“I…” he starts, fingers once again finding the silver fox charm. “I’ve never thought about it like that.”
Candi clears her throat, slicing clean through the moment. Her dazzling, flawless smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “We shouldn’t keep Max waiting here with his front door wide open.”
She steps aside with an elegant little flourish. Her other hand remains at her hip, her fingers curling against her skirt before relaxing again.
“After you, Lila,” she says sweetly as a faint shimmer of pink light slips between her fingertips.
Every instinct I possess prickles, and my stomach tightens. I hesitate before brushing the foreboding aside and heading toward the open door. After all, when does Candi Honeycutt not make me a little nauseous?
A featherlight tingle brushes my ankle as I step across the threshold. It skitters over my skin like thousand champagne bubbles bursting against my foot.
I glance down in time to see delicate pink sparks wind around my ankle, weaving themselves into the shape of an ethereal boot.
“Candi, youwitch?—”
The magick cinches tighter, jerking my foot sideways.
The pink sparks vanish along with my balance.
The world pitches beneath me. The cake lurches out of my grasp. My arms pinwheel as I throw every ounce of effort into saving it.
“Lila!” Max lunges, but it’s too late, and his hands are too full of Candi’s cellophane.
I trip into the foyer and slam face first into the cake. Lavender buttercream explodes against my cheeks and splatters onto the hardwood floor. Edible flowers rain down around me as the metal cake stand ricochets across the entryway before crashing into the baseboard with a metallic clang.
I push myself upright.
Just like Mrs. Doubtfire, buttercream drips from my chin in slow, sticky globs. A thick clump of frosting creeps down my chest before sliding over my boob and landing on the floor with a loud plop.
Frosting has splattered up Max’s bare shins and across his chest and stomach like a Jackson Pollock painting.
“Oh my god.” I stare at the destruction, gaze drifting over what’s left of the cake.
Weeks. I’d spent weeks practicing that cake. Weeks of testing recipes, practicing buttercream application, carefully piping flowers. Weeks of dreaming about winning Frosting Queen and finally getting out of this town.
“No.” The whisper barely escapes my lips. “No.”
Tears burns my eyes. I blink hard, willing them not to fall.
“I’m—” My voice shakes so badly I have to swallow before I can force the words out. “I amsosorry.”
“Oh my goodness, Max!” Candi gasps with enough theatrical concern to earn herself an award. One hand flies to her chest while the other reaches toward the disaster at my knees without actually touching any of it. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll find something to clean this up. You don’t move a muscle.”
Before either of us can answer, she glides past him and disappears into the kitchen like she’s lived here for years.
“It’s okay,” he says, setting the basket down on the floor and dropping into a crouch beside me. “Really. It’s just a cake.”
Just a cake.
The words form a vice around my heart.
“But it isn’t,” I manage.
It’s every tiny hope I’d poured into believing this year might finally be different.
“Lila.” His voice softens. “Hey, look at me.”
But I can’t. If I do, I’ll burst into tears, and Candi doesn’t get any more of those.
