Chapter 7
Jojo
Ipulled the pans from the oven and set them on the cooling racks before I did something reckless, like kiss Rafe again while the cake burned behind us. The tops had risen evenly, and the smell of warm chocolate filled the room. At least one thing had gone right tonight.
Rafe leaned over my shoulder. His hairnet hung crooked over one ear, and his lips were still slightly swollen from our kiss.
“Looks good,” he said.
“You don’t know what you’re looking at.”
“Looks like cake.”
“Outstanding observation.”
He chuckled as I set the pans on the cooling racks. Every nerve in my body remained painfully aware of how close he was. Of how his hands had felt on my waist. Of what he’d tasted like.
I needed to lay down some rules if I wanted to survive the rest of the night. “No more kissing.”
His smile disappeared. “Ever?”
Ever felt like a very long time. I bit the inside of my cheek and imagined a world where I didn’t get to kiss him again. After a long pause, I relented. “Not until the cake is finished.”
The damn dimple in his left cheek popped again. “I can work with that.”
“That wasn’t a promise.”
“Sounded pretty close.”
I pointed toward the sink. “How about you wash those bowls?”
“You got it, boss.”
The next couple of hours passed in a blur of frosting, chocolate, and caffeine. Once the layers had cooled a little, I moved them into the refrigerator to hurry the process along. Rafe followed my instructions to repair the scuffed fake tiers while I whipped up another batch of buttercream.
He didn’t complain or ask what came next every five minutes.
He washed tools before I needed them, cleared space on the counter, and handed me supplies before I could ask.
At some point, I stopped thinking of him as the man who’d ruined my cake.
He’d become my partner. The realization should have terrified me more than it did.
I pulled the first replacement layer from the cooler and set it on a cake board. The center was still slightly warm, but I needed to keep moving.
“This one next?” Rafe asked, holding out the bowl of buttercream.
“You’re learning.”
“I’m highly trainable.”
“I’ll be sure to tell your boss,” I teased.
“You’re my boss.”
“Just for tonight.”
His gaze met mine as he handed me the bowl. The air shifted between us, heavy with possibilities of what might happen when the cake was finally done.
I turned my attention to the buttercream.
My first attempt at frosting a cake had looked like someone had thrown a bucket of plaster at it.
I’d been so desperate to save it that I’d recruited a local bricklayer to smooth it out.
He’d handled the frosting like mortar and still done a better job than I had. I’d come a long way since then.
I spread the buttercream over the cake in an even layer. While the cake board slowly turned, I smoothed the sides again and again until every ridge disappeared.
Rafe watched from across the counter.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I like watching you work.”
The warmth in his voice sent a shiver across my skin. “You’re supposed to be fixing those supports.”
“I can multitask.”
“Apparently not well enough to keep skeletons inside coffins.”
He pressed a hand to his chest. “That was cruel and unnecessary.”
“You’ll survive.”
“Probably. Unless one of the spiders comes to life.”
I glanced at the tray of chocolate spiders cooling beside him. “With the luck we’ve had, don’t rule it out.”
The replacement tiers came together one layer at a time. Rafe lifted and steadied while I filled and frosted. I checked every support before we stacked anything, but I trusted his work more than I wanted to admit.
Once the top tier was in place, he brought over the vintage topper. The little ceramic couple stood beneath the support he’d built, surrounded by black roses and strands of candy cobwebs. The white arch looked softer against the dark frosting, almost like it was always meant to be there.
I added the final chocolate spider, then stepped back. The repaired cake wasn’t the same as the one I’d delivered to Phillips House. It was better.
The roses cascaded more dramatically down one side, and the antique topper gave the cake a story the original design hadn’t possessed. The places we’d repaired didn’t look like mistakes. They looked intentional.
Rafe stepped close and nudged an elbow into my side. “You did it.”
“We did it.”
His head turned in my direction.
I kept my eyes on the cake. Giving him credit seemed dangerous. Like the night had become something we shared instead of a disaster I’d survived.
He took out his phone and started snapping pictures.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting proof before we put it back in the hearse.”
“I don’t need proof.”
“You need photos for your business.”
“I’ll get pictures tomorrow.”
“Yeah, but I want one of the woman who saved it.” He moved to the other side of the room and lifted his phone. “Stay there.”
I glanced down at my flour-covered shirt and frosting-streaked apron. “Absolutely not.”
“Jojo.”
“I look terrible.”
“You look like the woman who saved a thirteen-layer wedding cake after it was attacked by a dead groom.”
I rolled my eyes. “The dead groom was plastic.”
“Minor detail.” He gestured toward the cake. “Go stand next to your work.”
Something about the way he said it made it impossible to refuse him. He’d called it “my work.” Not a little hobby I squeezed in around shifts and school pickups. Not something Lacey had talked me into doing. Mine.
