“Anyway,” she said, “it’s good that you called me because—”
“I didn’t. You did.”
She gave an exasperated sigh. “Pedantic. Okay, so it’s good thatIcalled. You were on my list. Did you mean it about making the cake for the wedding?”
“Of course.” Had she forgotten he was out of a job? He’d bake them a cake every week if it would cover his living expenses while he searched for permanent work.
“Oh yay!” she squealed. She actually squealed. He should hate that overly loud enthusiasm, but for some reason it made him smile, maybe because he’d seen her interact with Richard and believed she was actually that excited to be helping her friend. “When can we meet to hash out the details?”
“You’re the client. Your call.” His own days were terrifyingly empty.
She hummed in thought. “Let’s see, tomorrow’s Thursday, and I’ve got a late-afternoon meeting in Schaumburg. Could we do evening? Like eight? We could meet at Blake’s again since we both know where it is.”
“Sure.” So that conversation was done. Was it time to hang up yet?
“So how’s the job search coming?”
Apparently not. He shifted on the couch, and it creaked again. With his luck, it’d finally splinter into wood shards just when hereallyshouldn’t spend money on a replacement. “It’s coming.”
While he choked back the panic that came from hearing nonstop “sorry, but no” for days, she said brightly, “Well, if all else fails, you could always open your own shop, right?”
She tossed the suggestion off lightly, and he almost dropped the phone at hearing her voice the dream he was afraid to let himself want. Before he could muster a response, she wrapped up the call with a chirpy, “Okay then, see you tomorrow!”
He sank farther into his couch, allowing himself five minutes of blissful blankness before he hauled himself to his feet. Time to bake.
* * *
Erik’s fingersdrummed out a rhythm on the table as he waited for Josie to arrive on Thursday night. Unlike Saturday morning, Blake’s was almost deserted, so his heavytap tap tappingwas audible in the small shop. When he noticed the reedy barista glancing his way, he forced himself to stop the fidgety action. He wasn’t nervous; it’s just that his life was in a state of anxiety, and waiting for the inevitable chaos of the manic-pixie wedding planner wasn’t helping things.
His phone buzzed to life on the table next to him, and he flipped it over to find a message from Gina on the screen, probably wanting to talk about her upcoming move to Chicago. He picked up the phone to let her know he’d call her later, but Josie chose that moment to burst through the door, all wild hair and pink cheeks.
“Hi! Sorry I’m late!” She dropped her bag and shrugged out of her tan coat. “I’m desperate for a chai tea. Give me a sec?”
He forgot all about the text to Gina as he watched the Technicolor tornado of perfume and pointy shoes spin to the counter, direct far more words than the situation warranted at the barista, and return to claim a seat.
“Thanks for coming.” She beamed. “I talked to Richard this morning, and when he heard we were meeting, the first thing he asked about was your chocolate hazelnut cake.”
“Good choice.” He didn’t hold back his smile. He’d never get tired of hearing praise for his creations. “First some paperwork.” He tapped his thumb on the notebook in front of him. “Groom names?”
“Richard Washington and Byron Cutter.”
“Guest count?”
She pulled out her phone and consulted a screen of notes. “About eighty. How big a cake is that?” She grinned as she peered at him over the top of her phone. “And by that I mean, how many of your amazing flavors can we have?”
You can have as many of my flavors as you want.He frowned as the come-on floated through his mind. He wasn’t a pickup-line guy, and even if he was, he’d like to think he’d never use one that cheesy on any woman, let alone someone as sophisticated as Josie in her tight dress and frighteningly tall high heels.
He cleared his throat. “We could do three layers. Four if the guys are okay with leftovers.”
“Cool.” She typed away on her phone, oblivious to his wandering thoughts. “I’m sure they’ll want leftovers.” When the barista appeared at their table with her drink order, she looked up with such a dazzling smile that the kid almost upended her tea. “My hero! You’re a beverage artist. Thank you.”
The barista smoothed a hand over one of his exuberant sideburns and stammered out a dazed combination of “thank you” and “you’re welcome” and “refills on the house” before escaping behind the counter, looking as if he’d just stared into the face of the sun. Erik sympathized. The woman across from him, sipping her tea with a euphoric look on her face, was… a lot.
“Mmm.Sogood,” she said. “Anyway, they’ll want one chocolate hazelnut, for sure. What else do you suggest?”
Yes. Back to cakes. Here went nothing. He reached into his backpack and pulled out two plastic containers. “Richard said he’s from Georgia?”
Josie nodded.
