Chapter Twelve Cake
Jane
By early afternoon, I had learned two things. First, wedding guests could generate clutter faster than snow. Second, my mind could take one sentence and worry it into a frayed rope.
I am interested in someone.
Braxton had said it yesterday as easily as if he were telling someone the weather.
He had said it while women waved mistletoe sticks at his face and Dex looked like he wanted to vanish into the wallpaper.
It should have been funny. It was funny, for everyone except me because I still didn’t know who he meant.
Had he been speaking about me? I hadn’t seen Braxton since he walked out of the kitchen after James had invaded my space.
I told myself it was fine. He was working. He had projects. Braxton didn't exist to hover around me while I tried to keep the Snowdrop Inn from collapsing under the weight of this wedding. He had no obligation to soften my feelings.
It still hurt .
I lined up cake layers on the stainless steel counter as if I could arrange my thoughts the same way.
Four fillings were in small bowls with neat labels, vanilla, almond, lemon, and gingerbread.
Frosting samples in piping bags with their tips capped like they were delicate instruments.
My sketchbook sat open to a page of wedding cake designs I had drawn the night before, mostly while Lucy slept and the pool house heater made noises that sounded like it was planning its own escape.
Lucy wandered in carrying a notebook and a mug of coffee. She took one look at my counter and nodded approvingly. “You’re in full bakery general mode.”
“I’m in please don’t ruin my life with surprises mode,” I replied.
She leaned over the vanilla layer. “This smells good.”
“Don’t eat it,” I warned.
“I was going to taste it for quality control,” she protested
“You were going to eat it because it is there,” I corrected.
Lucy gave me an innocent look that fooled nobody. “It is a thin line.”
I cut a small sample piece anyway and handed it to her. “Fine. Quality control. One bite.”
She took a bite and hummed. “You could sell this to people who don’t even like cake.”
“That’s the goal,” I said, but my smile felt thin.
Lucy watched me for a moment. “You’re thinking about Braxton again.”
“I’m thinking about frosting,” I prevaricated, unable to look at her.
“You are aggressively smoothing frosting,” she corrected, eyes on my hands. “That is a tell.”
I set down the spatula. “I’m not thinking about him.”
Lucy raised her eyebrows. “You are, though.”
I exhaled slowly and reached for my sketchbook instead. If I stared hard enough at buttercream swirls, maybe my mind would stop replaying yesterday. Maybe it would stop replaying this morning and the way Braxton had looked at me in disappointment for a brief moment before he left the kitchen.
Lucy set her notebook on the counter. “Before the cake consult , we need to corner Kitty.”
“I agree,” I said instantly. Anything to get off the confusing subject of Braxton. “If I hear the phrase we will figure it out one more time, I might just scream.”
Lucy’s eyes lit with purpose. “Good. Bring your notebook.”
I took mine. It was already filled with lists that had started reasonably and ended as frantic scribbles.
We found Kitty in the hallway outside the reception room, speaking to a bridesmaid and gesturing with both hands like she was explaining a complicated dance. Kitty’s cheeks were pink. Her hair had come loose from its neat clip.
Lucy waited until the bridesmaid wandered away, then stepped directly into Kitty’s path. I joined her, notebook open, and pencil ready.
Kitty stopped short. “Hey,is everything alright?”
Lucy smiled. It was a bright, pleasant smile with teeth. “No.”
Kitty blinked. “No?”
“Not unless you enjoy living dangerously,” Lucy said. “We need details.”
“I have details,” Kitty said quickly.
I tipped my head. “Do you?”
Kitty’s mouth opened, then closed. She offered a small laugh that sounded like a person trying to convince herself. “Yes. Of course. I have many details.”
Lucy pulled out her notebook. “Great. Tell us the number of guests for the wedding meal.”
Kitty hesitated. “Well. There are about forty staying at the inn.”
“That isn’t the same,” I said, keeping my voice calm with effort. “Some guests stay elsewhere and come for the event.”
“True,” Kitty agreed.
Lucy’s pencil hovered. “So what is the total count?”
Kitty looked down at her clipboard like it might rescue her. “Somewhere between thirty-five and seventy.”
Lucy stared at her. “That is potentially double our wedding guests.”
“I know,” Kitty said softly. “But the groom has cousins. Many cousins.”
“How many?” I asked.
Kitty lifted her shoulders. “Cousin quantity is unknown.”
Lucy wrote, COUSINS: A MENACE, then underlined it.
I could not help it. A small laugh slipped out. Kitty looked relieved, like humor meant she had not failed completely.
Lucy continued. “Is the ceremony indoor or outdoor?”
