Shelley clasped her hands together. "Okay then, everything is all set for you to try our cakes. Riley here is going to be taking care of you in our tasting room. She started a few weeks ago as an intern and has been a tremendous help, allowing us to concentrate on finding ways to expand the business."
"You're not staying?" I asked.
Shelley shook her head. "We had a last-minute order come in yesterday, and I have to deliver it. Have you heard of the rock band Def Panda?"
"I'm not familiar," I admitted.
"They have a show tonight, don't they?" Jamison asked.
The hell? How did he know about a group named Def Panda? A rock band, to boot.
"Yes!" Shelley answered excitedly. "A couple of days ago, we sent their people a box of weed-infused dessert samples. Didn't hear from them until yesterday—last minute, of course, but I'm not complaining. I'm doing a green room delivery of cupcakes, brownies, and theylovedour lemon bars. I'm so excited! This could be our big break to finally get out of the revenue slump we've been in."
I held up my crossed fingers. "I have my fingers crossed for you."
"Thank you! Anyway, Riley knows which box contains your samples, she has your scorecards, and all you have to do is eat cake and decide which one you like best. Riley, you're good?" She placed a hand on the young woman's shoulder.
Riley gave her a thumbs up. "I got this."
"Perfect. I'm out of here. Jenny, lock the doors in thirty minutes, please," Shelley said to the other young woman behind the counter.
"Will do."
She returned her attention to me and Jamison. "I might be back before you're finished, and hopefully, your kids will arrive in time to try some of the samples."
"We hope," I said.
"See you later." With a quick wave, Shelley disappeared through a door leading to the back of the bakery.
Looking a tad nervous now that her boss was gone, Riley smiled at us. "Follow me, please," she said, leading the way to the tasting room.
Chapter 12
Jamison
Ihad never been to a cake tasting room before. Never even knew such a thing existed. When I got married, Maria, her best friend, and her sister took care of all the decision-making concerning the food for our wedding. She asked my opinion about a few items, more as a courtesy from what I could tell, but ultimately, the decisions had belonged to her and her closest confidantes.
Sugar Crumb Bakery's tasting room was set off from the main part of the shop, in a small space with two rectangular tables and comfortable-looking chairs. The entire room was painted white, creating the perfect neutral palette to display the colorful dummy cakes and flavor cards on the shelves along one wall.
A glass window cut into the wall separating us from the front of the store allowed a partial view of the bakery and gave customers a glimpse into the room. Riley had set us up at the table farthest from the window, which meant no one could see us, providing a bit of privacy as we indulged.
Basically, I was alone with Tallulah Washington, who, by the way, looked incredible yet again. Her hair was twisted into atight bun on top of her head, secured by well-hidden pins. The style lifted her posture and exposed her neck.
She was wearing a luxe-bohemian dress only she could carry off. Fluid and light, it brushed against her body without clinging, just enough to tease. The base color was purple, with multicolored floral and abstract patterns in metallic gold, metallic silver, green, pink, and blue. One shoulder was bare, exposing the graceful line of her collarbone and giving her a regal appearance.
I watched as she set her large purse on the edge of the table and settled into one of the four chairs, her chestnut-brown skin glowing like polished wood, as if she were lit from the inside. My gaze traced the slope of her bare shoulder, and heat curled in my stomach, unexpected and fiery.
I sat down across from her and forced my attention to the task at hand. On the table were sheets of paper, pens, the cake samples, plates, forks, and glasses next to a carafe of water.
"Should we establish criteria to judge the cakes?" I asked, completely out of my depth. I suspected my son had invited me only because Blossom had invited her mother, and he didn't want me to feel left out.
"That's what these are for." Tallulah tapped the sheets of paper.
I paid closer attention to them. They were scorecards for the cakes. Riley had brought in ten samples, and we had to rate each from one to five based on specific criteria—flavor, texture, moistness, appearance, and our overall impression. At the bottom of each sheet was a place to put our names. I immediately wrote my name in the blank.
"By the way, your sleeping tips worked," I said.
Tallulah looked up from writing her name too. "That's good news. Which tips did you follow?"
