“Turns out your cake was a WWII fighter pilot in a former life. And went full kamikaze. On my—” She caught the pastor’s eye. —on me.”
Pastor Ambrose gave a long blink.
“Well,” he said slowly, “I’m not sure if that was a meltdown or a creative exorcism… but either way, I’ll be praying for the cake.”
Plop.
A chunk of cake fell from the ceiling and landed squarely on Lynn’s head.
“And you.”
Pastor Steve didn’t even bother to hide his laughter as he turned and walked out—his quest for water officially abandoned.
Beth hesitated—then burst into full-body laughter as Lynn’s eyes crossed, trying to see the blob of frosting stuck to the tip of her nose.
Beth looked up, then back at her sister. “I can help…”
“Nope.” Lynn waved her off with frosting-streaked fingers.
“You go enjoy the fire. I’ve got extra frosting in the fridge. I’ll throw something together before tomorrow.”
Beth backed out, still giggling. “I believe you.”
Raising one gooey hand in a solemn vow, Lynn said,
“By the power of Betty Crocker and all that is holy—I will deliver you a wedding cake.”
Beth’s laughter followed her out of the house.
CHAPTER 37
Alone once again in the kitchen, Lynn stared down at the crumbled mess on the counter.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, shaking her head.
Anger gave way to frustration as she picked up one of the support dowel rods—completely useless—and jabbed it into the heap of collapsed cake. Again and again. Each stab brought a strange, petty satisfaction.
“We talked about this, Lynnette,” she scolded the mound of frosting and sponge like it had ears.
“I told you how important you were to my sister. She’ll never admit how excited she is about Bryce or this wedding—some weird sense of guilt or whatever…” She trailed off as she grabbed a serving spoon and scooped a generous portion of the wreckage into a bowl. “But I see it in her eyes. That excitement trapped inside… like always. Just dying to come out.”
She dipped her fingers into the frosting and swirled aimlessly, watching the pale blue and ivory smear into a hypnotic marbled mess.
“She always holds back. Scared if she lets herself feel joy, she’ll get disappointed. But I know. I see it.” Lynn jabbed a finger at the cake with sharp conviction.
”You and I, Lynnette—we made a deal. We were not going to disappoint her. We promised to give her a delicious, joyful, edible experience for her wedding day. Because food—dessert—is the only time Beth actually lets go. When she finally pulls that stick out of her[CENSORED]and just lives.”
She spooned a bite into her mouth and immediately moaned, loud and theatrical. “Oh, yoooouuuuu[CENSORED]…” Another bite. Another moan. A shoulder shimmy followed—slow at first, then more enthusiastic—as if her taste buds were dancing and dragged her body with them. “How could you commit suicide? You taste sooooo—”
She stopped mid-sentence, still chewing, eyes rolling a little from the pleasure. So engrossed in her one-sided cake conversation, she didn’t notice the looming figure now stationed in the kitchen doorway.
A tall shadow stretched along the floor, cast by the warm overhead light. The figure didn’t speak, just stood there—armscrossed, brows raised in amused disbelief. Watching. Listening.
Still distracted and simmering with sugar-fueled emotion, Lynn finally set the bowl down with a sigh. The pounding in her ears thundered, matching her erratic heartbeat. She turned toward the coffee pot and poured a mug with the impatience of someone on the edge of snapping.
Muttering under her breath, she moved toward the bag hanging from a wooden hook by the door and tugged it open. She pulled out her silver flask. With a flick of her thumb, she spun the lid off in one smooth motion and poured a generous splash of the clear liquid into her coffee. She gave the mug a swirl, mixing the two liquids with practiced ease.
“Are you sure that’s gonna help you fix the cake?”
