Sweet Little Lies

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

It’s a funny way to meet your future fiancé—at the cake tasting for his wedding to another woman—but that is exactly how Tucker and I met.

Let me clarify, I’m not some bridal bouquet-chasing bachelorette stalking cake tastings for a husband. It’s quite the opposite, actually. I’m the proud owner of Couture Cakes, a charming little bakery nestled in the historic town of Somerville, South Carolina. And, up until a year ago, I was perfectly happy being single and dating around while growing my buttercream empire.

That is until the “couple of the moment” walked into my shop.

The upcoming nuptials of Tucker Harding and Charlotte Spencer were poised to be the stuff of Southern legend. Charlotte, the epitome of a born-and-bred Southern belle, hailed from a family tree dripping with old money—the kind of wealth that probably had roots tangled up in the plantation era. Their fortunes might have taken a few hits over the years, but they were likely still at the top of Southern society.

Charlotte herself was a walking, talking advertisement for the privileges of generational affluence. She had soft platinum locks, piercing sapphire eyes, and meticulously manicured, well, everything. She exuded the effortless confidence of someone who’d never had to lift a finger in her life. The world was her oyster, and she knew it.

Tucker was an entirely different story. Tall and devastatingly handsome, but with dark eyes and hair, like a villain from one of those vampire shows. His inky black waves, smoldering espresso eyes, and square jawline were enough to make even the most jaded spinster do a double take. In addition, Tucker was adopted from India as a child, adding a layer of complexity to his charm.

But he had more going for him than just good looks—Tucker had earned his place among the Southern elite. As the mastermind behind his own wildly successful import-export empire, he’d built a fortune that rivaled even the most storied of family names. And if the rumors were true, he was the one bankrolling this lavish affair.

So, when I received a call that they were interested in having me design the cake for their wedding? I was practically beside myself with excitement.

Bernadette, whom I affectionally call Bernie, and I had been meticulously planning for this tasting for weeks, obsessing over every detail to ensure perfection. When the day of the tasting arrived and the couple finally arrived at my door, they were exactly as I had envisioned in my mind’s eye. Charlotte looked poised and polished in a fitted white pantsuit that probably cost as much as my stand mixer. Meanwhile, Tucker looked equally dashing in a navy sport coat.

I immediately felt self-conscious in their presence, brushing back a lock of my pin-straight red hair and smoothing my pale pink apron. In fact, rumor had it they’d snagged the most coveted venue in the South—Magnolia, a historic plantation that commanded a five-figure price tag just to book the space. For a small-town baker like me, landing this gig would be a game changer.

Let’s be honest, it wasn’t just about the prestige. I needed that wedding like I needed air in my lungs. The once-shiny veneer of my little shop was starting to crack under the weight of mounting expenses. That secondhand oven I’d been coaxing along for years? It was on its last legs, threatening to give out at any moment. Sure, we had a lot of work, but it was mostly just your middle-class, run-of-the-mill client who spent a few hundred bucks on their wedding cake. Not enough to glean much of a profit margin. I was running on fumes, desperately trying to keep up with the demand while my meager crew of two stretched ourselves to the breaking point.

Charlotte took the lead when they arrived, gliding forward with an outstretched hand and a dazzling smile.

“Reese, darling, it’s an absolute pleasure to finally meet you in person,” she gushed, her perfectly manicured fingers wrapping around mine in a grip that was both delicate and viselike.

“Likewise, Miss Spencer,” I replied.

As she brushed past me and headed to the tasting table, I found my gaze drifting toward Tucker. He stood just behind his fiancée, with a quiet intensity that seemed to fill the room. When he stepped forward to shake my hand, I felt an electric jolt run up my arm, sending a shiver of something forbidden down my spine.

“Reese, it’s nice to meet you. Your bakery is lovely,” he said. I believe I mumbled something akin to thank you in return. Honestly, it was hard not to gape at how gorgeous he was.

Get it together, Reese. He’s engaged, I thought, trying to push the inappropriate thoughts aside. I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy as I watched Charlotte loop her arm possessively through Tucker’s.

I pasted on my most professional smile and ushered the couple toward the table, determined to focus on the task at hand. I had to nail this tasting, to prove to Charlotte and Tucker—and perhaps, to myself—that I was the right choice for their big day.

