“Deal.” I laugh, pulling him back down for another kiss. “But I’m keeping the handcuffs.”
CHAPTER 10
The Country Cottage Café buzzes with nervous energy at ten o’clock sharp as morning sunlight streams through the tall windows and casts everything in that perfect golden glow that makes even the most mundane moments look magazine-worthy.
Round tables draped in cream linen dot the space, while Emmie’s six magnificent cake varieties sit displayed on vintage tiered stands near the windows—each one looking like it belongs in a high-end bakery magazine rather than our cozy small-town cafe.
The wedding party has assembled in all their awkward glory with Charlotte perched on the edge of her chair like she’s ready to pounce on the perfect photo opportunity, Piers looks like he’d rather be getting a root canal, Bea, the bride’s mother—and the same woman I saw arguing with Tessa before she died—sits ramrod straight with an expression that suggests she’s bracing for a caloric disaster, Conrad is already eyeing the cake display like a predator sizing up prey, and Kiki is maintaining her lawyercomposure while radiating enough tension to power the town’s electrical grid.
I’m bouncing Ella on my hip near the coffee counter, trying to keep Fish, Sherlock, and Truffle from staging what appears to be a coordinated cake heist any second now. Honestly, I can’t blame them. Every single cake looks far too scrumptious not to be attacked and gobbled down immediately.
In the far corner, Mom and Georgie are supposed to be helping Emmie with the setup, but they’re clearly conducting their own unauthorized quality control session, complete with hushed commentary and suspicious crumb evidence on their shirts. Not to mention their matching frosting mustaches. So much for playing it cool.
Emmie waves for everyone’s attention as if she’s helping land a 747. “Welcome one and all to what I like to call Paradise in Six Flavors,” she announces to the assembled group, wearing a flour-dusted apron and the proud expression of an artist unveiling her gallery opening. And Emmie really is an artist. “We have classic vanilla bean with raspberry filling, chocolate decadence with salted caramel, lemon lavender with cream cheese frosting, red velvet with white chocolate ganache, strawberry champagne with buttercream, and my personal favorite—brown butter cake with cinnamon Swiss meringue.”
“They all sound like my favorite,” I tell her, and the rest of the room is quick to agree with me.
The air smells like vanilla, butter, and pure sugary heaven, with hints of coffee brewing in the background and the faint scent of ocean air drifting through the open windows.
The hoomans are distracted by sugar,Fish mewls from her strategic position near the display.This is our moment.
I raise an eyebrow her way as if to ask,their moment for what?
I call dibs on anything with vanilla,Sherlock adds, drooling on the polished hardwood floors.And anything with peanut butter,and anything with sugar, flour, and maybe coconuts. I’m expanding my tropical horizons.
FOCUS, everyone,Truffle yips as her paws vibrate off the floor with her signature nervous energy.We need a PLAN, and I have the BEST plan ever! Sherlock, you’re really good at distractions, so you do that. And Fish, you’re excellent at finding crumbs, so you do that. And I’LL work the sympathy angle with the baby because I’m REALLY cute, and babies love me, and OH MY GOSH, this is going to be AMAZING. We’re like a super-secret snack-stealing team!Truffle barks with military precision mixed with pure excitement.
I can’t help but bite down on a smile. I have a feeling their divide and conquer technique will be far too successful for their poor digestive systems to handle.
“Oh, Emmie!” Charlotte immediately pulls out her phone, adjusting her angle to capture both herself and the stunning cake display. “These are absolutely gorgeous! Do you mind if I get a few shots for my followers? They’re going to absolutely die over this basic bakery aesthetic!”
Basic? I squint her way. Did she just insult Emmie while trying to compliment her?
“The wedding vibes are strong in this place,” the bride-to-be continues. “We’ll go viral before noon.”
“Of course,” Emmie beams, because honestly, who doesn’t want their cakes to go viral? And for the record, Emmie’s cakes are anything but basic.
Conrad slides closer to Charlotte as she positions her phone. “You know, I have an excellent eye for composition. Maybe I could help you get the perfect shot?”
“Really?” Charlotte lights up like Christmas morning. “That would be amazing! I’m always looking for fresh perspectives.” She winks his way with a laugh, and he pulls her in close as if they were a couple. Apparently, a playboy like Conrad knows no boundaries, even when it comes to his best friend’s soon-to-be wife.
Piers’s jaw tightens as he watches Conrad getting touchy-feely. “Hey, hey,” he calls out playfully. “Hands off the merchandise. That one is mine.” A series of catcalls breaks out in the room, and Conrad holds his hands in the air as if it’s a stickup.
I’m not sure I like the way he just referred to her as merchandise.
“Just helping a friend out.” Conrad laughs with a wink, and the rest of the room laughs along with him.
More like helping himself to a perfect view down her dress,Piers thinks with growing irritation.The man has all the finesse of a vulture at a picnic.
At least he’s aware.
Kiki takes note of Piers’s reaction, and her own expression hardens. “Something wrong, honey pie?” she asks with deceptive sweetness.
“Nothing at all,” Piers replies tersely, not meeting her eyes. “Just admiring Conrad’s special brand of helpfulness.”
If only I could remind him what he’s missing,Kiki thinks, her eyes lingering on the way Piers’s jaw tightens with jealousy.He was always sexiest when he was angry.
From the corner, Georgie pipes up around a mouthful of what looks suspiciously like chocolate cake. “Mr. Picture Perfect, are you free this weekend? Because I’d love to discuss your photography skills over cocktails. Lots of cocktails.”I like to juice ’em up before I help them stagger to my place.She grins my way with the thought.
