Love Takes the Cake

by Betsy St. Amant

  Charlotte began edging her sampler tray away from the now hysterical bride. “So, um, I guess you probably don’t want to sample the mint—”

  Brittany’s wails heightened in both volume and intensity.

  Nope. No mint.

  “Honey?” Adam gently pushed Brittany away from his chest. Charlotte plucked a napkin from the dispenser and handed it to him over the counter. He began mopping her face, mascara smearing across the white paper. “I think I have a solution.”

  “Don’t say vanilla. Don’t you dare say vanilla.” Her shoulders shook with silent cries as she snatched the napkin from him and continued rubbing at her eyes until she morphed into a raccoon.

  “No, no. No vanilla.” Adam pulled her back into a hug, rolling his eyes over her head at Will. “You’re under a lot of stress. Wedding planning is rough.”

  Brittany nodded into his chest, her words muffled. “People just have no idea.”

  Charlotte understood the eye roll, now. How did this guy do it? Forget Bridezilla. This girl was Bridasaurus Rex. She could scare the garters off Bridezilla.

  “May I make a suggestion?”

  Three pairs of eyes drilled into hers. Two hopeful, one doubtful.

  She cleared her throat. “We could layer flavors into one cake, if that helps make the decision less . . . daunting.” She fought to keep a serious expression. “That way you wouldn’t have to commit to just one.”

  Brittany looked up at Adam in confusion, as if unsure how to respond to the crazy cake lady with the horrible ideas.

  Charlotte held up both hands in surrender. “Never mind. Just a suggestion.”

  “It’s not a bad idea.” Will spoke up, finally, a voice of reason from the madness.

  “Are you kidding me? That just makes it even harder. Which flavors do I layer? How many layers? Which ones will complement and which ones will just end up tasting like—” Brittany’s voice cracked again.

  Adam rocked her slowly side to side as he spoke. “Babe, I think you need to take a step back. Delegate a little.”

  “Delegate?” She looked up and sniffed. “You mean, tell other people what to do?”

  He smiled. “That’s your favorite thing, right?”

  Will snorted, then covered it quickly with a cough. Charlotte shot him a look. That was it. Forget word of mouth and new business. She just wanted all of these crazy, nonsingle people to get out of her shop and leave her alone with the petit fours.

  Julie wouldn’t believe what she’d missed.

  “You should delegate some of the planning responsibilities.” Adam’s words rambled faster now, almost mechanically, as if he’d memorized a script. Or maybe he just had a lot of experience talking his would-be bride off the ledge. “You should focus your efforts and attention on the things that matter most. Like your dress and your vows.”

  Brittany perked up considerably. “And the flowers.”

  “Exactly.” Adam nodded. “And leave all the boring, overwhelming stuff like choosing the cake to someone else.”

  “But there’s more than just the wedding cake to pick out.” Brittany looked at Charlotte for the first time in ten minutes. “We’ll need desserts for the engagement party and the wedding shower next month. And maybe the rehearsal dinner.”

  Wait a minute. That was a lot of business. Charlotte straightened. She might even be able to deal with a little B-Rex if it meant dessert-catering a wedding and multiple parties. After all, she needed to start saving for Christmas presents soon, and she still owed the hospital from when they’d taken out Zoe’s tonsils.

  Brittany’s hysterics rallied for round two. “But I can’t just abandon—”

  “Stop. It’s not abandoning.” Adam held up one hand. “Just think of it as getting to tell people what to do three times.”

  Brittany's mouth opened, then shut, as if even she realized she couldn’t argue with that. “Okay. But who would do it? Who would pick all this out for us?”

  Adam turned toward Will.

  Charlotte didn’t know a lot about hunting, but she saw, right now, right here in her bakery, a ten-point buck caught in the crosshairs. Will’s eyes widened. He stepped backward, arms raised in surrender, shaking his head. “No way. Don’t even think about it.”

  “Oh, come on. You’d be perfect. You’re already in this place, like, what, once a week?” Adam gestured wildly around the bakery. “You know. For Melissa.”

  It was Will’s turn to glare and Brittany’s turn to sweeten it up. “Yeah, Will, and we all know you like to eat. You’d make great choices.”

  There again with the double insult-compliment in one. The girl should audition for the role of a Disney villain.

  Will’s hands went to his stomach—his totally flat stomach, that no doubt boasted a six-pack of abs under that shirt. “Me? Why me?”

  “Because you have good taste in food, and you’re the best man.” Adam clapped his hand on Will’s shoulder and whispered, “And besides, choosing a wedding cake won’t make you certifiably crazy.”

  Brittany’s head snapped back to Adam. “What’d you say?”

