He lifts his brows and looks at Stephanie. “But I’m pretty sure only Stephanie can make them look...the way they did today. So I think I’ll let her put the...extra icing on it.”

I bite back a laugh. Despite the fact that he had a whole career in New York City, it obviously makes Matt uncomfortable to be talking about breasts in front of us. I don’t blame him. I’ve been uncomfortable all day, although uncomfortable in a comfortable way as I watch my cupcakes fly off the shelves.

“I think it’s your new signature look,” Stephanie says, and she doesn’t seem to understand how much my life has exploded in the last eight hours.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly what I had hoped for, but I do appreciate the fact that we’re making money. I’m just not sure that I want to keep on doing it, you know?”

Matt nods immediately, but it takes Stephanie a little longer to get on board.

“I want my shop to be famous because we sell good cupcakes. Not because our cupcakes look like somebody who’s naked. I want people to feel comfortable bringing their grandparents to my shop. I want to fit the small-town stereotype. If I wanted to sell risqué cupcakes, I’d go to New York City.”

“And you’d fit right in,” Matt says, and he ought to know since he worked there for so long.

“I just... I want to be the girl next door. The cupcake shop next door. Not the novelty that everyone comes to look at one time and get the cheap thrill out of and then never visits again, you know?”

“But they taste good. When people eat them, they’ll know they taste good. They’ll come back for the taste.” Stephanie has a good argument, and I can’t deny that I know no matter what the cupcakes look like, they taste the same—delicious. And that is all me. The recipe is all my creation.

“The people who are coming here to see them because of their novelty aren’t necessarily looking for good cupcakes.”

“But they’ll find them anyway. And they’ll come back. Order them for their baby showers, for their bridal showers, for their kids’ school classroom, for birthdays or church desserts.”

“They’re not going to order them for school or church or even a baby shower, unless the mom is nursing and her relatives have a really awkward sense of humor, or she gives mammograms for a living.”

Matt snorts and Stephanie outright laughs. I didn’t mean to be funny, but I smile a little too. Maybe this day isn’t as bad as what I think.

They walk out ahead of me and I lock up, and then I say goodbye to them and walk in the opposite direction as they do, up the street to my apartment building.

I love my apartment. It backs against the small Pin Oak River, which is more of a creek where it flows behind the apartment building. There’s a nice patio where you can hear the river gurgling and sit under several graceful weeping willow trees and watch the water flow by. There’s even a place we can get in and wade. Although the apartment building has strict signs to say that it is not their fault if we get hurt.

It’s all owned by four old ladies, and the rent is very reasonable.

Which is why I was able to afford it.

I don’t have one of the more expensive apartments that actually face the river and the open pastureland that lines the other side. My town of Whisker Hollow is a very small town, with shops and a few houses and my apartment building lining the streets.

It’s the perfect small town. At least in my opinion, which might be a little bit biased. At any rate, I walk through the parking lot and open the front door.

I take a deep breath, because I know that the ladies who own the building and who also reupholster furniture in the common area are going to be there. Waiting.

Phyllis, Carrie, Leslie, and Tammy are the sweetest ladies ever, but I’m sure that they’re not going to appreciate my naked cupcakes. I don’t think they will kick me out, but I’m not entirely sure. They’re rather eccentric, and while I love them, I’m not sure how today’s happenings are going to go over with them. And I guarantee they’ve heard about it.

I try to keep myself focused on the breast cupcakes, because my mind wants to go to Leo Lipinski. I would have said yesterday that there couldn’t be anything worse than having cupcakes that look like breasts, but the fact that I admitted, on air, that I have a huge crush on Leo—well, on his biceps—is one that I just can’t face.

Plus, the fact that he said he was coming over tonight has me tied up in knots as well. Is he really planning on coming? Maybe just to yell at me? To give me what I deserve for ruining his life? To tell me that he has a girlfriend and that she’s going to beat me up later? Or maybe he just wants to school me in proper etiquette when a person is having a live-action broadcast in their shop, and that proper etiquette would include not naming names, divulging secrets, and talking about someone’s delicious biceps.

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