Chapter Eight Sugarcookie Shenanigans
Jane
The first bridesmaid to sit down held her piping bag like it was a live animal she wasn't entirely sure she trusted. She looked at me for reassurance. “So I just squeeze?”
“Gently,” I said. “Think of it as drawing with icing. Slow and steady.”
She nodded with exaggerated seriousness. “If this goes wrong, I am blaming my previous art teacher.”
“That’s fair,” I easily agreed.
The rest of the group crowded around the table, chattering and picking up cookies, setting them down again, changing places, and then changing them back.
The bride stood at the center, radiating joy.
I showed them how to outline a simple tree shape and fill it in, how to make a snowflake if they didn’t overthink the lines.
There were all sorts of sugar cookies in all sorts of wedding and holiday shapes.
Lucy moved along the opposite side of the table like a very cheerful game show host, pointing to bowls of sprinkles and making suggestions.
“These are great for the ornaments. The lighter ones look good on the doves or little chapels. If you choose these, they will roll under every piece of furniture if you use too many.”
She pointed to another. Several bridesmaids laughed and immediately reached for the third bowl.
Kitty hovered near the end of the table, watching everything with wide, anxious eyes. “This looks wonderful, festive, and fun.”
“Mostly it’s controllable,” I murmured to her, glad the bride was okay with a simple activity.
Kitty made a sound that might have been a laugh and hurried toward the doorway as the crew shifted their equipment to capture “authentic joy,” as the assistant director called it.
The cameraman edged closer to the table, angling his lens toward the bride. Another crew member adjusted a light that cast a bright glow across the white frosting. It wasn't quite enough to melt anything, but it made the room warmer than it needed to be.
I kept my voice light as I answered questions.
“How do you do the little dots without them turning into blobs?” one bridesmaid wondered.
“Stop squeezing a second before you think you need to. Less is sometimes more,” I said.
She tried it and smiled when the dot actually looked like a dot. “I did it!”
“That is your superpower now,” I told her.
Meri moved along the back wall, refilling bowls of sprinkles and gently wiping away drips before they turned into full rivers. She didn’t say much, but the set of her shoulders said she had already accepted that she would be finding rogue sugar for days.
James arrived halfway through the first round of decorating. He swept into the room like the host of a show that no one had officially hired him to lead. “Ladies, how are we doing?”
“Making art,” one bridesmaid said. Her cookie looked like a snowflake that had survived a long winter.
He picked up a piping bag and turned toward the nearest camera. “Decorating is about balance,” he began. “Symmetry, yes, but also personality. You want each cookie to tell a story.”
He chose a gingerbread man and began piping a jacket onto it with a confidence that didn't entirely match the outcome. When he finished, the poor cookie looked like it was wearing a very anxious tuxedo. The bridesmaids murmured polite compliments.
The crew shifted to capture James’ work. That meant two cameras turned away from the bride, who was quietly constructing a surprisingly elegant tree cookie with delicate lines and minimal sprinkles. It bothered me more than I wanted to admit.
Braxton stood near the equipment, hands in his pockets, watching with the patience of someone who had seen this type of chaotic energy before. When one cameraman tried to squeeze between the table and the beverage station, Braxton moved a step to the side.
“You might want to come around this way,” he said, pointing to a clearer path. “Less chance of bumping into anyone.”
The cameraman adjusted without argument. Braxton did it in that calm, matter-of-fact way that made it seem like he was doing them a favor instead of rescuing the rest of us.
As James finished his “demonstration,” he turned back to the bride. He reached for another gingerman cookie. “Now you should try a more advanced pattern.”
Before he could begin a second lecture on the philosophy of icing, Braxton stepped closer. His tone was pleasant as he asked, “James, could I steal you for a minute?”
James raised an eyebrow. “Is it urgent?”
“It is about catering,” Braxton said.
James brightened immediately. “For your firm?”
“Yes,” Braxton answered, and I didn't miss the slight hesitance that told me he was making it up as he went. “We are planning something at the office. Small but high profile. I thought your input would be invaluable.”
“Of course you did.” James’ conceit was flattered. He straightened, dropping his gingerman cookie directly on top of the bride’s intricate tree cookie, ruining it.
