Gina stood next to the door with a red Have Your Cake apron wrapped around her waist, her hand on theClosedsign, and anticipation on her face. Erik took one more look around his shop with a mixture of pride and sorrow. The glass display cases were crammed with plump cupcakes wearing hats of pastel icing, and an array of glossy single- and double-tier cakes covered the countertops. The colorful chalkboard hanging behind the cases boasted the day’s specials, and the colorful pennant banners gave the shop a festive feeling. He was standing in the middle of what should’ve been a triumphant moment, but he was as hollow inside as a baked meringue.
Gina heaved an impatient sigh and announced, “You’re moping. Let’s go.” She flipped the sign on the glass door over toOpenand moved to stand next to him in front of the display cases. The grand opening was officially underway. They stood shoulder to shoulder, expectation thick in the air as… nothing happened. The bell above the door remained stubbornly silent, and the only movement on the sidewalk in front of the building was a kid skateboarding past in ripped jeans. Erik reached for his phone to check the time, but his pocket was empty, which meant he’d left it upstairs when he’d changed into his service clothes. If he went up to retrieve it, he might be tempted to hide there all afternoon, so he forced himself to stay put.
“This is going great so far.”
“Yeah, good thing I’m here to help with crowd control.” Gina bumped his arm, and he looked down at her and tried to muster a smile.
A few more moments passed in silence as they both stared at the door.
“How’d your talk with Christine go?” Their prep for the open house had been intense, so this was his first opportunity to ask.
She turned from the view of the empty street in front of the store and flashed him a brilliant smile. “Good. Better than good. She apologized, and then I apologized. She misses me. Next step is her coming to Chicago for a visit.”
“Guess I better get baking then. What’s her favorite—”
The jingle of a bell interrupted his question, and he straightened to greet the first customers. The pair of sixtysomething women offered him wide smiles, which he returned as best as he could. “Welcome to Have Your Cake bakery. Let me know if you’d like to sample anything.”
The taller woman dug her elbow into her petite friend’s side. “See anything you’d like to sample, Joyce?”
“Shush!” the second woman admonished before turning to Erik and patting her short curls. “We saw you on the news and thought you were too adorable to believe, so we had to come see for ourselves.”
Gina snickered, and a flush spread from the roots of his hair on down. Every last misgiving he’d ever had about making himself the face of the bakery zoomed front and center.
“Take your time,” he muttered, turning on his heel to hide in the kitchen. Gina could deal with the two silver-haired thirst buckets. But within five minutes, he heard the bell jingle again, and then again and again. He closed his eyes, groped for his inner calm, and stepped back out to the public area.
He stopped short and blinked in surprise at the dozen people milling in the waiting area while a maniacally enthusiastic Gina tried to organize them into a line.
“A little help, big guy?” she called over her shoulder.
He jumped into motion and stepped behind the counter to start fielding questions about gluten from a woman in yoga pants as he boxed up a dozen chocolate ganache cupcakes for a sandy-haired man in a plumbing company T-shirt. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gina package two Boston cream cakes for the first two women through the door.
The taller one winked at him as they paid. “Don’t worry, cutie. I’ll be back next week to pick out a birthday cake for my niece!”
The crowd kept up a steady flow over the next three hours, a mix of curious neighborhood residents andWake Up, Windy City!fans who’d made the drive to check out his shop—and, occasionally, him. Which he hated. But weirdly, he didn’t once burst into flames or sink through the floor in agony at being forced to interact with strangers who were there to gawk at him rather than his creations. In fact, no matter what brought them in, most ended up leaving with a cake here or half a dozen cupcakes there, and he didn’t hate that. At times he’d almost say he enjoyed it—or he would have if he weren’t heartbroken over the person who was conspicuously absent. Still, he managed to bury his discomfort and stepped around the counter to pose for selfies when customers requested it, at one point telling a trio of teenage girls, “Be sure to tag us. It’s @HaveYourCakeBakery.”
He barely recognized himself, but it’s what Josie would want him to do.
His feet ached by the time things finally slowed to a crawl with five minutes to go before the end of the event. “Thanks again for your help,” he said, but Gina just waved him off from where she was collecting dirty plates and wiping crumbs from the café tables.
“Don’t mention it. Besides, I know it’s not what you pictured.” She brushed past him with a tub of dishes to take to the sink in the back, leaving him to his thoughts.
She wasn’t wrong. He’d pictured working side by side with the woman he loved. The woman he’d pushed away in anger. And hewasstill angry with her, but then again… at least two-thirds of the people through the doors had mentioned the morning show, and he’d booked eight appointments for wedding consults. It felt good. Looking around and knowing his place was full of satisfied people felt good. Success felt good.
He’d done that, yes. But so had Josie. And she deserved to be proud of that.
He was in the middle of inventorying the remaining supply of raspberry-lemonade and chocolate ganache cupcakes when the bell above the door tinkled and a dour, rail-thin woman in a severe black jumpsuit entered the shop. She looked around with pinched lips before turning her cool gaze on him.
“Is my daughter here?” she asked without preamble.
It took Erik a long moment to connect the dots. “Mrs. Ryan?” he asked in surprise. She inclined her head and continued her unimpressed inspection of the bakery while his brain struggled to explain how this brittle woman had brought the vibrant ball of energy that was Josie into the world. “She’s not here.”
Pamela breathed hard through her nose. “Isn’t that just like her. Changing plans on a whim without bothering to tell anyone.” Then a wisp of interest moved across her face for the first time since she’d entered the bakery, and she crossed to the far wall where Erik had hung Josie’s photos in plain black frames.
“These are lovely. What a smart use of exaggerated lighting to elevate everyday objects.” She leaned closer to examine a shot of a row of eggs, one of them cracked and bleeding its yolk onto the counter. Next to it was an image of a glass bottle of heavy cream dotted with condensation, luminescent as it emerged from the darkness surrounding it. “Who’s the artist?”
“Are you kidding me?” He stormed around the counter to jab his finger at the photos. “It’s your daughter. Yourmiddling-talenteddaughter did that.”
“Really? I’d never have guessed.” Pamela brushed her straight, dark hair back to peer closer but didn’t take the bait.
