Page 66 of Stony Point Summer
“So let me get this straight,” Jason continues. “If you’re getting married, that means youdidbreak things off with Neil?”
“Not exactly. No.”
“Lauren. What are you, twenty-seven now? Hell, you’ve been with Kyle since you were teenagers. Foryears.”
“On and off.” She gives a small, almost apologetic, smile.
Jason looks long at her. “And you’ve been with Neil for, what?” He pauses, counting on his fingers. “A fewmonths?”
“Jason, it’s not a contest. And it’s notlikethat. It’s just that with Neil, it’s different.”
They sit silent then. Both turn forward and face the windshield, no doubt praying,prayingfor that God damn drawbridge to lower and get them moving. Get them out of this really awkward moment. Get the cars to start up and the gas pedals pressed so they can maybe talk about cake flavors and change the dreaded subject hovering between them in the too-small cab of a pickup truck.
Jason looks over at Lauren again. Straight out, he asks, “Are you telling me you’re in love with Neil?”
Lauren looks from him to the view of backed-up traffic in front of them. Quickly then, she points out the front windshield—to where the drawbridge is now lowering. Ignoring Jason’s blunt question, she instead carefully buckles her seatbelt and watches that bridge.
“Lauren.” Jason puts the truck in gear and begins inching along with traffic, gradually picking up speed again. But he persists with his question. “Answer me. Does Kyle know that you’re in love with my brother?”
She shakes her head. Her words come slower now that they’re driving again. Now that they’ve crossed the bridge and approach the bakery. “No one knows.”
“You sure about that?” The truck jostles when Jason turns into the bakery’s parking lot. “Because Kyle’s asked me a few probing questions. He knowssomething.”
“Damn it,” Lauren whispers with a long breath. “I don’t know what to do, Jason.”
They both get out of the truck, but don’t talk more. Lauren straightens her cropped peasant blouse as they cross the parking lot. Her bell-bottom jeans are slung low, so a few inches of her taut, tanned belly are exposed. Jason walks with her, giving her a quick side hug as they near the Italian bakery. He slightly shakes his head, too. In front of them, layered wedding cakes sit on decorative pedestals in the display window. The cakes are illuminated by mounted mini spotlights. There are vases of flowers situated among the display. And a sign in the glass door readsEspresso and Cappuccino. Another sign lists desserts, from cheesecakes and turnovers to raspberry sticks and cannolis.
All beautiful sights for planning a happy day.
* * *
The wedding cake consultant greets them right at the bakery door.
“Lauren!” she says, giving Lauren a hug. The consultant wears a white apron over a white blouse and straight black pants. A tied chefwrap holds back a head of tousled brown curls. “I’m so glad you made it. And that we did our initial questionnaire already.” She motions for Jason and Lauren to follow her inside. “I’ve got some wonderful samples I think you’ll love.”
Lauren glances to Jason beside her before saying, “I can’t wait to try them.”
The shop is lined with glass cases filled with golden breads and icing-topped cupcakes and fruit-oozing pies. Frosted and powder-sugared and sprinkled. Jason slows and does a double take as he walks. He’s eyeing a sandwich one of the bakery clerks is setting on a tray for a customer. The meatball sandwich, on fresh-baked ciabatta bread, drips with cheese, sauce and peppers—and Jason looks like he could devour it in a few hefty bites.
“Excuse me. Miss?” he asks, hurrying to catch up with their consultant. She stops and turns to him. “Any chance I can get one of those to go?” He motions to the substantial meatball sandwich.
“Sure! Once you’re seated, I’ll put in the order.”
“Okay,” Jason adds, turning toward another case. “Oh, wait. Can you tell me what’s in those?” He points to a shelf lined with chocolate-frosted doughnuts—the dough perfectly golden, a spot of cream drizzling out.
“Caught your eye now, did it?”
“You bet.”
“Those are our famous chocolate-covered, ricotta-filled mousse doughnuts.”
“Oh, man. Would you toss a few of those in a bag for me, too?”
“Absolutely.” The consultant actually takes a notepad from her pocket and jots down the order. “Anything else?”
“Ahem. Jason?” Lauren asks then. Her hands are on her hips; her eyes, squinting.
“Okay, sorry. I’m good,” he answers, catching up to Lauren again as they cross the bakery, passing a case of gelato flavors now: caramel macchiato, blueberry, amarena and stracciatella.
