Chapter 12 The Carob Cake
The Carob Cake
Hazel
Three years ago, a wealthy couple commissioned a twelve-tiered cake from The Cocoa Bean. It had been a work of art, one of my best. Even though I wasn’t really into social media, I’d taken a photo of it to post on my Facebook page.
And then disaster had struck.
My industrial refrigerator had decided to die exactly twenty-four hours before the wedding.
I’d woken up to find my masterpiece slowly melting into itself like a Salvador Dalí painting.
The fondant had started weeping. The buttercream had turned shiny with separation.
The sugar flowers I’d spent three days crafting had drooped like wilted roses.
The cake had been beyond salvaging. So I’d done what any reasonable baker would do when faced with total catastrophe. I’d rebuilt the entire thing from scratch, running on spite and enough espresso to kill a small horse.
The replacement had been functional. The tiers were level.
The frosting was smooth. But it hadn’t been the same.
The sugar flowers were simpler. The piping less intricate.
The proportions slightly off because I’d been working too fast to properly measure.
It had been good enough to satisfy the contract.
But every time I looked at the photos from the reception, I flinched.
I could see all the places where exhaustion had won over artistry.
Nothing, not even the sight of my compromised work of art, had prepared me for today’s disaster.
One moment, I’d been standing next to Ignatius, processing my own complicated feelings about the situation. The next, I was watching two grown men try to murder each other on Nana’s perfectly manicured lawn.
Brok had Ignatius pinned to the ground, one massive hand wrapped around Ignatius’s throat. Ignatius was fighting back with vicious efficiency, his knee driving up toward Brok’s ribs. They rolled across the grass like angry bears, destroying flower arrangements and scattering panicked guests.
A serving table went over with a crash. Crystal glasses shattered. Someone’s purse went flying.
I stood frozen, my brain trying to process what I was seeing while my body refused to cooperate.
Brok was here. Actually here. After weeks of radio silence, he’d shown up at my grandmother’s charity gala and started a brawl with my blind date. Surely, this couldn’t be happening.
Brok slammed Ignatius’s face into the ground with enough force to leave an impression in the grass. Dirt sprayed. Ignatius made a sound that was more animal than human. It was a little unnerving, but it snapped me out of my paralysis.
“Brok!” I screamed. “What in God’s name are you doing?”
Both men went rigid. Brok looked up at me with wild eyes, his chest heaving. He released Ignatius and stood up in a smooth motion I couldn’t help but admire. “I was protecting you.” He pointed at Ignatius with one bloodied hand. “From this… This man. He’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” Ignatius pushed himself upright with careful dignity, brushing dirt and grass from his ruined suit. “I’m not the one who attacked a perfectly polite guest at Mrs. Roth’s gala.”
As if summoned by Ignatius’s words, Nana manifested by my side, Fifi tucked under one arm. “Hazel. I don’t suppose you have an explanation for this.”
I wanted to sink into the ground and disappear. I wanted to turn back time and uninvite myself from this entire event. Anything would be better than standing in the wreckage of my grandmother’s most important fundraiser, guilty and humiliated.
The Rescue Paws Gala was Nana’s pride and joy. She’d spent months organizing it. Weeks perfecting every detail. This event raised hundreds of thousands of dollars for abused animals every single year.
And I’d just let my personal drama turn it into a cage match.
“Nana, I can explain—” I started, knowing I absolutely could not explain.
“I’m sure there was no harm done.” Vixen appeared beside Ignatius as if materializing from thin air. She grabbed his arm with casual familiarity. “Just a little misunderstanding. Isn’t that right?”
Did they even know each other? As far as I knew, no, but right now, I couldn’t have cared less. I desperately needed Vixen’s particular brand of miracle.
Barnaby was doing the same thing to Brok, wrapping his hands around Brok’s massive forearm.
“My brother has always been a little hotheaded.” He shot Brok a look that clearly said play along or I’ll murder you myself.
“We’re really, really sorry. We’ll pay for everything.
The table, the glasses, the flowers, medical bills, therapy for traumatized guests, whatever you need. ”
Fifi chose that exact moment to wriggle free from Nana’s arms and trot over to Brok. She sniffed his shoes, then sat down at his feet. When she looked up at him, she was wagging her tiny tail. She’d clearly found her new favorite person.
