“Aww. Now you’re going to make your big mean boss cry.”
I wave at him as he disappears into the employee area to get out of his Bobbi’s Sweet Things apron and take off. He’s beginning to smile more, like a kid his age should.
I run my hands lovingly along the counter. When I opened this place, I just dreamed of creating amazing baked goods and making people happy. But now it’s enabled me to make a difference in someone’s life. And I know it’s going to bring me even more joy and fulfillment.
I hear the little bell on the door tinkle. I lift my head with a smile…then freeze at the sight of Reggie Hopkins, Ms. Pain in the Ass herself, walking in. A third cousin once removed on my mom’s side of the family, she grew up in the same neighborhood as TJ. We went to high school together when my father left Mom and me in SoCal. The place the State Department sent him into was too unstable and dangerous to take us along.
Reggie did everything in her power to be my best friend in high school, mainly because she’s had a crush on TJ since forever, and he and I were tight from holiday dinners and a few vacations Mom had with her family. To him, I’d led a fascinating life in parts of the world he’d seen only on YouTube, and I found comfort in his steady nature. She meant to use me to get close to him, and I became friendly with her without understanding what she really wanted. When she realized that he would never like her, she accused me of poisoning him against her. She won’t accept that the real reason TJ dislikes her is because she’s an insufferable know-it-all who called his dog stupid and regarded every other woman around him as a competition for his affection.
TJ and I have moved on from our high school years—along with most of the other students—but not Reggie. She didn’t bother to come to my mom’s funeral and stopped by during the first week of my bakery opening to complain about how horrible my croissants were, then posted crappy reviews everywhere. Given that she’s a minor celebrity, it almost ruined my bakery before it could get started. Thankfully, Yuna’s husband Declan, who is a far bigger star, mentioned how much he loves our croissants and cupcakes, which dwarfed Reggie’s negative posts and bitching.
Now she’s apparently bleached her hair platinum and gotten lip injections that blew them up to four times their normal size. Her eyes are an unnaturally bright green with extra-large pupils, probably from cosmetic lenses. She might’ve done something with her chest as well—her cleavage is now Mariana Trench class. She’s in a hot pink maxi dress with a plunging neckline—of course—and the rest of the outfit is straining to keep her properly covered.
Her belly protrudes rather overtly. I hope this ugly dress isn’t maternity wear, but with Reggie, anything’s possible.
“No hello for your customer?” The grating nasal voice, unfortunately, hasn’t changed.
“Are you actually a customer?”
“I’m here to order a cake for my engagement party. So,yeah, I think I am.” She extends her left hand, chin held high like a queen expecting a lowly peasant to drop and kiss her ring. Sure enough, a huge rock blinks under the bakery lights. She puts her other hand over her belly. “My fiancé and I are expecting a baby, so we want to have a lavish engagement and wedding as soon as possible.”
A corner of her mouth lifts as she shares her plan. She knows I’ve always wanted a family.
“Congrats,” I say dryly, more for the pregnancy than the engagement. It isn’t the baby’s fault that his mom is a horrible human being. But this fiancé? Obviously a terrible judge of character.
“You’re invited to both, you know.”
“I am?”
“Of course. It’s important to experience these kinds of social events, if only vicariously.”
“Ah, I see. Yeah, no thanks.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t ask for anything too expensive,” she says, completely oblivious. Or maybe she just can’t believe I’d say no. “You know how to decorate an engagement cake, don’t you? Even though you aren’t engaged or anything?” She shakes her head. “What’s making your guy take so long, anyway? What’s his name again? Noam? Nolan?”
The girl can’t quit talking. She probably thinks she’s doing a fantastic job of throwing verbal jabs. I paste on my blandest smile. “Noah.”
He and she met when he took me to Jean-Georges for brunch. She was at the restaurant with her sugar daddy, a man literally old enough to be her grandfather. Her jaw slack, she ran her eyes over Noah, her face growing red as she catalogued his lean body, expensive clothes and stunning face.
“Is this a new client?” she asked, eyeing him like she’d like to strip off her clothes and jump him.
“No, I’m the boyfriend you’ve been hearing so many great things about,” Noah said with a grin before I could respond.
Her mouth parted, and she sucked in air. The vein on her forehead pulsed hard—but unfortunately didn’t pop.
“Right.” Reggie snaps her fingers. “Noah.”
“Can’t believe you forgot already. But I read somewhere that memory and recall require at least two brain cells. So, not your strong point.”
Her eyes narrow. “Maybe, but getting engagedis. Unlike some women, I’m not just fucked butkept.” She declares it with pride and triumph.
The attack slides into my heart like a well-honed knife. I fantasize briefly about shoving her smug face into a vat of butter cream I’ve got in the back, but no. That butter cream deserves better.
“Anyway, about the cake—”
“Talk to your baker.”
She stops, then lets out a grating laugh. “Uh, isn’t this a bakery? Aren’t you the baker?”
