Page 79 of Perfectly Grumpy

While I cover the cake with frosting, Tate begins color-coordinating the candy.

“Is that really necessary?” I ask, eyeing his piles suspiciously.

“Patience, woman. The candy architect has a plan.”

When I finally smooth out the last bit of buttercream, Tate gently hip-checks me out of the way. “Step aside and let the master begin.”

“Ten minutes!” Aunt Karen calls.

Tate studies the top of our cake like it’s a game strategy. Then, without a word, he starts arranging pieces of candy with meticulous focus.

“What are you doing?” I ask, watching him set gummy bears and chocolate shavings across the top.

“Creating a masterpiece,” he says, brow furrowed.

“But can you finish it on time?”

“Have I failed you yet, Sunny?” he says, without taking his eyes off his work.

I shake my head, fighting a smile. “No, but there’s a first time for everything, Sheriff.”

I look around the room, taking in the spread of desserts. Dad and Patty set their gooey pineapple cake on the center island, its golden-brown crust glistening with caramelized sugar. Next to it, the uncles proudly display their bourbon bacon pecan pie bars, with thick layers of buttery shortbread, toasted pecans, and a bourbon caramel drizzle that makes it look straight out ofSouthern Livingmagazine. Olivia and Jake’s brownies sit beside them, the fudge top decorated with a thick swirl ofcaramel and dark chocolate glaze, finished with a sprinkle of flaky sea salt.

The only couple still yet to finish is Bart and Abby, who are perfecting their cupcakes like this is theCupcake Wars. From here, I can see Abby delicately piping soft pink frosting roses on top of vanilla bean cupcakes, each swirl flawless.

Yeah, we’re toast.

When I turn around, I’m stunned to see what Tate has created in just a few minutes. “Tate.” A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “Is this…a hockey game?”

He nods. “Our theme is winning, isn’t it?”

The cookies form the rink, with gummy bears serving as players—some skating, others getting “checked.” A single brown candy at center ice acts as the puck. It’s ridiculously cute, and absolutely perfect. The kids are going to go wild over it.

I shake my head. “That’s incredible. How did you come up with that?”

“I used to color-code my Lego bricks, making all kinds of designs with them. Candy isn’t that much different—it’s all about putting the right pieces together.”

We slide our cake next to Bart and Abby’s perfect cupcakes, right as Aunt Karen’s alarm goes off.

“Hey.” Tate nudges me, before sliding an arm around me. “We did it. We should be proud of that.”

We spend the next half hour handing out samples to the entire family as they circle the island, everyone getting a small bite of each dessert. Votes are cast into a cookie jar and the aunts count the ballots while the kids burn off energy running Annie around in the backyard.

When the results are tallied, Aunt Karen calls us together to announce the winners.

“Well, the results wereextremelyclose,” she says. “Only one vote separated first and second place. And the winnersare…” She pauses to keep us all on edge. “Bart and Abby!”

A round of applause erupts while Abby hugs Bart. Even fromhere, I can see the tightness in Abby’s smile, the way Bart stiffens and barely cracks a smile. It’s almost like the stress of the competition has put him in a bad mood.

Aunt Tammy steps next to her daughter and says, “Oh, Abby, honey, you and Bart seemtense.Need some aromatherapy?” She pulls a little vial from her pocket.

Abby makes an exasperated noise. “I’m fine, Mom.” Her face tightens as she glances at Bart, who’s already focused on the fake medal Aunt Karen hands him. Abby mumbles something under her breath before storming from the room, leaving an awkward silence behind.

“In second place”—Aunt Karen scans her notes—“we have a tie! Between Bobby and Ray and…”

“Tate and Lauren!”

I blink. “What?” Then I scream. “We placed?”

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