Page 61 of Make Mine Sweet
Wren has a hand up, waiting on a high-five. “Bring it in.”
I roll my eyes but slap her hand.
“I’m proud of you. This could be a game-changer for your cake business.”
“Maybe. It might just be another one-off.” I hope it’s not. I’ve wanted to make wedding cakes for years. It’s just never felt like a feasible possibility. It still doesn’t, honestly, but I’m doing this for the sake of the couple having the best day possible.
From Wren’s dubious look, I guess those hopes aren’t much of a secret. “Or it could be the start of something big.”
Visions of wedding cakes dance through my head until I can almost smell them. I’m not usually one to get caught up in daydreams and fantasies, but I guess this is the day for it.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. This couple might not like what I make.”
“Shut up. It’s going to be beautiful and delicious. I don’t even know why you doubt it. You’re the Cake Whisperer or something.”
Hopefully, the couple will call soon so we can discuss flavors and any cake inspiration they might have. Who knows? They might want a style of cake I can’t even do, and this opportunity will fall apart before it begins. I don’t want to totally crush my cake-making dreams, but I need to be at least a little realistic.
“The only real question,” Wren says more ominously, “is are you going to tell Mom about it?”
Yep. There’s the dream-crushing I was afraid of.
TWENTY-ONE
IAN
Tess watchesme with one fist up to her mouth, her thumbnail caught between her teeth. Her gaze dances from me to the box of cupcakes she set on the back patio table a minute ago like she’s waiting for the desserts to explode. Seems extreme. Worst thing I can imagine is her raccoon friends might scamper through and steal the treats before I get a chance to eat any.
“They look perfect. The frosting makes a nice—” I swirl a finger in the air. I don’t know the terminology, but it’s wavy like a soft-serve ice cream cone. It’s honestly a lot of frosting, but judging by the ones I had last week, that might be my favorite part.
Her lips tilt into a smile around the tip of her thumb, and she drops her hand. “Thank you. But I need you to taste them.”
“Pushy. I like it.”
I pull one from the box. There’s no pretty way to eat a cupcake this big. I’m guaranteed to get frosting in my beard. But Tess asked me to try her new flavor combination, so you better believe I’m going to follow through.
My first bite is half frosting, half cupcake, all delicious. The second bite captures some of the red jelly filling, bringing the J in the flavor’s PB&J theme. The last two bites are just me in a shark frenzy, my eyes rolled back in my head.
“It’s really good,” I tell her when I’ve swallowed the last of it down. I decimated the fat cupcake in four bites. I think she can draw her own conclusions.
Her eyebrows lift. Maybe that wasn’t the most helpful review. I cast about, digging deep for any hidden food critic skills.
“The cake’s rich without being overpowering. The buttercream has the right amount of flavor, and the peanut butter flakes add interesting mouthfeel. The strawberry jelly has a brightness that gives the whole thing a nice kick.”
Her eyebrows hitch even higher. Possibly because I said the wordmouthfeelfor the first time in my life.
“I would eat another, is what I’m trying to say.”
She grins, and her shoulders ease into a more relaxed posture. “Go for it. How about a glass of milk to go with it?”
“Please.”
August leaps onto the porch and heads Tess off before she reaches her door. “Can I try, too?”
“Sure, buddy. Take a seat with Ian.”
In a minute, Tess comes back out with two glasses of milk and three forks. We sit at their patio table and share one of the sample cupcakes, August swinging his feet in the seat between us. The sun’s just starting to ease into twilight, the harsh light of day fading into something softer for our cozy little taste-testing.
“Does Dutch like cupcakes?” August wants to know.
