CHAPTER ONE
The cake had seventeen candles on one side and seventeen on the other, and Joey had arranged them in two perfect arcs that met in the middle. He was now lighting them in a specific order he’d apparently decided on in advance, working from the center outward.
“Inside out,” Joey said, shielding the flame from the ocean breeze with his free hand. “It’s better for wax control.”
Bea leaned over the table to look. “What does that even mean?”
“It means the interior candles establish a heat base before the exterior ones are lit, which prevents uneven melting and drip migration.” He moved to the next candle. “I’ve been doing research.”
“Birthday cake research,” Bea said, looking at Stella.
Stella looked back. One second. The look that meant are you getting this? Bea’s mouth twitched. Stella raised the camera and got Joey mid-explanation, one hand cupping the flame, his face lit from underneath like a man defusing a bomb made of buttercream.
She’d had the camera up since about six o’clock, when Anna had started rearranging the patio tables for the third time andTyler had told her they were fine the way they were and Anna had moved them again anyway because Anna didn’t hear the word fine the same way other people heard it.
It was Bea and Stella’s birthday party and there was no rule against photographing your own birthday party. She’d checked.
Through the viewfinder, the Shack patio looked like something she’d want to remember when she was old. The string lights from the wedding were still up because Anna had called them temporary in November and it was now February and nobody was pretending anymore.
Two round tables pushed together into one long one. Eleven chairs and Bella the cat on the twelfth, because Bella apparently now believed all furniture was hers. The ocean was changing—getting louder as the light dropped, like it had been waiting all day for the tourists to leave. The sky going from pink to that deep February blue that lasted about ten minutes.
“Blow them out,” Bea said, nudging Stella’s elbow. “Before Joey starts a laminated instruction sheet.”
“I already made one,” Joey said. “It’s in the kitchen.”
They blew them out together on three. It took two tries because Stella pulled the camera down for the first attempt and missed the shot and made everyone relight and do it again.
“That’s cheating,” Tyler said from the far end of the table, where he had Lindsey’s hand on his arm and a glass of something in front of him.
“Artistic necessity,” Stella said.
“Not a real thing.”
“It’s been a real thing since about four seconds ago.”
Tyler laughed out loud. Lindsey squeezed his arm without looking at him, which was Lindsey’s way of wanting more of it.
Stella got the second attempt. Thirty-four candles going out at once, Bea’s face caught in the last flicker and then not, thesmoke curling up toward the string lights in thin blue lines that dissolved before they reached the bulbs.
She clicked off one more frame and let the camera drop.
Meg was cutting the cake, the scent of chocolate carrying on the ocean breeze. She’d brought her good knife from home because she said the Shack’s cake knife had been dull since approximately 2019 and nobody had replaced it because replacing things at the Shack required filling out one of Joey’s procurement request forms and nobody wanted to fill out one of Joey’s procurement request forms.
Meg sliced with clean, even strokes, and Anna passed plates down the table. Luke got the edge piece because Luke always got the edge piece. Margo got what she was given and didn’t care. Tyler got a piece with a frosting rose on it that he picked off and ate first, like a man who understood priorities.
Bernie got a corner with extra frosting because Anna knew him.
Michael got a small white bowl of berries.
Anna set it in front of him without a word—blueberries, raspberries, a few slices of strawberry arranged the way Anna arranged things, which was with more care than she’d ever admit to. Michael looked at the bowl, then at Anna. He actually smiled, and Stella caught it through the viewfinder—click—and let the camera drop before anyone saw her taking it.
“Thank you,” Michael said.
Anna was already moving down the table with the next plate. “You’re welcome.”
Bernie took a bite and closed his eyes. He chewed slowly, fork still in his hand, and then opened his eyes and pointed the fork at Meg.
“Meg,” he said. “This is not a hobby cake.”
