Page 29 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
“Yourclothing line,” Hunter adds.
“I’ll bet that sells like hotcakes,” Matthew says, smiling big.
“It does okay.” I nod.
“Okay, shall we get started?” Liza asks.
The baker appears and sets the first cake in front of us. “Per Mr. Simpcox’s request, the first is the pink champagne with raspberry mousse and vanilla buttercream.”
Both Hunter and Liza dig in.
I pick up my fork and poke at my piece.
Click.
I glare at Matthew. He shrugs.
The cake is pink.
I don’t know why, but I have a real issue with a pink-colored cake. It just doesn’t look right. It reminds me of those godawful strawberry cakes in the box, where the flavor is some kind of rehydrated fruit and the color isred #59.
Just add water.
I turn to the baker. “May I get a cup of coffee, please?”
“Make that two,” Matthew says.
I look at him. He thinks he gets to partake?
“That looks real good, Ms. Seton,” he says to me. “May I?”
He grabs a fork from the table and before I can say anything, he takes a large bite from my piece.
“Excuse me?” I say, my voice shrill.
“Real good cake, chef,” Matthew says to the baker.
“It is, isn’t it?” Hunter agrees. He turns to me. “What do you think, honey? I think it might be my favorite.”
“It’s great,” I lie. “I’m not sure about the pink color though.”
“Okay, number two.” The baker sets a cup of coffee before me, then a plate with the next cake option. “Tropical guava with fresh guava buttercream and guava jam.”
Hunter loves guava.
I hate it and do nothing to prevent the grimace from taking over my face.
Click.
Click.
Matthew continues taking shots of the cakes and all of us trying them. I don’t touch mine. One, because of my issue with guava. Two, the cake is pink. Again.
“Oh, Tabatha is not a fan of guava,” Hunter says. “But I think this is divine.”
“Hates it,” Matthew says, moving his fork in again. I slap at his arm. I don’t mean to. It’s just reflex. He reminds me of Pax when he does it. Pax has—had—no appreciation for food boundaries. Nor which plate is actually his.
“What?” Matthew asks me. “It’s not like you’re going to eat it.”
