“Oh.” Although Yuna loves her coffee, she occasionally likes to sit down and enjoy tea with a slice of cake. And she takes out one of her numerous fancy tea sets, even if she’s drinking alone.
“They don’t make them anymore.” Yuna’s shoulders sag. “I checked everywhere.”
If she can’t get it, then it really isn’t available. There’s nothing her fabulously wealthy conglomerate father wouldn’t get for her.
The girls are already in the kitchen. Felice must’ve laid out everything we need when I arrived because the counter is littered with baking sheets, a bag of flour and so on.
I show the girls how to mix everything together—and teach them the most important lesson: follow directions and don’t improvise until you have the basics down. Knowing Katherine and Lilian, they’d dump two bags of sugar into the bowl because, hey, we’re making sugar cookies.
We get the gobs of dough onto the sheets and turn on the oven. When it’s been preheated I carefully help each girl load her sheet into the oven and soon the kitchen starts to smell like cookies—all warm and sweet. When the timer dings, I pull out the sheets and let the cookies cool while the girls vibrate with anticipation, their eyes glued to the freshly baked goodies.
“You’re a goddess,” Yuna says, propping an elbow on the marble counter and resting her chin in her hand.
“It’s just cookies.” I start making the royal icing myself. I was planning to teach the girls, but they’re too distracted. They’ll be more than happy to help decorate the cookies later.
“Yeah, but I can’t do them. Mom tried to send me to a cooking class, but I totally said no.”
“Why? I thought you always wanted to cook better.” Ivy reaches into the wine cooler and pulls out a bottle of Riesling. “Want some?”
I nod, and Yuna makes a gimme gesture. Laughing, Ivy pours three glasses. One of Yuna’s nannies pours milk for the girls in clear plastic cups because of course they’re going to want something now that we’re drinking.
We toast. “To friendship,” I say.
“And surviving another weekend,” Yuna says, making big eyes at the girls.
We clink glasses. Lilian and Katherine bump cups and laugh. I take a sip of the wine—crisp without being too dry. Tony doesn’t keep bad wine.
“Anyway, tell me why you didn’t take the cooking class,” I say. Yuna always has a good reason for what she does, but I can’t think of anything in this case.
“Oh, she was trying to pad my bridal résumé.” Yuna rolls her eyes. It’s no secret her parents were trying to set her up with a man of their choosing. She ran rather than submit to their selection, which is how she ended up marrying a former underwear model.
“Don’t you regret it now, though?” Ivy teases. “I mean, poor Declan. Deprived of awesome Korean food.”
“Nope. Mom sent someone.”
“Another of her ‘spies’?” I ask.
“No, the chef from my parents’ house. That’s how I know they love me.” Yuna grins. “But enough about my past as a marriageable item. How’s your lease thing going? Did you finally get to renew it at a fair price?”
“Ugh. No.” I take a swig of the wine. “Floyd came to the bakery on Friday to tell me he wants fifty percent more and…”
Ivy frowns. “And…what?”
“And I have to make him and his fiancée an engagement cake,” I spit the words out. “He’s going to marry Reggie.”
Ivy’s face turns bright red. “What?”
“Who the f…”—Yuna’s eyes slide to the girls—“who does he think he is?” she asks in a low hiss. “Why should you make anything for that horrible human being?”
“My landlord and God’s gift to women? I don’t know. He’s convinced the reason I’m refusing to bake them anything is because I’m jealous.”
Ivy looks completely lost. “Jealous…?”
“Yeah. That he’s marryingReggie,” I say.
“Eww. He’s so gross!” Ivy scrunches her face.
Yuna makes a gagging sound. “He makes Jabba the Hut look like a catch!”