Kitty brightened. “The bride loves winter weddings. She said she pictured fairy lights and snow falling and everyone looking like a holiday movie.”
Lucy’s expression didn't change. “It’s December.”
“Yes,” Kitty said.
“In Canada,” Lucy added.
Kitty winced. “She might have been imagining a romantic version of December.”
I cleared my throat. “Outdoor ceremonies are not practical at this time of year. Outdoor photos, yes. Ceremony, no.”
Kitty nodded quickly. “Indoor ceremony.”
“Where?” Lucy asked.
Kitty gestured vaguely. “The reception room.”
I looked down at my notes. “That room is scheduled for the rehearsal dinner setup the night before. We need a plan that doesn't involve tearing everything down and rebuilding it within an hour.”
Kitty’s eyes widened. “Oh.”
Lucy’s smile tightened. “Yes. Oh.”
Kitty’s voice turned small. “I thought we could just… rearrange.”
Lucy wrote, REARRANGE: NOT A PLAN.
I took a slow breath. “We need a timeline. Ceremony time. Cocktail hour. Dinner. Dancing.”
Kitty’s shoulders hunched. “I have the ceremony time.”
“Wonderful,” Lucy said. “What is it?”
“Two,” Kitty said.
“Two in the afternoon,” I repeated.
“Yes.”
Lucy looked at me. “So we need lunch for guests before that.”
Kitty nodded. “Yes.”
“And then dinner after,” I said.
“Yes.”
Lucy flipped her notebook page. “Chairs. Have you ordered them?”
Kitty stared at her clipboard. “The inn has chairs.”
“Not seventy,” Lucy said.
Kitty made a faint sound. “I was hoping… maybe people would stand.”
I blinked. “For a wedding?”
Kitty raised her hands. “Not the whole time. Just maybe for a bit. During the ceremony.”
Lucy leaned in slightly. “Kitty.”
Kitty swallowed. “I haven’t ordered chairs.”
Lucy wrote, ORDER CHAIRS TODAY OR WE USE FLOUR BAGS.
Kitty’s face went pale. “We can’t seat people on flour bags.”
“We can do anything,” Lucy said calmly, “if we are desperate enough.”
I tried to keep my tone gentle. “Kitty, we need extra staff. Servers. Dishwashers. Setup help. Who did you hire?”
Kitty looked as if I had asked her to explain astrophysics. “Hire?”
“Yes,” I prompted.
She hesitated. “I thought… we would handle it.”
Lucy pressed a hand to her chest. “Jane and I.”
“And Meri,” Kitty added quickly.
Lucy closed her eyes. “We are not an army.”
“We are very capable,” Kitty said weakly.
“Capability doesn't make extra hands appear,” Lucy said. “We need at least two extra servers and someone to do dishes who is not also baking.”
Kitty nodded rapidly. “Yes. Yes. We will hire some extra staff.”
“Today,” I said.
“Today,” Kitty echoed.
Lucy pointed her pencil at Kitty. “Cake. How many tiers?”
Kitty brightened again. “The bride wants something elegant.”
“That is not a number,” Lucy said.
Kitty’s face fell. “I will ask her.”
“We are asking her today,” I said, glancing toward the kitchen. “We are doing the cake consultation this afternoon.”
Kitty took a breath like she was preparing to walk into battle. “Okay. Good. Great. Yes.”
Lucy wrote, KITTY won't ESCAPE AGAIN, then tore the page out and tucked it into Kitty’s clipboard like a bookmark.
Kitty looked down. “Is that for me?”
“It is for all of us,” Lucy said. “So we survive.”
Kitty gave a small, shaky laugh. “Thank you.”
I softened. “We want this to be beautiful. We just need to know what we are building.”
Kitty nodded, then looked past us toward the lobby as if she feared another surprise might be walking in at this exact moment. “I will get the bride and the groom to talk.”
Lucy grabbed her sleeve. “Keep James out of the kitchen unless we request him.”
Kitty blinked. “But he brings a camera with him.”
“Exactly,” Lucy said.
Kitty nodded like she understood completely and then hurried away.
Lucy turned to me. “If she tries to run, I will tackle her.”
“Don’t tackle Kitty,” I said, remembering the times she had when we were younger.
“I will tackle her gently,” Lucy promised.
We went back to the kitchen to finish setting up. I rearranged the cake samples, adjusted the bowls, and tried to ignore the way my eyes drifted toward the doorway every few minutes.
Braxton didn't appear.
I checked the time and told myself it was nothing. He was with Dex or William. He was working on something.
So why did it feel like a quiet punishment?
