“Be right with you,” a guy in a chef’s hat and ballooning apron said from behind a long white counter.
“No worries.” Veronica set down her bag and started flipping through a book stand with laminated pictures of wedding cakes. The cakes were beautiful, no doubt. There were multitiered cakes with smooth whipped frosting and flowers dripping down the sides. There were waterfalls of fondant. Sugar crystals lining the bottom. Roping around every tower.
Although Veronica could admire the handiwork and talent that went into making those cakes, she’d never actually envisioned her wedding having one. When she dreamed of her wedding, she pictured a beach. A floral arch and the man of her dreams standing beneath it. A simple bouquet of her favorite flower—soft pink roses tied with a white ribbon. No cake, but dinner and drinks after with close friends and family to celebrate. And she’d be barefoot, with a simple white dress that flowed to her ankles.
No fuss. No worry or stress like the others she planned on a regular basis.
She flipped a tab to the section on groom’s cakes, just in case she approved of the new flavor that the baker was offering.
The groom’s cakes were supposed to mean something to the groom. There were green-frosted cakes made to be a putting green, fishing-inspired ones with blue waves of whipped frosting coating the sides and bottom. A cake for every groom, something catered for every interest.
“I’ve always wondered why people like those,” Logan said from beside her.
She jumped at the sound of his voice, but was instantly comforted by his presence. “People like them because usually the bride is the one who does all the wedding planning, and her style is prevalent in everything from the dresses, to the flowers, to the favors. But the groom’s cake is for the groom. His style and what he enjoys.”
“I think it’s lame.”
“Well yeah, because you can’t make a cake look like a full moon.”
“Sure I can,” the baker said from the counter. “Round cake, yellow and white buttercream frosting. It’d be no problem, if that’s what you wanted.”
Veronica laughed, her chest tight. “No, that won’t be necessary. I’m Leah Vale and I’m here to try out the new flavor for my wedding cake.”
Logan stood beside her, continuing to flip through the book as if he hadn’t heard what she just said.
The baker checked his computer screen, moused down a few pages, then smiled. “Right here. The Vale-McKenna wedding. It’s going to be a gorgeous cake—a masterpiece.” He looked up at Logan. “You must be Jake.”
“N—” Veronica started.
“The one and only,” Logan blurted, striding up to shake the baker’s hand. “Great to meet you. I really admire your work.”
Oh, he really could lay it on thick.
“That’s kind of you,” the baker said, his smile stretching ear to ear. “It’s always great to hear your work is appreciated.”
Veronica stepped up to the counter and clutched at the strap of her handbag so that she wouldn’t punch Logan in the face. “What’s the new cake flavor you wanted me to try?”
“Wanted us to try, dumpling.” Logan wrapped his arm around Veronica’s shoulder. She tried to shrug him off the way she did before, but this time he held tight. “You’re always making decisions without me. I’d like to be included on this one, if you don’t mind.”
“We don’t get too many grooms wanting to be included in the wedding cake decision-making process,” the baker said, digging into the fridge on the back wall. “You’ve got a great one there, Ms. Vale.”
“Oh, yeah, he’s a winner,” Veronica said, jerking away from him. “Definitely the top of the pack.”
Logan huffed into a laugh, then took a seat at the table behind her. “Why don’t you sit, sweetheart. We’re about to have a real treat.” He kicked out her chair.
Veronica sat down as the baker put a silver tray in front of them. Eight plates with small cake squares covered the tray and begged to be eaten. Her stomach growled.
“The new flavor is on the tiny pedestal in the center, but I’ve included all the other testing flavors as a treat.” The baker stood back and waited, watching. “Dive in.”
“I think I’ll take this one.” Veronica took a bite out of the brown one that she hoped was plain ole chocolate. “Mmm…” She closed her eyes and licked her lips as the richest chocolate she’d ever tasted hit her tongue. It was moist and rich with subtle hints of mocha and caramel. “That’s delicious,” she said. When she opened her eyes, both men were looking at her as if she’d just had an orgasm in the store. “What? Can’t a girl enjoy a slice of heaven?”
“That’s the one you vetoed on your last visit,” the baker said. “At least that’s what’s written on your chart. I wasn’t here to know for certain, but I can make a change if you’d like.”
That’s right—Leah hated chocolate. “I’m sorry, but my tastes change so much nowadays, it’s difficult to keep track. Whatever I chose before will suit just fine.”
“Wish your opinion would change as easily when it came to other things.” Logan made the jab quickly, then picked up a square of white cake and shoved the whole thing into his mouth. “Oh meah,” he mumbled, mouth full of marbled white and red. “Nthat raspbberby?”
The baker clapped his hands over his robust belly. “It’s white cake with cream cheese and sprinkles of fresh raspberries spread in the center.”
“It’s tasty.”
“Geez, you really wolfed that one down.” Sighing, Veronica leaned back in her chair. “You’re making a terrible mess.”
“Darling, if I’ve got something on my face, why don’t you lick it off?” He leaned in close, puffing out his cheek, but when Veronica simply stared, he returned to his previous position, practically drooling over the cake. “Don’t mind if I take another then.”
He picked up one that was buttery-yellow with a brown center and chomped off a huge bite.
“Howl’s that one?” Veronica smiled, enjoying the fire blazing in her belly. “Good?”
Ignoring her completely now, Logan slid a napkin from beneath one of the trays and smashed it across his lips.
“I’m truly sorry for the mess my fiancé is making,” Veronica said to the baker. “I should keep him on a tighter leash.”
Logan choked. Veronica smacked him hard on the back. “Oh, are you okay, Jake?”
He composed himself, but it took longer than a minute for him to wipe the scowl off his face.
“That’s the Italian rum cake.” The baker smiled proudly. “One of my personal favorites.”
“Jake, honey, you should slow down or the baker isn’t going to know which one you truly enjoy and which one you’re just pretending you enjoy until you find one better.” She shot him a slanted smile. “I know how you don’t like to commit to things, but he’ll need a decision before we leave today.”
“I may not come to decisions easily, but at least he knows I enjoy his baking. If I take a bite of this one”—he bit half of a yellow square—“and moan and groan, that means I like this cake, whether it’s lemon or butter yellow or pineapple. It’s good, by the way.” He nodded at the baker, who smiled without showing his teeth. “But it wouldn’t make a damn lick of sense if I picked up this piece of cake, moaned and groaned and screamed its praises to high elevator-shaft heaven, then when I found out that it was lemon, tossed the sucker in the trash and cursed this poor guy out.”
“I’ll, uh, be waiting in back.” The baker skirted behind the counter.
Hearing his message loud and clear, Veronica leaned over the table. “But that lemon cake wasn’t responsible for ruining someone’s life.”
Logan frowned. “How can lemon cake ruin someone’s life?”