When Charlotte sat down at the table, her eyes sparkled with delight. “Oh my goodness, Reese! This place is an absolute dream,” she gushed, her voice dripping with honeyed charm. I followed her gaze around the room as she took in every lovingly curated detail—the vintage white cupboard bursting with colorful teacups and dishes, the soft pink taffeta curtains that billowed gently in the breeze from the large picture window.

I felt a swell of pride in my chest, but it was quickly tempered by a nagging voice in the back of my mind . Will it be enough?

“Thank you so much, Miss Spencer,” I replied, my voice steady despite the butterflies in my stomach. “I’ve poured my heart and soul into every inch of this place. It means the world to hear you say that.”

Charlotte turned to me, her perfectly manicured hand resting on her hip. “Please, call me Charlotte. We’re practically family now, aren’t we?” She winked conspiratorially. I felt a blush creep up my neck.

“Of course, Charlotte,” I said. To be honest? I thought it was a little over the top. But I was willing to play along. “I’m thrilled to have you and Tucker here today. I’ve prepared a special selection of cakes for you to sample, each one a labor of love.”

I launched into my carefully rehearsed spiel about the cakes I’d prepared. Everything was going to plan, but I couldn’t quite shake the buzzy feeling I had when Tucker’s eyes would linger on me for a second too long.

Just as we settled in to take our first bites of the prepared confections, the silver bell above the front door chimed. In glided an elderly woman, her hair so blonde it was almost white, and eyes the same piercing crystal blue as Charlotte’s. It was clear that the mother of the bride had arrived.

Charlotte immediately sprang up from her seat and knocked back her chair. Tucker stood up from his seat to help, but she quickly recovered, setting the chair upright before rushing to escort her mother to our table. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of inviting my mother to join us today,” she announced, her voice a bit shaky. Her cheeks were bright pink.

I caught the fleeting look of annoyance that flickered across Tucker’s face, but he quickly smoothed it over with a practiced smile.

Interesting, I remember thinking. Trouble in paradise, perhaps?

“Of course,” I said aloud, my own smile never wavering. “I’ll have another place setting prepared immediately.” I spun on my heel and made a beeline for the back of the shop, calling out to Bernie to get another table setting ready.

When I returned to the table a few moments later, the atmosphere had shifted palpably. Charlotte, previously the picture of poise, was now fidgeting nervously, her perfectly polished nails picking at the delicate skin around her cuticles. Mrs. Spencer, on the other hand, wore a placid expression that seemed almost too serene, like the calm before a storm. And Tucker? His earlier irritation had morphed into something darker, a restless energy that made him shift in his seat like a caged animal.

“So,” I began, my voice cutting through the tension like a knife through butter, “what did you have in mind for the cake?”

The rest of the meeting passed in a whirlwind of details—the towering tiers, the groom’s cake, the endless sea of cupcakes for the after-party. But looking back, it’s not the specifics of the order that stand out in my memory. It’s the tension between the three of them—the way Tucker rolled his eyes when no one was looking, or how the bride’s mother interrupted her daughter or answered my questions before Charlotte could get a word out.

In the end, I landed the job. I had just over a month to prepare for the wedding of the year. I couldn’t deny I was growing more fond of Tucker, who came back to the shop a handful of times before the big wedding. He would often stop by just to chat or fulfill a craving for one of my chocolate beignets. Once, he even pulled me away for a coffee break, where we chatted for an hour over lattes. These little moments, no matter how brief, had become the highlight of my day.

So, when the fateful call came on the day of the Spencer-Harding wedding, informing me that the nuptials had been abruptly canceled, I’m ashamed to admit that a small, selfish part of me rejoiced. I couldn’t deny I was attracted Tucker, and I thought he might feel the same way.

I repeatedly offered to refund him for the cost of the wedding cake, but he refused. He did stop by the shop for several weeks after, feigning a craving for one of my famous cupcakes. About a month later, he asked me out to dinner, an invite I gladly accepted.

Now here we are, a year later.

And in just five days, I’ll be the one walking down the aisle to meet Tucker at the altar. His new blushing bride.