“Where’s your partner in crime today?”
Damn. Was Lily a flower whispereranda mind reader?
“She’s not my partner,” he grumbled. “And she has her own job.”
Lily’s eyes widened at his forbidding tone, but she didn’t pursue it further, instead turning to the back counter to begin arranging the tulips in a smoked-glass vase. That left him free to ignore her, chew over his own dark thoughts, and critically examine yet again the small sample cake he’d brought for Richard and Byron’s approval. He rotated the plate to scrutinize it from every angle. Yep, he could say without hesitation that it was some of his best work. He’d poured all of his focus into this project in an effort to keep his mind off Josie. Now he just needed the grooms’ seal of approval.
Just then, the bell on the shop door jangled to admit the man he’d met with Josie in April. Richard held the door open for a short, slender man who followed behind, dressed in dark jeans and a navy suit jacket and leaning heavily on a cane. Once they were both inside, Richard took the other man’s free hand and held it to his mouth, kissing his knuckles so gently that Erik looked down, not wanting to intrude on such an intimate moment.
“Hello! Good to see you again!” Richard called to him as he took the other man’s free arm and they made their way slowly toward the high counter where Erik was seated. “This is my fiancé, Byron Cutter.”
“Hello.” Erik stood to shake Byron’s hand.
“So nice to meet you.” Byron slowly climbed onto the stool opposite him, leaned an elbow against the countertop, and dragged a slim hand over his perspiring brow and through his short-cropped sandy hair. Once he’d caught his breath, he told Erik with a shaky laugh, “It takes a little more effort to get around at the moment.”
Erik started to nod in sympathy but froze when he realized that Byron was giving him a thorough once-over from underneath his pale eyelashes.
After a long moment, one corner of his mouth curled upward, and he cut his eyes to Richard, who’d just sat down next to him. “Oh honey, I see what you mean. Sky-high standards.”
Erik furrowed his brow as the two men shared a moment he didn’t understand but that left the two of them looking amused. Whatever. He didn’t have the extra emotional energy to unravel mysteries. Time to get this meeting started.
“Cake, for your approval.”
He pushed the plate toward the grooms, whooooohed in unison—as they should. He’d trimmed various sections of cake into a hexagon shape, fitted it together, crumb-coated it, and applied his marble frosting technique so the ivory base color was shot through with swirls of palest blue and brassy gold for contrast. The delicate filigree topper he’d made of spun sugar added height and drama, and when he’d stepped back to check out the full effect in the bakery kitchen before he left, he’d performed an embarrassing little victory dance on the spot.
“This size is a middle layer. We’ll do a smaller cake on top and two larger ones on the bottom. The shape was just a suggestion.”
“I love it,” Byron breathed, excitement suffusing his thin, drawn face for the first time since he’d walked into Love in Bloom Flowers. “It’s perfect.”
“Just wait till you taste it,” Erik said.
Richard laughed. “Damn, fella, that’s some swagger.”
He shrugged and picked up the onyx cake cutter. No false modesty here; cake he was good at. He made the first cut and held back a smile when a tiny squeak emerged from Byron’s throat as the blade traveled through the pristine iced surface.
He plated the first pieces and set them in front of the two men, who gave identical moans of approval after their first bites of the hazelnut. Erik folded his arms and took it all in. This was his favorite part. No huge reception hall full of guests losing their minds over his creations was as satisfying as watching the two people at the center of the day enjoying the first taste of their wedding cake.
“It tastes even better when I’m not eating it in a hospital room,” Byron said.
“Everything tastes better outside a hospital.” Erik picked up the cutter again. “Peach-pecan next.”
The men watched in surprise as he produced a new variety from a different side of the cake. He’d baked all their flavor choices and cobbled them together into a Frankenstein’s monster cake that he’d iced, both to show off the technique and to make sure everyone was on board with the final choices.
After the first bite of the peach, Richard sighed and said, “Tastes like home,” which was the exact response Erik wanted.
Once they’d approved of the pistachio crunch and the cardamom, Richard leaned back and patted his stomach. “That was the best thing we’ve eaten in weeks. Right, sweetie?”
Byron nodded at Erik. “Thank you so much. Truly. The samples you mailed were incredibly thoughtful, but seeing it all put together like this…” He swallowed convulsively, and Richard caught his hand again.
“It may not be exactly the wedding we thought we’d have”—Richard glanced at the cane resting against Byron’s stool—“but we’re so damn lucky we’re still having it.”
The palpable emotion running between the two men made Erik’s throat tighten. Since when did the whole wedding scene fill him with longing for what he didn’t have?
The answer was obvious, of course. Josie was the invisible presence in this meeting, the redhead who linked them all. And he’d been too much of a chickenshit to do more than text her once and hope she’d forgive or forget or… fuck, he didn’t know. Leave him be? Vanish from his memory so he could move on with his quiet, lonely life?
He grunted and pushed the thought away. “Want to take the leftovers home?”
“Oh, of course,” Richard said. “It may be all we eat between now and next Saturday. Nuptial nerves and all that. And I’m hoping we can take some with us on our honeymoon.”