  He backpedaled quickly. Again, probably not his first rodeo. “I said, Will wouldn’t be lazy. In getting all this planned out. You know Will.” Adam patted Will’s shoulder again. “He used to be in the military. The dude thrives on a schedule. He’ll get all this taken care of in no time.”

  “Right. No time. As in, not at all.” Will ran a hand over his five o’clock stubble. “No way, guys.”

  Adam’s voice lowered an octave, and the humor fled his tone. “You know Melissa would think you should do it.”

  Will glared at Adam. “Fine. As your best man . . . I’ll do it.”

  Brittany squealed. Adam slapped him a high five, and Will sighed like a man heading toward a frosted guillotine.

  Charlotte plastered on a smile as she tried to dissect the emotions coursing through her body. Relief. Trepidation. New business—that was a good thing. And Brideasaurus Rex was now out of the picture—also a very good thing. Besides, she’d get to work with Will from here forward—

  Yeah, that. Maybe not such a good thing.

  She drew a tight breath. Regardless of how she felt, facts were facts. She’d been handed a lucrative baking contract on a silver platter . . .

  Along with the opportunity to prove to herself that she had what it took to resist the wiles of handsome, charming—and unavailable—men.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that.” Will waited until the bakery door swung shut behind Adam and his crazy fiancée before he apologized to Charlotte, who now leaned against the counter as if it were the sole thing keeping her on her feet.

  Not surprising. In the six months since Adam proposed, he had seen Brittany lay out enough emotion for ten brides. Just watching her was completely exhausting. “I warned you a minute ago that you might regret meeting me.”

  Of course, that was when he thought he was simply apologizing in advance for Brittany’s erratic behavior. Now he’d been shanghaied into this wedding cake task for his best friend’s wedding. A wedding he barely had time to even attend, much less perform a starring role in.

  But he and Adam went way back, and if he’d learned one thing from his time in the army, it was that duty ruled. He owed it to his friend to be at his side during his wedding.

  After that, the dude was on his own.

  Will shuddered at the idea of being stuck with someone like Brittany, day in and day out. No thanks. He’d been with his share of selfish, vain girls over the years, living the illusive frat-boy dream, and he was done with that life. Melissa had seen to that. He sobered immediately at the thought of her.

  Charlotte smiled, as sweetly as always, her cheeks a rosy pink. In fact, they were always pink, as if permanently flushed from the warmth of the bakery. The sight of it melted a bit of his stress. “No worries.” She shrugged. “It’s good business.”

  Business. Right. He should remember that’s all it was, too, though something about Charlotte’
s electric blue eyes and chestnut-brown hair made him want more snickerdoodles. As in, every day, til death do us part.

  He shook his head as the phrase took hold in his mind. He’d apparently been around Adam and Brittany’s wedding planning way too long. He was not the marrying type. They hadn’t called him Free Willy all through college for nothing.

  It was still true. Just now for an entirely different reason.

  He winced. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

  She shrugged. “I deal with difficult brides all the time, it’s nothing new.”

  Oh. He meant his strong reaction to Charlotte, but yeah, that too. He struggled to clear his head. The scent of cinnamon and sugar was getting to him, making him soft. He didn’t have time for anyone, even someone as sweet as Charlotte. He had more duties than just Adam’s wedding to attend to, and he wouldn’t make the mistake of putting Melissa last—ever again.

  In fact, he should probably get moving. She’d be expecting her cookies.

  “I’d better go.” He took the bakery box from the counter and then held up his left wrist bearing his favorite waterproof watch. “But I’ll be back.”

  “Right. Next Tuesday, at 5:40?” Charlotte stopped, her pink cheeks now a fiery crimson.

  She knew his schedule. Habit from the military—he liked patterns and routine—but he never thought she’d notice. “No, actually, I meant sooner. To discuss the cakes and whatever else Brittany wants for all these wedding parties.” He never understood the point of showers, anyway. Didn’t people just bring gifts to the actual ceremony?

  Melissa had never made it to hers. He tightened his grip on the box.

  “Oh, of course.” Charlotte, still crimson-faced, nodded furiously. “Right. Sooner, then. Tomorrow, maybe?”

  Tomorrow. He’d promised Melissa he’d take her out, but maybe he could come by afterward. It had to get done, like it or not. Brittany would kill him otherwise—and after surviving ten years of service including several year-long deployments, he really didn’t want to go out because of a five-foot-two woman with a grudge.

  Still, the prospect of working with Charlotte made the whole dessert-planning responsibility seem like much less of a chore.

  “Tomorrow sounds good.” Too good, unfortunately. He didn’t have time for this. Didn’t have the right to enjoy it.

