Chapter 10
The Country Cottage Café buzzes with nervous energy at ten o’clock sharp as morning sunlight streams through the tall windows and casts everything in that perfect golden glow that makes even the most mundane moments look magazine-worthy.
Round tables draped in cream linen dot the space, while Emmie’s six magnificent cake varieties sit displayed on vintage tiered stands near the windows—each one looking like it belongs in a high-end bakery magazine rather than our cozy small-town cafe.
The wedding party has assembled in all their awkward glory with Charlotte perched on the edge of her chair like she’s ready to pounce on the perfect photo opportunity, Piers looks like he’d rather be getting a root canal, Bea, the bride’s mother—and the same woman I saw arguing with Tessa before she died—sits ramrod straight with an expression that suggests she’s bracing for a caloric disaster, Conrad is already eyeing the cake display like a predator sizing up prey, and Kiki is maintaining her lawyer composure while radiating enough tension to power the town’s electrical grid.
I’m bouncing Ella on my hip near the coffee counter, trying to keep Fish, Sherlock, and Truffle from staging what appears to be a coordinated cake heist any second now. Honestly, I can’t blame them. Every single cake looks far too scrumptious not to be attacked and gobbled down immediately.
In the far corner, Mom and Georgie are supposed to be helping Emmie with the setup, but they’re clearly conducting their own unauthorized quality control session, complete with hushed commentary and suspicious crumb evidence on their shirts.
Not to mention their matching frosting mustaches. So much for playing it cool.
Emmie waves for everyone’s attention as if she’s helping land a 747.
“Welcome one and all to what I like to call Paradise in Six Flavors,” she announces to the assembled group, wearing a flour-dusted apron and the proud expression of an artist unveiling her gallery opening.
And Emmie really is an artist. “We have classic vanilla bean with raspberry filling, chocolate decadence with salted caramel, lemon lavender with cream cheese frosting, red velvet with white chocolate ganache, strawberry champagne with buttercream, and my personal favorite—brown butter cake with cinnamon Swiss meringue.”
“They all sound like my favorite,” I tell her, and the rest of the room is quick to agree with me.
The air smells like vanilla, butter, and pure sugary heaven, with hints of coffee brewing in the background and the faint scent of ocean air drifting through the open windows.
The hoomans are distracted by sugar, Fish mewls from her strategic position near the display. This is our moment.
I raise an eyebrow her way as if to ask, their moment for what?
I call dibs on anything with vanilla, Sherlock adds, drooling on the polished hardwood floors. And anything with peanut butter, and anything with sugar, flour, and maybe coconuts. I’m expanding my tropical horizons.
FOCUS, everyone, Truffle yips as her paws vibrate off the floor with her signature nervous energy.
We need a PLAN, and I have the BEST plan ever!
Sherlock, you’re really good at distractions, so you do that.
And Fish, you’re excellent at finding crumbs, so you do that.
And I’LL work the sympathy angle with the baby because I’m REALLY cute, and babies love me, and OH MY GOSH, this is going to be AMAZING.
We’re like a super-secret snack-stealing team!
Truffle barks with military precision mixed with pure excitement.
I can’t help but bite down on a smile. I have a feeling their divide and conquer technique will be far too successful for their poor digestive systems to handle.
“Oh, Emmie!” Charlotte immediately pulls out her phone, adjusting her angle to capture both herself and the stunning cake display. “These are absolutely gorgeous! Do you mind if I get a few shots for my followers? They’re going to absolutely die over this basic bakery aesthetic!”
Basic? I squint her way. Did she just insult Emmie while trying to compliment her?
“The wedding vibes are strong in this place,” the bride-to-be continues. “We’ll go viral before noon.”
“Of course,” Emmie beams, because honestly, who doesn’t want their cakes to go viral? And for the record, Emmie’s cakes are anything but basic.
Conrad slides closer to Charlotte as she positions her phone. “You know, I have an excellent eye for composition. Maybe I could help you get the perfect shot?”
“Really?” Charlotte lights up like Christmas morning.
“That would be amazing! I’m always looking for fresh perspectives.
” She winks his way with a laugh, and he pulls her in close as if they were a couple.
Apparently, a playboy like Conrad knows no boundaries, even when it comes to his best friend’s soon-to-be wife.
