Breaker: Love how supportive you two are.
JP: If anything, we’re here for you, bro.
Breaker: Yeah, I can tell.
Huxley: What did you say?
Breaker: Oh, pretty much everything besides I love you, and I wish you were mine. Just skirted around all of that. Her responses showed clear confusion, for obvious reasons, and now I have to get myself together to go taste cake with her and her soon-to-be mother-in-law because the fight she got into with Brian last night clearly wasn’t bad enough for her to warrant calling off the wedding.
JP: Sounds like the seventh circle of hell.
Breaker: Pretty much.
Huxley: Are you going to mention the texts?
Breaker: Should I? Or should I just act normal, as if nothing happened?
JP: I would go with the nothing happened. Don’t bring attention to your stupidity. She has enough stupid to deal with when it comes to Brian.
Huxley: I don’t tend to agree with JP very often, but I would have to say he’s probably right on this one. Just act like everything is normal.
Breaker: And what happens when I see her, and all I want to do is reach out and kiss her?
JP: Uh, remember consent is a real thing.
Huxley: You can’t just kiss women without them saying yes, so there you go. Avoid the lawsuit. We already have one we’re dealing with.
Breaker: Thanks for the reminder. Okay, I have to get going. Not going to mention the texts, not going to kiss her, and I’m going to act like everything is normal.
JP: Best plan of action.
Huxley: Still going to wait on the texts from last night.
Breaker: Hux, you’re starting to sound like JP.
JP: Can’t say that’s a bad thing.
I stand, take one last sip of my coffee, and then go back to my bathroom where I brush my teeth and then rinse with mouthwash as well. I check myself in the mirror one last time and then head toward my front door just as there’s a knock on it.
Right on time.
I muster up a smile, open the door, and say, “Morning, Lia,” in the cheeriest, non-awkward, nothing happened at all tones.
Dressed in a purple pair of shorts and a white lace top, she has styled her hair half up and half down, pulling the front strands away from her face, which emphasizes her gorgeous green eyes.
Fuck, she’s so beautiful.
“Hey,” she says shyly. I need to drive our conversation right past last night’s awkward texts and straight into denial, acting like it never happened.
“Are you ready to go?” I ask while I pat my stomach. “It might be early, but I held off breakfast so I can take down some cake.”
Actually, eating cake is the last freaking thing on my list at the moment since I still have a touch of booze belly, but we make sacrifices for the ones we love, right?
“Uh, yeah. I didn’t eat breakfast either.”
“Two peas in a pod, aren’t we?” I loop my arm around her, shut my door behind me, and walk her toward the elevator. From the confused look on her face, I might need to tone down the chipper attitude a bit. I hit the down button and stick my hand in my pocket. “Get a good sleep?” I ask, not sure what else to say.
“Not really,” she says.
“No? Were you thinking too much about what flavor The Beave will force you to get? My guess, something boring like vanilla on vanilla.”
She glances up at me while the elevator doors open. I can sense her confusion and her desire to talk about last night, but like I said, we’re plowing ahead. No need to dwell on the past and things I might have said under the influence.
Denial.
Denial.
Denial.
“So what do you think the flavor will be?”
We ride the elevator down as she says, “Uh, well . . . you’re probably right. Vanilla on vanilla.”
“But we’re going to fuck up that idea, aren’t we?” I wink at her.
“Yeah, I guess we are.”
“That’s the spirit.” We step off the elevator and walk toward my car. “Now, there’s one thing we need to talk about before we arrive at the bakery.” I open the passenger car door for her and say, “Where do we stand on red velvet? We’re both huge fans, but is it crazy enough to drive her nuts?”
The smallest of smirks pulls at her lips. “I don’t think so. We might have to ask for the cotton candy flavor.”
She steps up to the car, and I grab her hand to help her into her seat. For the briefest of moments, her eyes fall to our connected hands before they fall back on mine.
“That’s my girl,” I say. “Cotton candy, all day, every day.”
“Ah, Breaker. I wasn’t sure you needed to be here with us during the cake testing as well,” The Beave says, her nose surprisingly stuck up in the air much more today.
“Oh yeah, I’ll be here for everything. Plus, it’s cake. Can’t miss a chance for some free samples.”
On the drive over, Lia and I denied everything from last night beautifully and instead, spoke about many, many, and I mean many cake flavors that could throw The Beave into an absolute fit. It was as if we found a topic that we could exploit and ran with it.
“Very well.” The Beave pulls her lightweight jacket that matches her skirt together. “Shall we head in?”
“We shall,” I say, which causes Lia to chuckle.
I hold the door open for them and then slide in behind Lia, where I poke her in the side and then whisper in her ear, “Don’t laugh at me, or The Beave will know we’re in cahoots.”
“Pretty sure it’s too late for that,” she says just as the baker greets us.
“Mrs. Beaver, thank you so much for joining us today.”
“Of course.” She gestures to Lia and says, “This is Ophelia, the bride, and this is her friend, Breaker Cane.”
“Hello, it’s very nice to meet you.”
The door opens behind us, and I turn around just in time to see Brian walk into the bakery. From the mere sight of his punchable face, my irritation rises. What the fuck is he doing here?
“Ah, there you are, sweetheart,” The Beave says.
“Brian,” Lia says, startled. “What, uh, what are you doing here?”
“I was able to move a few meetings around. Couldn’t miss the cake testing.” He leans in, grabs her by the back of her neck, and kisses her on the lips. When he releases Lia, he turns toward me, pats me on the shoulder, and says, “Hey, man. I got it from here. You can take off.”
Uhhh . . .
I glance at Lia, hoping she doesn’t agree with this decision, and to my luck, she says, “No, Breaker can stay. I’d love to have his opinion still.”
Thank fuck for that.
“Okay, sure. The more, the merrier,” Brian says with a smile that reads fake.
That’s right, you motherfucker. As if he can just fucking waltz on in here and act like he’s the doting fiancé.
Sure, it’s a cake testing for his wedding, but he’s acting like he’s been at every meeting, and he hasn’t. The more, the merrier . . . he can fuck off with that.
“Well, then, why don’t you four take a seat, and I’ll get the samples ready for presentation? I’ll be out shortly. In the meantime, can I have my assistant grab anyone champagne?”
“Please,” The Beave says. “One for everyone.”