“This way,” she said.
“Yo, that dress,” Day said as he followed her, eyes where they shouldn’t be.
“Is not the focus,” she said, blushing as she opened the door. As soon as they stepped inside, it was like they were transported into a fairy tale. “So, of course, this theme isn’t your vibe. This was what the couple wanted, but I can transform any space in any way you want.”
“Nah, I’m familiar with what this looks like on a normal day. This shit dope. You did all this?” he asked.
“I did. Me and a team of very creative people who work with me,” she said.
“Stassi! I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you!” The manager of the event space said, approaching her with relief in his eyes. “The kitchen is a disaster! We’re missing the lobster for the bisque. It was supposed to be flown in this morning, but it isn’t here yet and one of the damn servers dropped the top layer of the cake. It’s completely destroyed. I don’t know how to salvage this.”
“What?” Stassi hissed.
“I know, I know. What do you want me to do? I’ve called every baker in town,” he said.
“Calm down, just lead the way,” Stassi said, her mind spinning.
Stassi and Day followed the panicked man through the venue and into the kitchen. Stassi took the box from Day and sat it on a countertop.
The kitchen was in a panic. A line of chefs attempting to prepare 400 custom orders for the arriving guests.
“You have an apron?” she asked. She was passed one and she turned and put it on Day.
“Yo, fuck you think this is?” Day asked, laughing. “I ain’t getting paid to be here.”
“Oh, you’re definitely not getting paid,” she said. “But if you want to see how I make sure my clients’ events go off without a hitch, this is how. I put aprons on thousand-dollar dresses, and I do whatever I need to make sure shit gets done. I’ve got exactly three hours to pull off a miracle, so yes, you’re helping.”
Day rubbed his chin and eyed her curiously.
“Yeah, a’ight,” he conceded. “What type of cake anyway? You got a picture or something? What’s the flavor?”
Stassi frowned and pulled out the rendering of the cake. “This is the cake. Lemon with custard filling on top. Now, can you help me please?” she asked.
Day nodded, picking up the picture and annoying Stassi’s soul because what the hell would looking at a picture of the cake fix.
“Yeah, I got you,” he said.
Stassi tied up her hair into a top knot and then slipped the apron over her head. She moved around the kitchen like the chef she was. She thanked God she had chosen to learn desserts too. Day was patient as she ordered him around. He was measuring, whipping, cracking, spreading ingredients all over the place and Stassi was grateful.
“How long you been a chef?” he asked.
“Like two years, but I’ve been cooking all my life,” she answered.
“It shows,” he said, as he leaned against the counter, arms folded across one another, watching her work. “You locked in on it like you love it.”
“That’s because I do,” she said, looking up, smiling. “But wedding cakes are not my specialty, and this is hella pressure. This bride is super particular.”
“It’ll work out. Day of the wedding I’d think the last thing the couple would be concerned about is the fucking little-ass cake on the top,” he said.
“You’d be surprised,” Stassi said. “This bride is hell and I don’t exactly have everything I need here to replace her $15,000 cake and I’ve been running my own full-service event company for so long that I haven’t seen a kitchen lately. I always have my lead chef handle the kitchen, but he doesn’t bake.”
Stassi finished the cake as Day distracted her with conversation. Surprisingly, she was grateful for his presence. What would have been panic otherwise was lessened because of him.
“So, what’s it like being famous?” she asked. “Did you always want to own a record label?”
“Nah, I wanted to sell dope, but every little boy got to eventually become a man, so this was natural progression,” Day explained.
“That’s kind of terrible,” Stassi said.
