Page 13 of Red, White, and You

"Thanks for actually being helpful." She slides into the driver’s seat and rolls down the window. "Phoenix?"

"Yeah?"

"What you said about Hart Health… about it not being fulfilling?" She gives me a small, real smile. "Maybe it’s time to find something that is."

And with that, she drives away, leaving me alone in the parking lot, staring at the spot where her taillights disappeared.

I’m supposed to be here on a mission. A job. A favor for the Harts.

But that mission is unraveling fast.Because somewhere between a frosting-smudged cheek and a single chocolate cupcake, I stopped seeing her as a project…

And started falling for her instead.

Chapter 8

Gigi

Ishouldbegettingready for bed. Instead, I’m furiously mixing cake batter like some kind of nocturnal sugar fairy.

This is what happens when Phoenix Wood tells me I’m incredible and then almost kisses me in a parking lot. Apparently, my brain’s response to emotional confusion is to bake experimental desserts at inappropriate hours.

Classic Gigi.

I should be exhausted. I’ve been up since four AM, spent the entire day at the festival, and have a full slate of orders to fill tomorrow. Instead, I’m wide awake, the hum of the fridge and the soft clink of my whisk filling the kitchen like a lullaby for someone who doesn’t sleep well anymore.

“Okay,” I mutter aloud, “strawberry cake base. Classic. Universally loved. Predictable.”

Just like I thought Phoenix would be when he first walked in. The Hart Health poster boy, all charm and bravado. But thenhe spent an entire day helping me without complaint, made genuine conversation with every customer, and looked at me like I was something precious when I handed that little girl her cupcake.

And then he called my parents idiots for not seeing what I’ve built here.

I pour the pink batter into cake pans, the metal cool in my hands, the scent of fresh strawberries curling through the air like a memory. I try not to think about the way his voice got rough when he said I was incredible. Or the way he leaned in close enough for me to catch that woodsy scent of his cologne and forget what I was supposed to be doing.

Focus, Gigi. Cake first, existential crisis later.

While the layers bake, I start on the cream cheese frosting. Comfortable and straightforward. Everything I thought I wanted in my life before a certain retired wide receiver started showing up at my bakery asking for cupcakes and looking at me like I might be worth sticking around for.

The timer dings, and I pull out three perfect pink layers. They smell like summer and nostalgia and everything good about simple pleasures. But as I set them on the cooling racks, I realize simple isn’t going to cut it tonight.

This cake needs something unexpected. Something that seems wrong at first but turns out to be exactly right.

Something like Phoenix.

I grab my heavy saucepan and start melting sugar, watching it transform from pale white crystals into liquid amber. Making caramel is all about timing and trust. You have to let the sugar get darker than seems safe, push it right to the edge of burning, because that’s where the real flavor lives.

Kind of like falling for someone who represents everything you’ve been running from.

The caramel bubbles and darkens, filling my kitchen with the scent of burnt sugar and possibility. At the last possible second, I add butter and cream, and the mixture seizes and hisses before smoothing into silk. A generous pinch of sea salt, and suddenly I have something that shouldn’t work but absolutely does.

Sweet and salty. Predictable and surprising. Safe and dangerous. All at once.

Perfect.

I let the caramel cool while I stack the strawberry layers with cream cheese frosting between each one. Then I drizzle the warm caramel over the top in uneven swirls. The pink cake, white frosting, and golden caramel create a color palette that’s both patriotic and completely unexpected.

“Red, White, and You,” I say aloud, testing the name of my latest cake creation.

It fits.

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