And yet, I can't shake the nervous energy humming under my skin.
This cake represents something bigger than sugar and flour. It represents survival. Recovery. The ability of this town to rise from the ashes of what we lost and build something new.
No pressure.
"You are overthinking," Piper says from the doorway.
I turn to find her standing there in one of my t-shirts, looking rumpled and beautiful and exactly like someone who belongs in my kitchen.
"How did you know?" I ask.
"Because you have been staring at your coffee for five minutes without drinking it," she says, crossing the room to wrap her arms around my waist. "And because I know you."
I pull her close and rest my chin on top of her head. "What if they don't like it?"
"They will love it," she says firmly. "You created something beautiful. Something meaningful. Trust yourself."
"I trust you," I reply.
"Then trust me when I tell you that today is going to be perfect."
She tilts her head back to look at me, and I lean down to kiss her. Soft and slow and grounding in a way that makes the nervous energy settle.
"Thank you," I murmur against her lips.
"For what?"
"For believing in me."
She smiles. "Always."
We spend the next hour getting ready. Maddie wakes up vibrating with excitement about the festival, and Piper helps her pick out a dress while I shower and change into the nicest jeans and button-down shirt I own.
By the time the festival committee truck arrives at nine, we are all standing in front of the bakery, watching as they carefully load the phoenix cake onto a specially designed platform.
"Be careful with that," I tell them for the third time.
"Dylan," Piper says gently. "They have got it."
"I know. I just."
"I know," she says, taking my hand. "It's your baby. But it's going to be fine."
The truck drives away slowly, and I watch until it disappears around the corner. Then I take a deep breath and turn to Piper and Maddie.
"Ready?" I ask.
"Ready!" Maddie squeals.
We drive to the town square, where the festival is already in full swing. Vendors line the streets, selling everything from handmade jewelry to kettle corn. A stage has been set up at one end of the square, and a local band is doing a sound check. Children run between the booths, their faces painted like butterflies and superheroes, and the air smells like cotton candy and barbecue.
But the center of everything is the platform where my cake sits.
The phoenix rises from the base, wings spread wide, flames curling into delicate sugar flowers. The three tiers represent ash, transformation, and renewal, and the whole thing catches the sunlight in a way that makes it look like it's actually glowing.
People are already gathering around it, taking photos, pointing out details, and reading the placard that explains the symbolism.
"Dylan," Piper breathes. "It's even more beautiful in this light."
