“I wouldn’t say very few,” Etna teases, opening his door. Julian and I follow. When we join him around the front, he wraps his arm around my shoulders and drags me to him. “I think there are far more times we’d ask for privacy than there used to be.”
Julian smirks. “Thanks for the update on your sex life without saying as much.”
I close my eyes, imagining the heat on my cheeks is from the hot Arizona sun. “Was that necessary?”
“You make it sound like we’re prudes,” he argues, steering us toward the door behind Julian.
I don’t respond as we step inside. The woman we’re meeting is Amelia, who I think is the owner of the bakery. Etna releases me and heads for the counter. He hasn’t even made it back to us when a woman comes out, all smiles.
“Hello,” she greets. “I’m Amelia. You must be Etna and Keno.” She offers her hand, and we take turns shaking it.
“Yes. Thanks. This is our friend Julian. He’s here for moral support and to help us make a decision,” Etna says.
“Making decisions is harder than it sounds,” I mutter to Julian once Amelia greets him as well. He grins at me as we follow Amelia into the back. There’s a big table set up with tiered trays of mini cakes and desserts. It smells like sugar, chocolate, and fruit… so many good scents mingle in the air and make my mouth salivate.
“Before we get to the tasting, let’s talk briefly about your wedding,” Amelia suggests as we sit in front of all the sweets. “Basics first. How many guests?”
Etna and I look at each other.
“Oh, damn,” he says. “We didn’t call Melissa to tell her that.”
I laugh. I look at Julian on my other side. “Seriously, we need a manager. You open?”
He laughs.
“I think we’re at 150 or so,” I tell her, giving Etna a questioning look. He nods, shrugging. “I’ll be honest and tell you we didn’t count, so I’m just tripling my family list to accommodate Etna’s family list and our friends list.”
“That’s okay. I don’t need an exact number. I need a ballpark, so I know how big the cake needs to be. How about theme? Colors?”
Etna pulls out his phone and flips to the picture of the color swatches we took at the attire place to show Amelia. “We don’t have a theme. Nothing sounded good.”
“That’s totally okay. Are you looking for a traditional tiered cake?”
“As opposed to?” I ask.
Amelia pulls a book from a shelf behind her and flips it open to slide in front of us. There are cakes of all shapes and sizes. Page upon page.
We both sigh.
“How lame is a hockey puck cake?” I ask. “Is that even possible? Have you made one before?”
“It is possible, and no, I haven’t,” Amelia says.
“It’s not lame if that’s what you want,” Julian adds. “No one has to love your cake or anything about your day but you. If you want a hockey cake, then have a hockey cake.”
“That’s the problem,” Etna says. “We don’t know what we want but… I think starting with a puck would be cool.”
“How about we stop talking about design and get to some tasting?” Amelia says, closing her notebook and setting it aside. “While you taste, tell me about yourselves as individuals and a couple. I’ll contemplate ideas.”
My shoulders relax. “Thanks. But there’s not a lot to tell. We met through hockey. We’re on the same team. We’ve been best friends since we met. We decided to get married.” He shrugs.
“Way to simplify,” Julian says. He reaches for one of the little cakes and pulls it in front of me since I’m between them. He hands me the knife and then gives Etna and I forks while Amelia brings over another fork for him. “You’ve been together since you met, from what I understand. It’s only recently that you’ve decided to get married. I’ve never seen two people so obliviously but obviously in love in my entire life.”
I ignore him and dutifully cut the cake into three. There are probably three bites in each piece.
“Word of caution,” Amelia says. “Try to limit yourself to a bite, otherwise you’ll be full before we make it through.”
The first bite just melts on my tongue. Such a fresh taste of strawberries in a light cake with creamy frosting. I hum in appreciation.
