She ripped open the cake boxes, tossing the cardboard behind her without care. They landed in a scattered heap near the door.
“I’d need a different name. Something original.”
“After hearing about your reaction to the kamikaze cake, I think you should totally name it The Censored Baker. Although… you might get a group of followers looking for a different kind of censorship…”
He wiggled his eyebrows and gave her a deliberately suggestive look, all mock innocence and easy mischief. Lynn’s loud, distinct laughter filled the room, echoing off the walls as she surveyed their stash.
“Or not. I’m just glad we made it. Nobody died. Nothing broke.”
She turned slowly, scanning the room—then froze, eyes locking on the clean stretch of counter where the cake had erupted.
“Wow, someone cleaned the kitchen! Boy, am I glad I saved some of the cake before we left.”
“And the piñata’s still intact.” Brock held up a finger.
“The what?” She looked over and realized—yep. He’d brought a Mexican party decoration without her realizing it. Of course he had.
“Seriously?”
Brock shrugged, flashing a lazy grin. “Hey, never underestimate the healing power of candy and cardboard. Might come in handy if round two of cake chaos decides to make an appearance. Built-in stress relief—pre-stuffed.”
Without turning around, Lynn pointed toward the far end of the kitchen. “Hang it there and stand back—because you might just be smarter than you look.”
“Well, this sounds fun in here,” came Barbara’s voice, light and cheerful. Her floral perfume announced her arrival a second before she stepped into the room.
Brock turned, still holding the piñata string. “Hey, Mom. Want to hit something with a stick? It’s surprisingly therapeutic.”
Barbara chuckled, giving him a kiss on the cheek as she passed. “Maybe later, dear. I just came to tell this beautiful young soul that the cake you lost? Divine. Even mutilated, it tasted heavenly. I’m glad you didn’t just dump it in the trash.”
Lynn grinned, brushing her hands on a dish towel. “Thank you. It was my spiritual offering before it self-destructed.”
“Well, consider me blessed,” Barbara said, completely missing thesarcasm. “Ready when you are, honey. Bryce said you’re my ride back to the loft.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Brock said, grabbing the rental keys off the counter. “I’m parked right outside the kitchen door. Just gonna say a quick goodbye.”
Barbara took the keys from him and headed toward the door.
Lynn gave Brock a genuine smile. “Thanks for the ride. You’re not too bad… for a preacher man.”
Brock just grinned, a serene, knowing smile stretching across his face. He lightly bumped the bottom of his fist against her shoulder.
“I can’t wait to see who God sends into your life. That’s gonna be one righteous ride.”
Lynn laughed right in his face. “That’s rich. Beth really hasn’t told you anything about me.”
Brock raised his eyebrows.
“You clearly didn’t get the memo—I’m not the serious relationship type. Pretty cringe to my family, actually.”
“I’m not talking about that kind of relationship,” he said, still calm. “But I mean, it’s God—we both know He’s gonna get a hold of you however He wants.”
He paused, glancing toward the door that led out back, where the rest of the wedding party was gathered.
“Funny how… that’s exactly how He got to my bonehead brother.”
“Okay, Pastor Enigma,” Lynn said, folding her arms. “You’re talking in circles. What exactly are you getting at?”
“God loves you,” Brock said simply, “and He wants you in His family. You’re running—and that’s okay. It doesn’t scare Him.” He paused, eyes steady on hers.
