Dylan’s eyes go round, her cheeks lifting.
Juls glares around the room, remaining silent, seemingly pissed, until her shoulders start shaking and she covers her mouth. “I know. God, I know,” she giggles, shaking her head. “He would be so miserable. I don’t know why he keeps suggesting it. My man is crazy high maintenance, but I don’t care. He’s so sexy, isn’t he?”
“No comment. We’re practically related.” I shuffle over to the shelf to grab some cupcake liners.
Juls glances down at her watch. “Oo, I gotta go. Hey, dinner this Friday, right?”
I give her a thumbs up.
She quickly says her goodbyes, bending down to speak softly to Dylan’s belly before she slips out the front door. I grab the two mixers and set them on the worktop. The bakery officially opens, and Joey disappears upfront, while Dylan slides some of the ingredients in front of her and begins making her own batch of cupcakes.
As my batter is mixing, I hit the button on my phone and light up my screen again. It’s possible that my text alert function is on the fritz. Maybe I missed something from Mason.
I note the time, and the pink glittered wallpaper set for my lock screen.
No messages.
I check the ring volume before pushing my phone aside and focusing on work.
At least until the cupcakes go in the oven.
Strolling up front after cleaning up the mess, I stand at the window and peer across the street, standing on my toes to see above the occasional car. I can feel Joey’s eyes on me.
“I’m surprised he hasn’t stopped in yet,” he proclaims, echoing my exact thoughts.
I chew on my thumb nail, jerking my shoulder as I strain to see through his large studio window. The distance and projection of the sun make that impossible. His entire studio front is washed out by the glare.
“He canceled classes so we could go camping. Maybe he’s squeezing them all in today to make up for it. He texted me earlier.”
And it was weird.
I push that thought out of my head.
It wasn’t weird, he was busy. He’s allowed to be busy.
He’s just really fucking busy.
I repeat this same rational justification for Mason’s nonexistence today as the hours pass. I repeat it so much that it seems to transfer into my own reality.
After the cupcake order is picked up, a frantic mother rushes into the shop in tears because she forgot to order her son’s birthday cake last week. She needs it by five-thirty tonight for his party. Doable, until the woman explains what exactly her son is requesting for his fourth birthday.
An elaborate Old McDonald style cake with a tall red barn and at least five of his favorite animals.
Have I mentioned how much I hate working with fondant? It’s the devil.
Dylan and Joey exchange worried looks as the woman waits anxiously for the verdict. I can tell which way this decision is leaning, and no child should be disappointed on their birthday. Even little Timmy, or whatever the Hell this kid’s name is, who had to go all out for his big day. We should at least attempt this.
“I think we can knock this out,” I say, earning a leery look from Dylan. “What?” I mouth.
The woman pulls me into a grateful hug.
Dylan smiles at me, telling her there is no guarantee, and that she needs to be prepared to settle on birthday cupcakes in case this doesn’t work out.
She agrees. “Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you so much!” And rushes out of the shop.
We immediately get to work.