“What thing?” I asked, blinking and feeling the sugar crystals harden on my face. It was covering up where the blush had been, and sort of making me feel cute.
The “thing” was breakfast in bed with presents. Keaton was the planner, and he was bossy-ish when he needed to be. He oversaw the business side of our three-person business, Oh Crumbs. All three of us had been friends since kindergarten, and we’d started it a year ago. Keaton’s parents bought the building, which came with a very old bakery, and after a month of TLC, we were up and ready. Before that, I’d been working in a restaurant in town—I was a partially trained dessert chef. Toby was an artist and now a cake decorator. He made those illusion cakes which everyone obsessed over, and since I couldn’t do them, I had to remind him he’d be nothing without my tasty cake bases.
Together, we were a power trio—and not only did we share a business, but we shared a lifestyle. We spent most of our downtime together in little space. It wasn’t because we’d had awful childhoods, but we’d had some awful teen years. We got bullied a lot, called all types of names. Keaton’s parents had put him into private school, so it was just me andToby for a while, and during that time we both discovered our love for baking, which turned into a love for playing and pretending. In reality, it’s something we’d always done, but now, as adults, we had the money to go all out—or well, Keaton had the money.
The apartment upstairs was a sensory heaven, with play spaces where all the chairs were beanbags, though some were memory foam. We had our own library full of picture books, and far too many tea pots and cups. We could’ve hosted several teddy bear tea parties at the same time. The only thing missing from our lives were Daddies, but for right now, we were all happy to be a trio of besties playing little.
Except today was my birthday, and I had a birthday wish.
We were an hour away from opening the store and the guys gave me a whole stack of bear-face-shaped pancakes, covered in my favorite fruits and syrup. We shared my breakfast meal too—I couldn’t devour it all alone, I barely made a dent through one of the thick fluffy pancakes, never mind four of them stacked.
“Should we sing Happy Birthday now?” Keaton asked. “Or should we wait for Maggie to arrive.”
“Let’s do it now,” I said. “You’ve got to use the two and seven candles for it.”
Toby snorted. “Which way around should they go?”
“Don’t you dare laugh, you’re next.”
Keaton was the oldest, his birthday had just been beforeChristmas. He was a Sagittarius. I was an Aquarius baby. All that air sign, which meant I was in the clouds and offered up word vomit to represent my feelings whenever they got to be too much. Toby was a Gemini—well, on the cusp, he could’ve been a Taurus with all that bull energy he could have.
My birthday cake was already made and prepared. Threetiers, with a model of me made from chocolate at the top. It was a bit clunky, but I refused to let Toby do it, even if it would’ve turned out like a masterpiece. We brought it out of the kitchen fridge and to the display at the front of the bakery. It wasn’t a large set up, you could often see right into the kitchen unless it was obscured by the one large commercial tray stands for our oven. It was honestly probably one of my favorite things, because you could makeso manycupcakes on it.
They sang their Happy Birthday song for me, and I blew out the candles on the cake.
My wish was made.I wished for a Daddy.
Twenty-seven was such an odd age. I was in age limbo, unsure where I was supposed to be or what I was supposed to be doing. There was that little part of me that thought I should be settling down, maybe finding a man, but Sugar Bay was mostly full of people coming for the river rafting on the bay or exploring the mountain. If I wanted something permanent, I’d need to find someone who lived here—and the only men I found remotely attractive werethe hockey guys and the men in uniform.
Once we were open, our first customer of the day—and every single day—was Maggie. She was an older woman, retired, always telling stories about when this place was a different bakery and how she’d been rejected from a job here. It seemed to be something new every day.
“Where’s the birthday boy?” she asked at the counter.
Keaton manned the register while I was in the kitchen baking and Toby was doing the decorating, probably one of the illusion cakes that had Sugar Bay in a chokehold. And before Keaton could say anything, I knew it was best to face her. She was adorable, our number one supporter—self-appointed, of course.
“I’m here,” I said, appearing behind Keaton.
Maggie looked at me, cocking her head and smiling. “Well, I’ve got something for you. You’ve gotta close your eyes first.”
I screwed them shut, just for her, the slight stickiness of sugar still on my face even after scrubbing it clean. “Okay.” I placed my hands on the cold counter.
In my hands, she placed something light yet wide. “Open them,” she said. To which I saw the large badge with my age on it. And a card. “I didn’t know what to get you, but I know you love those collectable teddies, so I got you a gift card.”
“Oh my god, you absolutely shouldn’t have,” I said. “Can I give you a hug?”
“Of course, sweetheart,” she said. “And it’s my pleasure.My George is just happy I’m getting out of the house. It’s good for my mobility if I’m walking around.”
I gave her a hug. She smelled so sweet, or maybe that was still me. Either way, I squeezed her and she squeezed me right back.
“Well then, put the badge on,” she said, grabbing it from the counter. “And I’ll take two of the—oh my god. Wait, is that your cake?” It was tucked away on the end of the counter, but very visible, even if the pastels did blend a little with the walls. “Is it cheeky of me if I ask for a slice?”
Keaton laughed. “It’s there for the customers,” he said. “Free of charge, obviously.”
“Well then,” she said, sticking me with the pin of the badge—I flinched a little, but she had her eyes on the cake. “What flavor is it? And can I take a slice for George too?”
Keaton looked at me and I nodded—I was too busy pressing my lips together hard to ease the slight pain from the pin prick. “Absolutely,” he said. “One slice per customer. And I’m not sure about the flavor.”
“Of course,” she said, turning and looking at me. “Come on, birthday boy. What flavors?”