Piers’s jaw tightens as he watches Conrad getting touchy-feely. “Hey, hey,” he calls out playfully. “Hands off the merchandise. That one is mine.” A series of catcalls breaks out in the room, and Conrad holds his hands in the air as if it’s a stickup.
I’m not sure I like the way he just referred to her as merchandise.
“Just helping a friend out.” Conrad laughs with a wink, and the rest of the room laughs along with him.
More like helping himself to a perfect view down her dress, Piers thinks with growing irritation. The man has all the finesse of a vulture at a picnic.
At least he’s aware.
Kiki takes note of Piers’s reaction, and her own expression hardens. “Something wrong, honey pie?” she asks with deceptive sweetness.
“Nothing at all,” Piers replies tersely, not meeting her eyes. “Just admiring Conrad’s special brand of helpfulness.”
If only I could remind him what he’s missing, Kiki thinks, her eyes lingering on the way Piers’s jaw tightens with jealousy. He was always sexiest when he was angry.
From the corner, Georgie pipes up around a mouthful of what looks suspiciously like chocolate cake.
“Mr. Picture Perfect, are you free this weekend? Because I’d love to discuss your photography skills over cocktails.
Lots of cocktails.” I like to juice ’em up before I help them stagger to my place. She grins my way with the thought.
“Georgie,” Mom hisses, “that’s the fourth chocolate cake sample you’ve taken. We’re supposed to be helping, not conducting a one-woman cake demolition.”
“It’s quality control, Red,” Georgie protests, somehow managing to look dignified despite the frosting on her chin. “We can’t serve subpar dessert to paying customers or to any self-respecting wedding guest. I’m doing this for the inn’s reputation and ours.”
Your dedication to excellence is truly inspiring,” Mom says dryly. “Nothing says professional standards like frosting in your hair and cake crumbs on your shirt.”
“What can I say, I like to throw myself into my work. Plus, buttercream is great for split ends.”
Charlotte giggles at their exchange. “You two little old ladies are just adorable! Conrad, are you getting this? This is exactly the kind of authentic family moment that makes great content.”
Mom inches back. Who is she calling old?
Georgie makes a face. Who is she calling little?
Conrad positions himself even closer to Charlotte, his hand brushing hers as he helps steady her phone. “Natural interactions are always the most compelling.”
Sweet mercy, the audacity, Bea thinks from her seat at the main table.
He’s practically undressing my daughter with his eyes while her fiancé is sitting three feet away.
And what does Piers do? Absolutely nothing.
What kind of man lets another man paw at his bride?
An idiot. And that’s exactly what Piers Pemberton is.
“Shall we begin the actual tasting?” Bea says with the patience of a mother-of-the-bride who’s been planning this wedding for months and desperately wants something to go according to plan.
“Before the cake disappears entirely to quality control.” She takes a moment to scowl at Georgie.
Or before Conrad begins to nibble on my poor daughter.
“Sure thing,” Emmie calls out while handing out small plates and forks to everyone in the room from the wedding party. “I suggest starting with the lighter flavors and working your way up to the chocolate decadence.”
“Excellent strategy,” Georgie calls out from her corner. “Although I can personally recommend jumping straight to the deep end of the good stuff. Life is too short for delayed gratification!”
Mom huffs a laugh. “That’s been her motto for the last fifty years.”
Georgie lifts her fork to the crowd. “And I’m still kicking because of it.”
The café breaks out in cackles and catcalls once again. I’ve got to give it to Georgie, she knows how to work the room.
“Some of us believe in building anticipation,” Kiki says pointedly, looking directly at Piers.
“And some of us believe in taking what we want when we want it,” Conrad adds with a grin, causing Charlotte to blush and Piers to seethe.
“And that would be Conrad’s motto,” Piers says, and the room falls apart again. “Do you have that embroidered on pillows?”
Conrad shoots him a look that isn’t exactly friendly.
What in the world is going on with these two? They’re best friends, for Pete’s sake. But then again, they may not have been forced to spend a week together before. Apparently, their friendship has a shorter shelf life than a wedding cake.
“This is definitely getting interesting,” I mutter while settling into a chair with Ella, who’s fascinated by all the colorful decorations and reaching for everything within grabbing distance.
The wedding party dives into their cake tasting like it’s the most important meal of their lives. Charlotte takes a delicate bite of the vanilla bean and immediately closes her eyes like she’s found the meaning of life in buttercream.
I can’t blame her. I’ve found it there myself a time or two.