Page 40 of Goalie and the Girl Next Door
I walk toward them like I’ve just spotted the Eiffel Tower after a year in the countryside.
“Oh, no,” Weston says behind me. “We’ve lost him.”
“Didn’t even say goodbye,” Lucian adds.
“Look at them,” I say in awe. “They’re magnificent.”
“Pretty sure those are for the kids.”
“There are no children here.”
“Exactly.”
I ignore them. My hand hovers over the nearest cupcake, its frosting gleaming like temptation itself, when a woman in a red dress with a black apron steps out from behind the display.
She has an amused look on her face and a tray of freshly frosted reinforcements balanced effortlessly on one hand.
“Careful,” she says. “Those ones are still drying.”
I freeze, mid-reach. “Drying?”
“Edible glitter,” she explains, setting down the tray. “Takes a minute to set, otherwise you’ll end up looking like a disco ball.”
“Sounds like an improvement,” I say. “How many of these am I allowed to take before it’s considered a scene?”
“That depends,” she says with a grin. “Are you famous?”
I glance around theatrically. “Only in France.”
She laughs. “I’m Emmy. My friend, Neesha, made these gorgeous creations. And I hereby appoint you my unofficial celebrity spokesperson for cupcake enthusiasm.”
I place a hand on my chest. “It would be an honor. I will give them the dignity they deserve.”
From behind me, Weston groans. “Is Frenchie flirting with the cupcake lady now?”
These guys will never let me get over this ridiculous reputation. “I am only flirting with the cupcake itself.”
“Good,” Lucian snorts. “Because the kind lady behind the counter already has a hockey boyfriend. You, however, are definitely going to end up with frosting on your tux.”
Emmy shrugs, unfazed. “It happens more than you’d think.”
“I accept the risk,” I say, and reach for one of the slightly set cupcakes at the edge of the tray.
The frosting is firm, cool to the touch. The first bite is everything I hoped for—vanilla, cream, sugar, the tiniest crunch of silver glitter between my teeth.
I close my eyes. “American cuisine. Underestimated and glorious.”
Emmy grins and steps back. “I’ll save you a couple for the road.”
“Oh la la, que c’est bon,” I say with my eyes closed and hear a few chuckles around me. When I open my eyes, Weston and Lucian are watching me with identical expressions of disbelief. “What?” I say, licking a smudge of frosting from my thumb. “You have champagne. I have priorities.”
Lucian’s eyes drop to my hand as I reach for another cupcake.
“Hey,” he points at the bandage, “what happened to your hand? You fight a baguette and lose?”
I glance down at the bandage, flexing my fingers. “The baguette was an easy adversary. The hammer, less so. It won.”
Weston raises an eyebrow. “Still the house stuff?”
