Page 10 of Cupcak
“I think we should spare Mr. Grant our family drama. I imagine he’s got plenty of his own.”
“Oh, I have none. My parents passed when I was around your age, actually. So I’ve been on my own since then.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, son,” Pop says, just as Emmy’s hand shoots out to cover mine.
“I had no idea,” she says, giving my hand a squeeze. “That must have been hard.”
“It was.” I want to turn my hand over and entwine our fingers, but I resist the urge. “It’s the reason I never went to college. But I found my way. Just like you are. We all do the best with what we have at the time.”
“Oh, Emmy always does her best,” Pop says, nodding emphatically. “You’ve chosen well with her. She always puts her all into everything she does. The only thing she’s terrible at is baking. Can’t make a cake to save her life.”
Emmy pulls her hand back, and I miss it immediately. “Did you really need to tell him that?” she says.
“It’s not like he hired you as a baker.” Pop smirks.
I chuckle at their exchange. “How did you manage to get a job working a cake stand then?”
Her hands wrap around her coffee, her fingers threading through the handle. “All I had to do was sell the cakes. I can do that no problem. Selling comes naturally to me. Just like reading people comes naturally. I see the eagerness in their eyes, and I just figure out a way to nurture that and give them what they want.”
“Emmy’s a talker, always has been,” Pop adds, a sense of pride in his eyes. “She could talk the legs off a chair.”
“Stop saying ‘Emmy’ at the beginning of every sentence like I’m not right here listening to you,” she says, laughing as she gets up and grabs the cookie jar off the counter and walks it over to the table. She unscrews the lid and sets it in front of me. “Don’t let him have more than one.” She gives me a look of warning, jerking a thumb at her grandfather before grabbing a cookie herself and popping it into her mouth before she heads over to the sink and turns on the faucet.
“Want some help with that?” I ask, already pushing my seat back.
“Oh no. I’ve got this. Just watch him.” She points at her grandfather with a soapy utensil.
Pop gives me a baleful look and lowers his voice. “Emmy’s got eyes in the back of her head. She’ll know if I take more than one.”
“I heard that.”
Pop looks at me as if to say, ‘See!’
“Drink up your coffee, Pop. You’ll be up all night if you take much longer,” she says, her words coming out as a command.
“Emmy can also be real bossy. As her boss, I believe you should be warned, Drake.” Pop paws through the pile of biscuits and picks the biggest one before pushing them toward me.
“Pop!” Emmy cries, looking at him, clearly affronted. “You’re gonna get me fired before I start!”
I’m full-on laughing now, enjoying the playful bickering between the two of them.
“Emmy’s got a stubborn streak to go with that bossiness. But…” He pauses, for dramatic effect. “She’s got one weakness, too.”
“What are you saying to him, Arthur Townsend?” Emmy demands, trying not to laugh as her grandfather leans in close. Automatically, so do I, eager to gather every bit of information I can about her.
“It’s ice cream,” he shares, looking at me triumphantly. “Emmy will give into anything, look past even the worst crime you might commit, sell her firstborn even. If you wave a tub of Rocky Road ice cream under her nose, she’ll lick it clean.”
My throat goes tight as the picture of her pink tongue darting out to lick the spoon as she eats ice cream fills my brain, sending all the blood in my body rushing south to my groin.
Fucking hell.
I need to buy Emmy ice cream.
“Pop! Stop telling him all that,” Emmy groans, turning mortified eyes to her grandfather and shooting daggers at him.
“It’s her weakness,” Pop continues. “All superheroes have them.”
“A superhero, huh?” I smile her way.
