I suppose there’s a bright side to sweating my ass off standing here. If the bride hates the cake, it’ll probably end up melting before she cuts into it anyway.
I’m doing this delivery alone. I wanted it this way, until last night when I cried to Mason and begged him to cancel his classes this morning so he could be here to support me. I took it back immediately when it actually occurred to me that he would do that.
I won’t have him missing anymore classes because of me. He’s missed enough.
Turning my head, I glance at the cake on the table beside me as I wait for the bride. To my standards, I think it looks . . . okay. Maybe better than okay, but I’m not the one getting married.
Yet.
My thumb twists the engagement ring around my finger.
The flowers look as realistic as I was able to get them. The icing is flawless. This morning when I snapped a picture of the finished product and sent it to Dylan she called me and squealed in my ear.
I begged her to stop. Reese really begged her to stop. She still has another week to go before Blake is due to arrive and if she goes into early labor because of me, I might as well pack up my apron.
Reese will fire me himself.
As I’m looking up the stairway leading to the bridal suite, my phone beeps in my back pocket. I slide it out and read the message.
Mason: How’s it going, sweetheart? You doing okay?
A door closes at the top of the stairs. I glance up and see the bride and a woman walking with her in my direction. I look down and quickly type my response.
Me: I’ll let you know in a minute.
I tuck my phone away. Standing beside the table, I clasp my hands in front of me and concentrate on remembering to breathe. It’s a challenging task, and one I might benefit from disregarding.
Passing out right now does have it’s allure. I’ll miss the rejection.
The bride gasps, raising a hand to her mouth when she gets halfway down the stairs. Her eyes glued to the cake.
I don’t know what to do. I debate on giving this disaster a right shove and fleeing out the doors behind me.
“Oh, my God. Look at it, Mom!” She hurries down the remaining steps and stops in front of the table. She fans her face. “Shit! I’m going to cry. I can’t cry.” She cuts me a look. “Don’t make me cry!”
“Okay? Um . . .” I gesture at the cake. I pray I don’t vomit all over it. “I’m s-so sorry. The flowers weren’t the easiest for me, but I’m very certain it takes good. It’s at least edible.”
“What?” she laughs, moving quickly and throwing her arms around me. “You’re so funny. I love it!”
“You do?”
“Yes!” She releases me and admires her cake. “The flowers are perfect. They look just like my bouquet, right, Mom?”
The older woman beside her nods. “Absolutely stunning.” She gives me a warm smile. “You have a real talent, young lady.”
I look from the woman, to the bride, then back again. “Um . . . thank you. Dylan, our main baker, is on bedrest so I did this by myself. I was really nervous. I ate some of the practice one I did.”
“It’s perfect. All of it. God, thank you again.” The bride squeezes my hand, then grabs her mother and flees back up the stairs.
I stand there for a moment staring at the cake. My cake.
I did it.
Holy fuck, I did it.
Pressing my hands against my cheeks, I spin around to walk toward the door. A figure halts my steps.
Mason stands in the doorway of the estate house, smiling at me, still in his sleeveless tank and running shorts. His phone in his hand.
I sprint across the marble floor and hurl myself into his arms.
“You’re here! Did you see?” I lean back to see his face, my feet dangling in the air. “She loved it. She thought it was perfect. Even the flowers.”
“They match her bouquet,” he adds, kissing me sweetly.
“You saw.” I squeeze him tighter. “What are you doing here? What about your class?”
He puts me down and walks me outside, resting his hand on my lower back.
“I don’t have any until this afternoon.”