“Slow,” I agree. Wes shakes his head.
“Oh. Hoped things would pick up after all that television hullaballoo.”
Wes means Park Avenue Princess, the reality TV show that filmed in our hometown about forty miles north last year. Pixie, the princess in question, almost got hitched to her rock star boyfriend--and I was supposed to supply the cake. But the wedding never happened. Pixie fell for the wedding planner’s dashing assistant instead. Though I saw a small spike in business right around the time their tasting aired, I never got my grand unveiling: the twelve tiered monstrosity of double-chocolate bourbon I’d crafted especially with rock star Clyde Kincaid in mind. Their cake smash was supposed to by my moment in the limelight! Instead, I still have half that thing taking up space in our deep freezer.
“What can you do?” I say, forcing a cheerful shrug. I don’t like to let people know that I’m struggling, especially not my high school ex. He doesn’t need to know that I’m barely in the black most months.
“I’ll tell you what I can do,” Wes says, and he pulls out his wallet. “I can order a few cupcakes from you--”
“Wes,” I say, doing my best not to cringe. It feels weird to take money from him. For one thing, he’s a cop, and they usually eat free in my shop. For another, I once gave him a handjob on a science class field trip. What can I say? We were in a planetarium. It was dark. Stars are sexy.
But Wes won’t take no for an answer. “No, no. They’re not for me. They’re for Camille’s soccer fundraiser. We’ll need six dozen, black and gold icing. I want them to say ‘Go Poodle Moths’ on them, and if you can draw a poodle moth, too, that’d be great. The kids would love that.”
I stare at him a minute, hoping he’s joking. But then he gives me his best cop-glower.
“What are you waiting for?”
Hastily, I reach for a pad and begin jotting down Wes’ order. “Black and yellow, you said?”
“No, black and gold.”
I do my best not to roll my eyes. I’d forgotten why Wes and I had broken up. He always seems so sweet in my memories, like a Floridian Clark Kent with manners and muscles to match. But he can also be a real prick sometimes.
“When do you need them by?”
“Tonight before I head back up to Pelican Key. Don’t want to have to be driving down the Overseas Highway at the asscrack of dawn tomorrow before Camille’s meet just to pick up some cupcakes.”
Wes chuckles again, like he’s made a real clever joke. But I only glance at the Felix the Cat clock that hangs by the door. It’s almost three--just two hours until closing. We’ll have to work fast, but I’m not about to turn away an order for six dozen cupcakes.
“Sure!” I say cheerfully. I ring him up. Wes pays, then slips a single into the tip jar with a wink.
“See you at five,” he says, then lets out a low, tuneless whistle as he saunters out the door, the bell jingling behind him.
There’s a moment’s silence before Summer’s voice lifts up from the back, dry, as always.
“What the fuck’s a poodle moth ?” she asks.
#
By some miracle, Summer and I pull everything together. She googles poodle moths on her phone (terrifying creatures, like something from the Island of Dr. Moreau), I whip up some chocolate raspberry batter that’s sure to please the pickiest eater on Camille’s team, we get to baking and cooling and icing and spraying gold frosting spray all over the store. By the time Wes has returned, we’re just boxing up the last of the cupcakes. Summer looks dirty, tired, and gold at the edges. I’m sure I don’t look much better. But Wes is smiling broader at me than he ever did on prom night. I guess some things beat even motel room cherry popping--like making your kid happy.
“Camille will love these. Thanks, Jules,” he says. I tell him it’s nothing and usher him from the store.
“I’m going to go home,” Summer says. She doesn’t even offer to help clean up, but then, she never does. “Put on some pajamas, drink some whiskey, have nightmares about those poodle . . . things.”
“Sweet dreams,” I tell her, waving her out. Honestly, I can’t wait for her to leave. It’s not that I mind Summer’s company. She’s sparkling, as always. Tonight, you might even say she glitters. But once I get the store locked up, I can sit back down at my laptop in peace to finish my conversation with cupcakecasanova.