The other dogs were gathering too. The three-legged beagle. The puppy that had almost eaten my shoes. A particularly insistent German Shepherd. All of them converging on Brok like he was handing out prime rib. None of them looked upset by the violence. If anything, they seemed relaxed. Happy, even.
Fifi made a small, contented sound. Brok reached down and scratched her ear.
Just like that, Nana’s expression shifted. The fury didn’t disappear, but it softened around the edges. Fifi was Nana’s most precious creature on earth. If Fifi liked someone, that carried more weight than a dozen character references.
Nana took a long, careful breath. When she spoke again, her voice had slightly mellowed. “Very well. Just this once, I’ll allow it.” She turned her attention to me, and the ice returned in full force. “But Hazel…”
“I know, Nana.” I felt about six years old. “I’m sorry. I’ll make it right.”
She nodded once, sharp and final, then turned to address the gathered crowd. “Please, everyone, continue enjoying the gala. There’s still the bake-off competition to judge, and we have several wonderful dogs looking for their forever homes.”
The crowd began to disperse, murmuring among themselves. I could already hear the gossip starting. This would be the story people told about the Rescue Paws Gala for years.
I turned to Ignatius, who was dabbing at his bloody nose with a silk handkerchief. “I’m so sorry. This is completely unacceptable. If there’s anything I can do—”
“No apology necessary.” He gave me a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “These things happen. Though perhaps we should reschedule our date for a less eventful occasion?”
“That would be… yes. Thank you for understanding.”
He nodded to me, shot one final unreadable look at Brok, then allowed Vixen to lead him away toward the refreshment tent.
I waited until they were out of earshot. Then I turned to face Brok and Barnaby.
Brok looked like he’d been through a blender. Blood on his face. Dirt on his clothes. Grass stains on his knees. His hair was a mess. His expression was somewhere between defiant and guilty.
He’d never looked more attractive.
“We’re leaving.” I grabbed his arm and very carefully didn’t think about the well-defined muscles under my fingertips. “Right now. And once we’re out of here, you are going to give me an explanation.”
Barnaby and Brok shared a guilty, shifty look. I could already tell they were scheming. That was all right. I’d get my answers from them.
Even if I had to drag them out of him with a rolling pin.
If there was one thing I’d always treasured about Brok, it was that we’d never had trouble talking. Even when we were at odds about what Barnaby actually needed, we’d still shoot barbs at each other. I’d enjoyed every moment of it, and had missed it desperately when he’d left.
Today, I had trouble coming up with even a single thing to say. We just stood in The Cocoa Bean staring at each other. It was a hundred times more awkward than it had been with Ignatius Gray.
My feet hurt. The red dress felt too tight across my ribs, as if it was squeezing all the air out of my lungs. I wanted to take off these stupid heels, but I couldn’t make myself move. This moment just felt too important.
Brok stood near the door, taking up too much space. Grass from Nana’s lawn stuck to his shoes. Little green bits scattered across my clean tile floor. I’d have to sweep later. Add it to the list of things I’d have to fix because of tonight.
On the other side of the room, Barnaby fidgeted with the hem of his lavender sweater vest. “Hazel? Can I have a truffle?”
“Barnaby, now’s really not the time,” Brok mumbled. At least he was showing some remorse for what he’d done. But again, I disagreed with him.
This was the perfect time for chocolate. Because why the hell not? It wasn’t like sweets could make things any worse.
Turning away from Brok, I stalked to the walk-in cooler. My heels clicked against the floor, each step echoing too loudly through the quiet shop. I yanked open the cooler door.
The carob cake sat on the middle shelf where I’d left it, covered in plastic wrap. One week of work. Three failed attempts before I got the texture right. Five tries on the frosting. I’d checked on it every day. Adjusted the temperature twice. Made sure it stayed perfect.
To this day, I don’t know why I’d made it. I’d been busy with Nana’s cookies, with other orders. But the cake had still haunted me.
I grabbed the plate. A part of me wanted to throw it away altogether. But Barnaby had asked for something to eat.
I closed the cooler, letting the door slam shut behind me. The sound was satisfying in a way that probably said terrible things about my mental state.
I cut a generous slice, put it on a saucer, and shoved it toward Barnaby. “Here. Eat. Someone should get to enjoy it.”
His eyes went so wide I thought they might fall out of his head. He took the plate like I was handing him the Holy Grail.