20. Tess
TWENTY
TESS
I shouldn’t feel like a criminal on the lam when I’m working in my own business. Okay, technically it’s not mine—Mom brought Wren and me in as partners after we each turned twenty-five. I’m a co-owner. Still. My heart’s racing while I blend new frosting flavors in the back, like I expect to be raided and handcuffed any minute.
Unlikely, since Mom left to pick August up from daycare an hour ago. She promised him an afternoon at his favorite park, so she won’t come here again today unless absolutely necessary. She’s dedicated to Blackbird’s Bakery, but she’s even more dedicated to being the best grandma.
I carefully pipe thick buttercream over filled cupcakes, agonizing just a touch over the flavor ratios with this batch. Peanut butter and jelly sounded like the perfect summer cupcake, but I’m not certain putting peanut butter in the cake and icing was the right call. The jelly should offset the nutty taste, but I don’t want the peanut butter to overwhelm. At least I have a willing taste tester.
Smiling to myself, I frost the rest of the cupcakes on the baking tray. I’ve been swooning around all day, earning a dozen knowing looks from Wren. I told her a little of what happened last night when I explained about the big bandage on my arm, but it was more than enough for her to get carried away with her own ideas. Probably ridiculous scenarios where Ian’s shirt comes unbuttoned as he runs through a field toward me.
What actually happened last night was better. I mean…I wouldn’t hate the running toward me scenario, but bandaging my injuries is a romance book trope, too. I think. I don’t read much of that genre, but I’ll just assume that it is.
And rescuing me. That’s a romance book thing for sure. He got right between me and danger. The fact that the danger was only raccoons going through my trash isn’t important.
“Tess.”
I startle and look up. Wren’s poking her head into the back room, a sly smile on her face while she watches me work.
“Daydreaming about someone?” she wants to know. “I had to say your name a couple of times.”
I straighten my back and set the piping bag aside. “I’m focused on my cupcakes.”
Her smile spreads and curls across her mouth so slowly, it’s like she’s means for it to worm straight under my skin. Having a sister is a constant love-hate relationship.
“Whatever you say. Someone’s out front to see you.”
She hitches her eyebrows up before disappearing back through the swinging door. My stomach dips. Nobody ever comes to the bakery to see me. Except once.
I smooth my hands over my hair and straighten out my apron for good measure. I consider checking my face in the back bathroom, but nothing could be worse than the state Ian found me in last night.
Pushing through the door, I step out into the bakery, quickly scanning the space. Wren’s helping a mother and her children at the front counter, with a man waiting in line behind them, and standing off to the side is Charlie Callahan.
No Ian.
Wren looks from me to Charlie, dipping her head in indication.
Oh.
I brush off my silly disappointment and cross to where Charlie’s waiting. She’s Shepherd’s younger sister, but you’d never know it by looking at them. He got their dad’s black hair and tall, lean frame, where she got their mom’s red hair and petite, curvy figure. Meanwhile, Wren and I are carbon copies of our mom, personalities excluded. Genetics are weird.
As soon as I get close enough, the anxious look on Charlie’s face breaks into relief. She actually clasps her hands together as if she wants to give me a standing ovation just for being here.
“Tess. Hi. How are you? Everything good?”
“Yes.” I drag the word out, trying to do some calculations about what’s going on. Charlie runs Moonlight Lodge with her parents. They sometimes request pies for special events, but they usually talk to Mom about those.
“I know I’m being weird. I’ll get right to the point.” She pushes her brown plastic glasses farther up her nose. “I have a couple staying at the lodge who have decided to elope while they’re here.”
She pauses to make jazz hands for the happy couple.
“They’re throwing together a scaled-down event, but it’s still our first real foray into weddings. I’m a little frazzled trying to help them pull in everything they need, can you tell?”
I just smile, but yes, I noticed. Charlie’s usually less frantic than this. “What do you need from me?”
She stares at me a beat. “The wedding cake, obviously!”
“I…” My first request for a wedding cake, and that’s all that croaks out of my mouth.
“My parents showed them pictures of the cake you made for their anniversary in the spring. The couple would love for you to make their cake, too. They probably want something different, and smaller since they don’t really have many guests, but I told them I would check to see if you’re available. I know it’s crazy last-minute, but…do you have any space to make a wedding cake?”
“Uh…” Everything she said’s still filtering through my sluggish brain like it has to go through a translator app a few times first. “When?”
“They’ll have their license in three days, and we’re planning for a ceremony then. If you can’t do it, I completely understand, but I’d really love to keep everything sourced right here if I can.”
She flashes a tentative smile. I’m flattered beyond reason—I can’t even think straight—but I’ve also never made a wedding cake before. Birthday cakes, yes, anniversary cakes and holiday cakes, sure. All beautiful, all results I’m proud of. I even have a folder on my computer stuffed with photos of my work. But a wedding cake is a big deal. The big deal when it comes to cakes. I can’t mess around and get it wrong.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather call a bakery in Bend?” The question comes out at the same time I think it.
Over my shoulder, Wren makes a strangled sound of protest.
“I will if I have to, but I’m sure their specialty bakeries are already booked solid. I mean, it’s June—everybody’s getting married, right?”
That’s true. Any bakery that offers wedding cakes probably has a waitlist months out by now. Her couple won’t be able to find anything custom with only three days’ notice. I don’t want them to have to resort to a grocery store sheet cake when I could create something just for them. And I could make time…
Charlie watches me with a hopeful expression, waiting on my answer. I’m frozen, mentally scrambling over possibilities. Flavor combinations and decorative styles, tiers and frosting and aesthetics. It’s just another specialty cake, right? I can do this.
“I’ll make the cake for them,” I finally say.
She grins again. “I’ll give them your contact info. You are the best. I know it’s going to be amazing!”
Charlie finishes singing my praises and leaves to secure a few more vendors for the last-minute wedding. I return to Wren’s side behind the counter, calculating how my next few days will have to adjust so I can bake and decorate the cake in time. I’ve already got a cake on my calendar next week for Hope’s engagement party, but I can absolutely swing this.
Wren has a hand up, waiting on a high-five. “Bring it in.”
I roll my eyes but slap her hand.
“I’m proud of you. This could be a game-changer for your cake business.”
“Maybe. It might just be another one-off.” I hope it’s not. I’ve wanted to make wedding cakes for years. It’s just never felt like a feasible possibility. It still doesn’t, honestly, but I’m doing this for the sake of the couple having the best day possible.
From Wren’s dubious look, I guess those hopes aren’t much of a secret. “Or it could be the start of something big.”
Visions of wedding cakes dance through my head until I can almost smell them. I’m not usually one to get caught up in daydreams and fantasies, but I guess this is the day for it.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. This couple might not like what I make.”
“Shut up. It’s going to be beautiful and delicious. I don’t even know why you doubt it. You’re the Cake Whisperer or something.”
Hopefully, the couple will call soon so we can discuss flavors and any cake inspiration they might have. Who knows? They might want a style of cake I can’t even do, and this opportunity will fall apart before it begins. I don’t want to totally crush my cake-making dreams, but I need to be at least a little realistic.
“The only real question,” Wren says more ominously, “is are you going to tell Mom about it?”
Yep. There’s the dream-crushing I was afraid of.