“The menu still needs refinement,” Braxton quickly added as the bride looked at her cookie in dismay.
James handed his oozing piping bag tip first into the palm of a nearby bridesmaid who awkwardly clutched it in surprise, squirting icing all over her dress and the table.
An unbothered James followed Braxton toward the hallway, already asking questions about guest count and theme.
The assistant director, sensing “content,” trailed behind them with a camera.
The rest of the crew stayed put to keep filming the actual party.
The room felt instantly easier to breathe in.
“I knew I should have taken that apron,” one of the bridesmaids sighed.
One of the bridesmaids leaned toward the camera operator. “Do you film weddings often?”
“Sometimes. We do mostly food segments,” he explained.
“Oh,” she said. “That is very… artistic.”
The way she said artistic left no room for doubt about what she actually meant. A second bridesmaid wandered over to the other camera and asked him about his favorite lens, which I suspected she didn't care about at all. The cameraman explained aperture with more enthusiasm than anyone expected.
Across the room, another bridesmaid slid closer to Lucy. “Is the architect single?”
Lucy glanced at me first, then at the bridesmaid. “He is very busy with work.”
“So he is single,” she said in satisfaction
I felt a tightness in my stomach.
“Alright,” Lucy said more loudly, clapping her hands. “We are going to have a contest.”
Several heads snapped toward her with interest.
“Best decorated cookie,” she announced. “One prize. Eternal glory.”
“What is the prize?” someone asked.
“A sense of achievement,” Lucy said. “And a surprise."
“A surprise?” the bride questioned.
“It’s the best prize,” I agreed even though I had no idea of what Lucy was planning.
They worked with renewed focus. Frosting lines became more careful. Sprinkles were placed with greater precision. One bridesmaid held her cookie at eye level and squinted at it like she was appraising a painting.
When they were done, Lucy collected the contenders onto a single tray and looked around the room. “We need a judge.”
Several bridesmaids looked at the nearest cameraman. He held up his free hand. “I can’t. I am biased toward whatever I have the best shot of.”
“What about Jane?” the bride suggested.
“It wouldn't be fair if I judged since I taught you the techniques.” I didn’t want to judge. I didn’t like the idea of hurting their feelings.
“Then who,” Lucy mused as her gaze swept the room and landed on someone behind me. “There he is.”
I turned.
Braxton had returned, apparently having deposited James safely somewhere else. He stood near the door, taking in the scene with a puzzled expression that made it clear he had not expected to be summoned.
“You,” Lucy said, pointing at him. “You will judge.”
He blinked. “Judge what?”
“Best cookie,” she said. “Come on. You look like you would be fair.”
The tray of cookies was placed in front of him. The bridesmaids watched like a jury awaiting a verdict.
He took the role seriously. He bent closer to study each one, hands clasped behind his back. This made a smile tug at my lips.
“Strong use of color,” he murmured at one cookie. “Good line work here.”
One bridesmaid giggled. Another whispered something to her friend and glanced at him through her lashes.
“You don't have to give actual art critique,” I said softly.
“I feel like I do. The contestants are all staring at me,” he replied with a wink at me. He moved to the next cookie and paused. “This one looks very professional.”
Lucy leaned in to see which one he meant. “That one is mine.”
He froze. “Oh.”
The room went quiet for half a beat. Then the bride laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “Of course it is Lucy’s. That feels right.”
“You can pick someone else,” I told him.
He shook his head. “No. It is the most polished. That’s the truth.”
Lucy placed a hand over her heart. “I would like to thank my sister for teaching me everything I know, and also Braxton for his excellent judgment. Plus the fact that I no longer have to scramble to find a surprise prize.”
The bridesmaids protested playfully until Lucy promised them a batch of my cinnamon rolls. They seemed satisfied with that compromise. Braxton looked mildly overwhelmed but pleased.
“Thank you for participating in this fair and unbiased process,” Lucy said.
“You set me up,” he said under his breath.
“Only a little,” she teased.
For the first time in a while, I envied my sister for her easy nature. She was able to put people at ease while I usually faded into the background. I wished I could tease Braxton just as easily.
I tamped down the thought, inwardly scolding myself. Braxton was just a nice man. I would probably look silly trying to flirt, wink, or tease.
I glanced at Braxton, wishing things were different.