Or maybe he had left the inn and didn’t tell me…
Lucy watched me glance at the door for the third time and said, “If you keep doing that, I am going to start charging you rent for that anxious pacing.”
“I am not pacing,” I said.
“You are mentally pacing,” she corrected. “Which is worse. It has more endurance.”
I smoothed my apron. “He’s probably busy.”
Lucy’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You mean Braxton.”
“I didn’t say Braxton,” I said.
“You didn’t have to,” she replied.
Before I could deny anything else, Kitty appeared in the doorway with the bride and groom, two bridesmaids, and behind them the film crew, who were apparently now a permanent accessory like a scarf.
We discussed flavor, number of tiers, sugarblown flowers, and colors.
Lucy pinned down the number of guests to fifty, the schedule of events, who the photographer and officiant were, photos outside, ceremony inside in the warmth of the large reception room, and the rehearsal schedule.
We decided that the rehearsal dinner itself could be held at the back of the reception room since it was only the immediate family and wedding party.
That way they would have some privacy from the rest of the guests in the regular dining room.
The consultant wrapped up with hugs and excited chatter. The bride thanked me again, the groom shook my hand, and the bridesmaids tried to sneak one more cake sample each while Lucy gently redirected them toward the door with the efficiency of a woman herding glitter-covered cats.
The film crew lingered, trying to capture “final reactions,” and then finally followed the wedding party out.
When the kitchen door closed behind them, the quiet felt like someone had turned down the volume on my heartbeat.
Lucy leaned against the counter and let out a long breath. “Well. We made some decisions.”
“We did,” I said.
“And no James,” she added, sounding triumphant.
I blinked. “Where is he?”
Lucy shrugged. “Hopefully trapped somewhere without a camera.”
I started gathering plates and bowls, washing what could be washed quickly. The motion helped. The warmth of the water helped. I kept expecting the door to open and Braxton to appear, asking if he could carry something or fix something or help without making a fuss.
It didn’t happen.
Lucy watched me rinse a bowl a little too thoroughly.
“Okay,” she said softly. “It’s time to talk.”
“I am fine,” I said.
Lucy made a sound that wasn’t in agreement.
I set the bowl on the rack and wiped my hands on a towel. “Why hasn't Braxton shown up today?”
Lucy’s expression softened. “You noticed.”
“I didn’t mean to,” I said. “I just… he usually comes and since this morning, when he saw James talking to me, he disappeared.”
Lucy leaned closer. “He saw you with James this morning.”
The words landed quietly and painfully. “Yes.”
“He is probably misreading everything,” Lucy murmured, thinking.
I swallowed. “I hate that.”
“Then fix it,” Lucy said, gentle but firm.
I stared at the counter. My heart thudded. “I don’t know how to fix something when I am not even sure what this thing between Braxton and I is.”
Lucy placed her hand over mine briefly. “Start with the truth. Tell him you don’t want James. Tell him James isn’t the person you want in your life again.”
The thought made my chest tighten. “It isn’t that simple.”
“It can be,” Lucy said.
I wanted to believe that. I wanted to believe I could walk up to Braxton and explain my past with James without sounding foolish.
I wanted to believe I could say, I thought someone loved me and he didn’t, and I am still embarrassed by that.
I wanted to believe I could admit that James’ presence made my body react like I was still trapped in his kitchen, desperate to earn approval that never meant anything.
But I also wanted to believe Braxton didn’t already have his own conclusions.
Lucy watched my face. “He likes you, Jane. He is just scared he is going to get hurt.”
“So am I,” I whispered.
Lucy nodded. “Yes, that’s why you two are being ridiculous.”
I laughed weakly, then took a breath. “I don’t want space between us.”
“Then don’t let it grow,” Lucy said.
I looked toward the door again. The hallway outside was quiet. The inn was still busy, but for a moment, the kitchen felt like its own small world. It was safe, warm, and familiar.
Braxton was somewhere in this building. He was probably working.He was probably telling himself the same thing I told myself, that none of this mattered, that feelings could be managed by ignoring them.
I picked up my towel again and folded it with too much care, putting off the moment because I was a coward at heart which hurt even more. “After dinner.”
Lucy’s eyes brightened. “After dinner you will talk to him.”
“I will try,” I corrected.
Lucy smiled like that was enough. “Good. Now, we need to update Meri and we need to make Kitty order chairs before she forgets numbers exist.”
I managed a real smile that time. “Yes.”
As we moved back into the rhythm of the day, I kept one thought tucked close like a warm mug in cold hands.
Braxton hadn’t shown up today. The space between us was growing.
And if I don't step forward soon, it might become permanent.