I moved next to the cake and crossed my arms.
“Smile,” he said.
“I am smiling.”
“You look like you’re planning a murder. Hopefully not mine this time.”
“I might be.”
He gave me a huge grin, and I couldn’t help it. I smiled for real.
Rafe took the picture, then glanced at the screen. “Perfect.”
“The cake?”
His gaze lifted to mine. “You.”
My chest tightened.
Before I could think of something smart to say, he slipped his phone into his pocket and held out his little finger. “You owe me.”
I never thought for a second he’d forget, but I wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “I don’t owe you anything.”
“The cake is done.” He wiggled his pinky. “You promised to tell me your bakery name.”
“There isn’t a bakery yet.”
“‘Yet’ is the key word in that sentence.”
I stared at the cake. The name had lived in my head for months. I’d written it in the margins of my sketchbook, then scratched it out so no one would see. Saying it out loud would make it real. That was scarier than all the bad luck we’d faced tonight.
“Fine. It’s The Icing on I Do,” I said.
Rafe was quiet.
My stomach sank. “It’s stupid.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“You don’t have to pretend.”
“I’m not pretending.” He stepped closer. “It’s memorable. It fits the town, and it tells people exactly what you do.”
“It’s only an idea.”
“No.” His eyes held mine. “It’s a business that doesn’t have a building yet.”
The conviction in his voice made it sound possible… not just someday… not just if everything well over the next couple of years. He made it seem possible now.
I reached for the front of his apron and tugged him closer.
“This isn’t finished,” he said.
“The cake is.”
“That’s all I needed to hear.”
His mouth met mine. This kiss wasn’t frantic like the first one. It was slower. Softer. Much more dangerous. Rafe’s hand settled at my waist while mine rested against his chest. His heart beat hard and fast underneath my palm.
For a few minutes, I forgot that he lived in Dallas. Forgot that I had two kids, a full-time job and a side gig I hoped to grow. Forgot there was no room in my life for a man who traveled for a living.
Then my phone buzzed against the counter. I pulled back and checked the screen.
Lacey
Power’s back on! You can bring that masterpiece back anytime.
We packed everything and loaded the cake into the hearse for the final trip to the Phillips House. Dawn had started to push back the darkness by the time we pulled into the drive.
Lucky sat in the middle of the porch, his black tail coiled around his feet.
“There’s our good-luck charm,” Rafe said.
“You called him bad luck yesterday.”
“I’ve reconsidered.”
“Why?”
He looked at me across the front seat. “The first time he crossed my path, I ended up with you.”
My heart gave an embarrassing little flutter.
“You’re still flirt baking,” I muttered as I climbed out.
Lacey met us at the door. Her hair was piled on top of her head, and she clutched a mug of coffee like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
When we unpacked the cake and set it on the table, her mouth fell open.
“Jojo.” She circled it as I made final adjustments. “This is incredible.”
“The original was incredible,” Rafe said. “This one’s even better.”
Lacey pulled out her phone and began taking pictures. “People are going to lose their minds over this.”
I should have felt nothing but relief. Instead, I watched Rafe step away to answer his phone. His expression changed as he listened. The playfulness disappeared, replaced by the focused look I’d seen when he constructed the cake support.
“How bad is it?” he asked. “No, don’t shut everything down. You can keep working on the other sections.” He turned away, lowering his voice, but I could still hear him. “I’ll be there as soon as the wedding’s over.”
Three disasters, exactly like Suzy had predicted: the cake, the power outage, and now an emergency Rafe couldn’t ignore.
Duty called. There was another project. Another problem. Another place he needed to be. Exactly like the life he’d described over burgers.
He ended the call and came back toward me. “One of my installations is having a problem with a lift mechanism. My crew can handle it for now, but I’ll need to leave after the reception.”
“If they need you, you have to go.”
His brows pulled together. “Jojo—”
“The cake’s done.” I stacked the empty boxes so I wouldn’t have to look at him. “You kept your pinky promise.”
Rafe stepped closer. “That doesn’t mean I’m ready to go.”
Lacey disappeared through the doorway into the kitchen. I was one thousand percent sure she expected me to fill her in the second Rafe left.
“You have a wedding to get through.” I forced a smile and lifted the boxes into my arms. “And an emergency waiting for you in Dallas.”
His expression tightened. “Look, I—”
“It’s okay.” I shifted the boxes in my arms. “We had fun. That’s more than I expected.”
His gaze held mine. “You make that sound like a goodbye.”
I didn’t know what else to call it. Rafe had told me how his life worked. There would always be another job, another problem, another reason to leave. I couldn’t risk hoping I might become the exception.
“I should get these out of the way and go get cleaned up before the photographer gets here.” I turned toward the kitchen before he could read the truth on my face.
The cake had made it through the night. Whatever had happened between me and Rafe had already started to crumble.