F O R T Y O N E
F O R T YO N E
- Avery -
I t was an intimate engagement party. Just a small group of friends and family at the café. Grace insisted she didn’t want to do anything fancy or fussy, and I suspected that had a lot to do with her mom. She wasn’t comfortable going far from home these days because of her health issues, and I knew how important it was to Grace that she be included in the festivities.
At least, I thought that was her motivation. But when I realized her mom hadn’t been to the café since she hung the Star Baker award in the window, her suggestion that we host it here made even more sense.
For everyone else, it was a peaceful party full of pastries and pleasantries. But for Grace, it was an opportunity to show her mom that she was all grown up. That she and Kayleigh and the café were going to be okay. That she’d built a meaningful life filled with love.
And her mom got the message loud and clear. I could tell because I lost track of how many times her smiling eyes went glassy with gratitude. It was a beautiful thing. For both of them.
As for the tea party theme, that was my idea, and it was going even better than expected. Making the event informal meant people could stop by when it was convenient and express their congratulations without getting roped into a whole evening. As a result, the crowd never became overwhelming, so Grace and Noah could actually enjoy the event and each other. Best of all, decorating the small space was sinfully simple. I set some white and gold balloon clusters in the corners and scattered a selection of gorgeous cake stands in the center topped with tantalizing treats et voilà !
It was genius, and it looked good, too.
“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” Grace said, sidling up to me as she soaked up the smiles of her favorite people. “But I’m really glad you did.”
“We should start offering tea service,” I said. “Make it exclusive to Sundays or something. People will pay through the nose to have miniature treats served on tiny towers.”
“Hmmm.” She squinted at the nearby cake stands like she was trying to calculate the profit potential of fresh cucumber sandwiches. “I suppose people who can’t afford to treat themselves to The Abbott regularly would still love to have an afternoon tea habit.”
“Definitely,” I said. “Those little old ladies who always come in here to scarf your scones? If each of them told one person at their respective bridge clubs…”
“I think they are a bridge club.”
“Oh. Well, their bingo friends then. Whatever.”
“It would be a great way to use the leftover champagne.”
I laughed. “Leftover champagne. Good one.”
“We are going through it.” Her eyes strayed toward the collection of empty bottles behind the counter. “But if we started offering high tea, we’d have an excuse to get more and keep it chilled.”
“For emergencies,” I said conspiratorially.
“Yes,” she said, clinking my glass against hers. “For emergencies.”
I took a sip and looked back at her just in time to catch her beaming at Noah across the room, so I redirected my attention to the gorgeous square cut diamond on her finger.
Her eyes crinkled when she caught me admiring her ring, and she indulged us both, splaying her fingers out and tilting them so it caught the light.
“Makes you look all grown up,” I said.
“I feel all grown up.”
“In a good way?”
She nodded.
“If Captain Hook showed up right now and offered to whisk you off to Never Never Land, would you go?”
She shook her head. “No. I’d tell him he was too late, and that I’m happy here with my always, always man.”
“Wow.” I couldn’t help but smile. “And I thought the caprese sandwiches were cheesy.”
“Speaking of growing up,” she said, nudging me gently. “How are things going with Oliver?”
I took a deep breath and savored the joy of not knowing where to start. For so many years, my relationships had been comedy relief for others, but this one was so different. Now, I was the one who felt relieved. Reenergized. Respected.
“Have you said the big L word yet?”
Only in body language , I thought, shaking my head.
“You haven’t seen it, then?”
“Seen what?”
“His latest article.”
I searched her eyes and realized instantly that she knew something I didn’t. “I haven’t had a chance. After I picked up the balloons this morning, getting them here safely was all I could think about.”
She raised a finger as if to say, “Stay here,” and my eyes followed her around the counter to where she’d stashed her purse. She pulled a folded magazine out and flipped through the pages as she wandered back in my direction. Then she spread it open on the counter near the register and smoothed the glossy pages down.
The title caught my eye first. The Cake Café: A Hidden Gem with Obvious Flavor
“What’s wrong?” Grace asked, clocking my shock.
“He told me he wouldn’t write about this place,” I said. “He promised.”
“Just read it. I’ll be back after I put out some more scones and shortbread.”
The commotion around me faded to a distant blur as I dropped my gaze and found the first sentence. By the time I started reading, my heart was racing. But I don’t know what I was so worried about. The whole thing was extremely complimentary.
He started by sharing that he was pleasantly surprised by our entries at the Star Baker festival before confessing he’d sampled most of our menu in the months since the competition. Not only were there no cruel or cutting remarks, but he insisted the sweet smells, service, and scone selection were enough to “bake your day.” My jaw dropped as I re-read the line multiple times, but the pun remained. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Just when you thought you knew someone.
Overall, he gave us five full forks. It was the highest number of forks he could give. Warmth fluttered through my chest. What a guy! What a ridiculously generous gesture!
I was about to lift my head when the small print caught my eye. It was a disclaimer at the end of the article, all in italics. Usually it stated that Oliver had no affiliation with the restaurant, that the opinions were his own, and that the magazine was not responsible for them.
But this one was completely different. It said:
Oliver Harrington is a loyal customer at the Cake Café. While his professional opinion on the confectionary menu is honest and objective, his personal opinion is that the auburn-haired barista is the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on and the fact that he’s madly in love with her may have influenced this article.
Madly in love.
Not reservedly. Not logically. Not temporarily.
Madly.
The hair on my arms stood up and I looked first at my goosebumps and then over my shoulder. Oliver was standing by the door, his dark eyes shining in my direction. Grace greeted him with a hug, and he congratulated her as I watched from afar.
Part of me wanted to join them and wished I could hear what she was saying, but I couldn’t move. All I could do was watch as the man who once made me so mad and now loved me madly exchanged enthusiastic pleasantries with my engaged boss and bestie. To say the situation felt surreal didn’t even scratch the surface on how smitten and shocked and satisfied I was feeling.
Fortunately, Oliver eventually managed to excuse himself and come over. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, kissing me on the cheek as his hand found my lower back. “I ran home to feed Simba.”
“Actually, you’re right on time.”
He hugged me to his side before noticing his article spread across the counter. “What do you think?”
A smile lifted my cheeks. “I think you have a real shot with the auburn-haired barista.”
He laughed.
“But I’m not sure that’s acceptable journalism.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘objective,’” he said. “And it’s not.”
“Couldn’t you lose your job?” I asked. “For bucking the trend and writing something so nice.”
“You can’t fire somebody for falling in love,” he said. “Besides, the editors wouldn’t have printed it if they weren’t okay with it.”
“Fair point.” I glanced back at the unexpected disclaimer-cum-declaration, my mind boggling at the fact that thousands of copies were probably being read all across the city as we spoke.
“Plus, my job is to write the truth.”
I turned to face him. “Why write that truth, though?”
“Because I want everyone to know you’re mine,” he said, his eyes kissing my face. “Because I want you to know you’re mine.”
My heart swelled. “I know.”
He smiled.
“I’ve known since the moment I met you.”