Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
And we got along well. She never made me feel less than her because of our different-sized bank accounts or our age gap. She was as happy to hang in a coffee shop around the corner from my little basement apartment as she was to laze around her massive bedroom at her parents’ home. They were pleasant and welcoming the couple of times I’d gone there, but it made me uncomfortable, so we mostly hung at the coffee shop to study. We were schoolmates, friendly and happy to keep our relationship there. I didn’t mix with her friends, and she didn’t mix with mine.
Not that I had many.
After graduation, she got a job at a web design company owned by a relative. I finished my course, still worked part time at a graphics firm, and had added a pastry arts program, deciding that was where my real passion lay. It was my goal to open my own high-end bakery one day.
When she and Allan got engaged, she asked me to make her cake. I had been working at a bakery for years, and cake decorating was a passion of mine. I had a small side business that helped pay the bills, and I created fantasy wedding cakes—some of them taking me weeks to bake, decorate, and assemble. Part of the fee included my being at the wedding, setting up the cake, and making sure that it was perfect for the day. That it was cut and disassembled properly.
My reputation was building slowly. I didn’t make much profit by the time I bought the ingredients, the hours I spent decorating and designing, plus the fact that the old witch I worked for overcharged me to store the cakes in her freezer, use the ovens, and borrow the delivery van on the day of the wedding. She did it grudgingly and only because it often brought customers into the store.
I longed for the day I didn’t have to work for her. When I had my own bakery. But until I paid off some of my student loans and was in the position to open my own shop, it was my life.
For now.
I wondered what the stranger with the wandering lips would think of the cake now that it was done.
I tried not to think of his firm mouth pressed to mine. How tall he was. The heat and muscles I felt under his perfectly cut suit. The air of power and control he exuded. He looked stern and forbidding, yet he had teased me, his voice oddly placid when he spoke.
The way he smelled—like something exotic and decadent. Rich. How gentle his touch had been.
How I had almost wished he had kissed me again instead of stealing my cupcakes.
A squeal behind me brought me out of my musings. Carolina rushed forward, stopping in front of the table, her hand covering her mouth. Tears sprang to her eyes as she looked at the cake table.
“Bri,” she murmured. “It’s so incredible!”
Her mother strolled in, stopping in amazement. “I had no idea,” she said. “How spectacular!”
Mrs. Frost had wanted a traditional cake. Ten tiers. Piped flowers. Bride and groom on top. Carolina had been adamant. “I agreed to an indoor wedding, Mom. But I want my woodland theme, and I want the cake Bri sketched for me.”
She had won the battle, and I could see from the pleased expression on her mother’s face she was glad she had given in.
“It will be the talk of the crowd,” Mrs. Frost said with a smile. “Young lady, you are exceedingly talented.”
“She is going to own her own bakery one day,” Carolina said as she slipped her arm around my waist, hugging me.
“You should do it soon,” Mrs. Frost murmured.
I bit my tongue before I informed her it cost a lot of money to start up a business. Unless I had a sugar daddy, that wasn’t happening right now.
Unbidden, the image of the man from earlier, the cupcake stealer, came to mind. I pushed that errant thought away but grabbed on to the flash of annoyance.
“Some old guy was in here earlier,” I told Carolina. “Stole a few cupcakes. I had to tell him off.”
“Oh no. Who was he?”
I shrugged. “A staff member showing up for work early, I assume.” He’d said he didn’t work here, but I thought he was lying to save his job.
“I’ll investigate,” Mrs. Frost assured me.
I shook my head. “I told him off, and he didn’t do any harm. He was quite complimentary, aside from the cupcake stealing.”
“Sounds like something Dad would do.” Carolina smirked. “Or Uncle Dante.”
Mrs. Frost laughed. “Yes, they both have a sweet tooth, which you inherited. But Dante isn’t coming until later, and he isn’t old.” At my confused look, she smiled. “He is Paolo’s older brother by two years and Carolina’s godfather. He lives out of the country.” She lifted her eyebrows. “He is rather high-handed.”