Chapter One
"Yes,I definitely have your order right here, Tanya!" Maura said. Her voice was ten kinds of chipper as she held the phone against her shoulder and jotted a note onto the order pad in front of her. "Yup. Three square layers of Tahitian vanilla with passionfruit cream, covered with rolled fondant in your wedding colors. Right. Uh huh. Lilac and persimmon, just like the swatches you sent us. That'll be... just... super,supercute."
I paused in my completely unnecessary polishing of the wooden cafe tables at the front of the bakery and turned to watch my tiny, brunette assistant bullshit the customer on thephone.
I shook my head and mouthed, "Liar!" but Maura tossed me an unrepentant wink and went back to herconversation.
Super cute?No. Tanya Fallon's cake would be done on-time, decorated perfectly, and fucking delicious. But it should come with a warning label about possibly searing the retinas of anyone within a ten-footvicinity.
I'd learned the hard way you weren't supposed to tell customers that,though.
Gran had tried to drum the wholecustomer's always rightthing into me since I was tall enough to see over the front counter, but somehow my mouth never learned to take direction from my brain. Thank God Maura had stepped up when Gran retired, or elseFanaillewould have gonebankrupt.
Instead, unbelievably, the little family bakery she'd left me in this little upstate town... was suddenly makingbank.
I moved aside the lace curtain on the bakery window and peered out past the sickeningly cheerful red-and-pink hearts Maura had plastered up there for Valentine's Day. The snow was really coming down out there now, and it gave Weaver Street even more of a peaceful, homey vibe than it usuallyhad.
From across the street, golden light spilled out of nearly identical cafe curtains on the windows of Goode's Diner. Further down the block, Henry Lattimer was already bundled up and standing out in front of O'Leary Hardware, brandishing his shovel against the swirling flakes like Braveheart with a sword. Despite the darkening steel-grey sky, pedestrians were walking along the streets, stopping to have conversations with their neighbors even as the white stuff blanketed their hair. Kids, who were already off school for winter break, were throwing handfuls of snow – since there wasn't quite enough out there to make proper snowballs yet - at their friends, andsquealing.
Quaint and picturesque, right?Yeah, that's O'Leary, NewYork.
You know how you watch those Hallmark movies at Christmas? (Oh, don't lie, you know you do. Wealldo. Hell, I don't give two shits about Christmas, I hate 90% of humanity,andI'm gayer than a sparkle-covered rainbow flag, and Istillwatch the damn things.) Every one of them is set in some pretty little town where the residents are bizarrely cheerful and show up to enthusiastically sing carols and pass around cookies, just as the couple finally get over their drama and kiss. And you know how you watch it and simultaneously thinkJesus fucking Christ, it's Stepford, andOMG, why isn't my town like that? Yeah, that's O'Leary, too. You might also wonder when you're going to getyourhappily ever after. I know Ido.
Growing up, I'd figured O'Leary was like any other town. I'd assumed most towns had a bevy of gossips who knew the business of every man, woman, and child in a five-mile radius. I'd thought barn weddings and cookie swaps were something everybody did. I figured most towns would have been as accepting as O'Leary, when a person's grandmother unintentionally outed them in the produce aisle of Lyon's Imperial by asking way, way,waytoo loudly, "Is that hottie by the lettuce the senior you're crushing on, Caelan? He is a tall drink of water,alright!"
Then I'd moved to Rochester for school, and realized just how different O'Leary really was. And how comparatively slim the pickings were, when it came to finding ahottiewho wanted to settledown.
Especially if you wanted one who could hold an intelligentconversation.
"Oh,really?" Maura said, loud enough to drag my attention off the escalating snow-throwing battle outside. I turned to see her dancing a little jig behind the register, and pressing her lips together like she was trying not to laugh. "Oh, I'll definitely make sure Cal gets that message. Gingers reallyarethe hottest aren'tthey?"
I ran a hand through my dark-red hair self-consciously and sent her a death-scowl. She didn't seemfazed.
"Yes, and such a genius. I'm so lucky to work with him!" Maura pressed an exuberant hand to her heart and fluttered her eyelashes atme.
I shook my head at her slowly, promisingretribution.
"Oh, are you kidding? No,weare the ones who were lucky to findyou! Uh huh. I'll make sure Cal has your number. You stay cool down there in Phoenix, Tanya! Alrighty. Bye-bye."
"One of these days I'm going to fire you," I told her morosely as she hungup.
"Oh, please." Maura smiled down at her paper and made one final note. "You wouldn't last a day. All these brides and grooms calling you multiple times, like maybe you somehow lost their orders.Flirtingwith you when they come in for their tastings, because they just can't help themselves. You should give me araise."
I rolled my eyes and went back to unnecessarily straightening the cute little tables and chairs my grandmother had painted back when this place hadopened.
"I feel like I pay you in laughter," Igrumbled.
She giggled again, proving my point. "You've gotta admit, it's hilariously ironic that you, of all people, have become this... thiswedding cakeguru."
"Hey!" I said, stung. "I am a damn good baker. I learned from my grandmother. AndFanailleis..."
"The best bakery around, I know!" she agreed. "But you're not exactly the sympathetic, hand-holding type, Cal. And ever since O'Leary became the destination-wedding capital of western New York, you've been knee-deep in brides and grooms. Theyflockto you." She grinned. "The same way cats identify the one person in the room trying to ignore them, and make sure to jump on theirlap."
"Hmmm." I moved back behind the counter and started straightening the coffee station, which was already tidy. I was pretty ruthless about keeping everything in itsplace.
Maura wasn't wrong about my opinion of most engaged folks - and therewerea fuck-ton these days - who walked through my door. It wasn't that I didn'tlikethem, per se. They were generally decent humans, and the business was lucrative. But every bride- or groom-to-be had their vision, and as Gran always reminded me, I was ten pounds of opinion in a five-pound bag. Passivity was never one of my virtues, in business or in my personallife.
Blame the redhair.
