Page 77 of Painted in Love

Savannah plunged her whole face into her cake, then popped back up with cream icing and sponge cake all over her face, her smile wide beneath the mess.

A pretty woman with auburn hair, their mother Paige giggled. “I hope you’re giving them baths, Fernsby.”

Fernsby remained impassively stoic. “Have no fear, dear lady.”

Clay whispered against Saskia’s hair, his warmth shooting thrills through her body, “Fernsby tries to keep it a secret, but he loves babies and small children.”

“And small dogs,” she added as Dane and Cammie’s dachshund jumped around at his feet, obviously waiting for his own treat.

“Where’s my smash cake?” Noah cried, Jorge echoing him.

Fernsby answered, “Gabrielle has them.”

Gabby set down two small cakes in front of the boys. They both hooted with giddy yelps, though Jorge looked at his mother, waiting until Rosie gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

Then the two boys threw themselves at their cakes, burying their faces, while the crowd of Mavericks and Harringtons clapped.

Bob Spencer, beloved father of the Maverick clan, guffawed and cheered them on. “You go, boys!”

“Jeremy, where are you, my dear boy?” Fernsby called.

The young man stepped forward, waving a hand. “Here I am.”

Harper Franconi’s younger brother—Saskia was remembering all the family ties—appeared to be in his early twenties, with beautiful blue eyes. Clay had told her that he’d been hit by a car when he was young that had left him more childlike than adult.

“Sit,” Fernsby said with a flourish. Jeremy sat next to Noah.

Then Gabby trotted over with another smash cake.

“But it’s not my birthday,” Jeremy said with openmouthed wonder.

“You are, nevertheless, special,” Fernsby intoned.

Jeremy looked as if he might cry for joy. Then he plunged into his cake and came up gobbling frosting and red velvet.

Will Franconi put his arm around his wife as Harper mouthed, “Thank you,” to Fernsby and Gabby.

Saskia put her lips to Clay’s ear. “What incredible fun.” There was astonishing freedom in smashing your face into a cake.

Without anyone having noticed they’d gone, Gabby and Fernsby reappeared with a two-tiered cake, setting it on another table laden with silverware and plates. Then Fernsby announced, “The adults have their own cake.” He wagged his finger. “But no smashing.”

“The bottom layer is my vegan devil’s food,” Gabby told the crowd.

Fernsby muttered under his breath, though still quite audibly, “Most likely inedible.”

Susan Spencer slipped her hand through the crook of Fernsby’s elbow and said in an equally audible whisper, “Don’t be jealous, Fernsby.”

The tall man patted her hand, gazing down at her with admiration, and maybe even reverence. “There must always be a bit of envy if we are both to stay on our toes.” Then Fernsby announced in a booming voice, “I have also made devil’s food cake for the top layer, but mine will give you the full complement of butter, eggs, and sugar your bodies require.”

Saskia had heard all about the rivalry between the two bakers—one vegan and one who steadfastly declared that butter and eggs were the staff of life.

A stampede of Mavericks bore down on the cake table.

Clay secured a piece of each layer and brought them back to Saskia to share. She had to admit that both cakes were equally delicious. Together, they demolished both pieces.

A shout rent the air. “What are you doing, woman?” Daniel Spencer scraped cake off his face and looked at his beloved with mouth agape.

Tasha whipped her long, dark hair over her shoulder. “I thought we needed our own smash cake.”

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