“Theplace to be,” Tiffany adds.
“So that’s why I’m here. I never want to let myfriendsdown,” Ronnie says with a wink as he looks at them. Okay, so they’re hisfriends. Whatever that means.
“Then you should get a smash cake,” Corbin says in the most deadpan voice in the history of the world.
Ronnie blinks, then his gaze swings to the display case and the tray full of smashed, extra pieces of all sorts of cake. “You were serious about that?” Ronnie asks me.
Well, I was ad-libbing at the time, but Corbin insisted we put it on the menu, and we’ve sold a couple smash cakes today—smashed up bits of various cakes, served in a cup.
Corbin steps closer to me. “Very serious. My partner and I have been planning the smash cake for some time,” he says, defending the fuck out of me once again. It’s so sexy, I don’t even know what to think.
Mostly, I feel a little hot and bothered as he doubles down on the smash-cake story.
Ronnie arches a brow, clearly not quite buying it. “Really?”
“It’s been quite a popular offering. It’s a wonderful expression of bakery and cake artistry,” Corbin says, selling it to the judge, the jury…hell, to the bailiffs outside the courtroom.
Tiffany peers through the case while twirling a strand of red hair, bracelets jangling along the ivory skin of her arms, the same shade as her friend’s. She drops Ronnie’s arm and urges Brittany over.
“I want to try this, babes,” Brittany says, pointing to one of the smashed numbers.
“It looks so good,” Tiffany seconds, and I just watch the two of them talk like it’s a tennis match.
But when I pull my gaze away, Ronnie’s staring right at Corbin, eyes narrowed. “So you’d been planning it?”
“It’s our centerpiece,” he says, holding his ground. “We sold out. We had to make more.”
That’s not true, but it hardly matters. “Everyone loves it,” I add.
“Mabel gave you the preview at the fair,” Corbin says with ayou lostsigh. “Bummer you weren’t able to jump on it, man.”
Ronnie blows out a breath. “Win some, lose some.”
“But you can try one here. You can even get toppings, like crumbled cookies, sprinkles, or bits of brownie. It’s sin in a cup,” I say, joining theegg Ronnie onaction.
“I suppose we really ought to try it,” he says to the women he’s with.
“Yay,” they say in unison.
“We’ll share it with you,” the redhead adds.
“One smash cake, coming right up,” Corbin says.
As he scoops some cake bits into a small compostable cup, excitement rushes through me.
This moment is a vindication. This is a glow-up. This is a redemption story.
I’m living in a rom-com, and today has been the it-all-works-out scene montage, culminating with me telling my one-time nemesis to eat my smash cake.
As Corbin chats with Ronnie, Tiffany and Brittany stare at me conspiratorially.
“Can we totally take your picture?” Tiffany asks.
And look at that. I’m a social media darling already.
“Sure,” I say, then scurry out from behind the counter, dusting my hands on my apron.
They usher me between them. I flash back briefly to that moment with the woman at the gym, thinking how different this is. They want pictures with me—the smash-cake queen, not the loser woman from the meme. I say cheese as they hold out their phones and take pic after pic. Tiffany pets my arm, like I’m a doll. “We just love you so much. We’reRomance Beachfans,” she adds offhandedly.