  But he did a little bit, anyway.

  “So tell me. How did buying snickerdoodles turn you into a wedding planner?” Melissa shook her head—silky dark hair swinging below her chin—and laughed, that easy, musical laughter that used to come so easily. The laugh reminiscent of a few years ago, before life got so complicated. Before everything changed because of one rainy night and one bad decision on his part.

  Will reached forward and tucked the blanket tighter around Melissa’s feet, covering her toes that peeked out from under the edge of the fringed quilt. Sitting with her here, both of them on the couch, surrounded by pillows and snacks, almost made him forget she was paralyzed.

  Almost.

  The wheelchair by the edge of the sofa was a stark reminder, as was the lower placement of the light switches on the wall and the ramp he’d built to the front door.

  “Not the wedding.” Knock on wood. Just let Adam get that idea next. He definitely didn’t need his best friend getting any crazy matchmaking schemes. “Only the wedding cake.” And the other prewedding events, which apparently involved even more desserts, but he wouldn’t think of all that yet. Charlotte could help figure that out . . .

  “You know the cake is like the secondary star of the show, right? Next to the dress.” Melissa nibbled another bite of her cookie, then pulled it away and studied it. “Are you trying to make me fat, by the way? It’s not like I can go jog this puppy off my hips.”

  She grinned, her bright green eyes twinkling, but Will was reminded once again that her handicap still bothered him a lot more than it bothered her.

  But that’s because she didn’t have the guilt of it weighing on her shoulders, a constant shadow by day and heavy ache by night. He shifted on the couch, simultaneously glad she could joke about it but wishing she wouldn’t. It was awkward. It hurt.

  He couldn’t fix it.

  Growing up, he’d fixed all of Melissa’s problems. That’s what a big brother should do. Broken doll? Superglue. Friend mad at her? Make prank phone calls. Boyfriend trouble? Fistfight in the parking lot. It was always easy.

  But this . . .

  He tried to shake it off. “Whatever. You weigh, what? A hundred and ten pounds? Your weekly snickerdoodles aren’t going to hurt.” His sister was tiny. He’d always been able to throw her over his shoulder whenever he wanted.

  Well, until the last two years, anyway.

  “Will. Come on, now. Stop it.” Melissa’s voice, so much like their late mother’s, softly pulled him back from the brink. “I think this wedding will be good for you. You need to do . . . stuff. Things. Anything, really.” She reached over and squeezed his hand, just like she did that time they went to the state fair when she was five and she was afraid she’d get lost. Like she did during that scary movie he’d talked her into seeing in the theater six Halloweens ago. Like she did at their mother’s funeral.

  Like she’d done when he stood by her hospital bed after the accident.

  “You’re turning into a hermit.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “And it’s not flattering.”

  “Hey now, enough with the insults.” But inside, he was just grateful she still had a sense of humor. She could call him anything she wanted and he’d embroider it on a pillow. What Melissa wanted, Melissa got. It was his job to see that happen.

  Which was precisely why he didn’t have time for this wedding, or anything else that didn’t involve paying the bills and making sure Melissa had everything she needed.

  “Maybe not a hermit. But you’re heading toward antisocial at best. It’s not healthy.” She settled back against her nest of pillows. “You don’t even work anymore. Besides part-time personal training.”

  “I just do that to kill time until I decide what’s next.” Will had cut back to reserves after Melissa’s accident, so he could be around when she needed him. Thankfully, he’d been wise with his finances over the years and had been blessed with some good moves in the stock market. He could afford to take a breath for right now.

  “It’s time for next, Will.” Her eyes dared him to argue, and he wouldn’t. But inside, he was yelling protests. It wasn’t her decision to make. He wasn’t ready.

  “You’ve given up all your hobbies besides working out too.”

  “No, I haven’t.” Man, when did cookie time turn into lecture time? “I still watch movies with you. And watch you make those crafty thingies you sell online. And I run.” He straightened, shoving his hair back, then smoothing it flat again. He couldn’t get too agitated. This was Melissa. She’d see right through it, anyway.

  “Like I said, besides working out or wasting time being lazy with me.” She tilted her head. “When was the last time you went hunting? Or cooked?”

  “Spaghetti—for you—two nights ago. Was it that forgettable?”

  Melissa snorted. “I mean really cooked. Your famous gumbo recipe, for example. Or that barbeque quiche you made for Mother’s Day a few years ago. Or that awesome fried mac and cheese you used to make on my birthday.”

  It was pretty awesome. He even put bacon in it—and ground venison. But he couldn’t cook anymore. It reminded him of his life before the accident, before everything changed forever. Reminded him of Mom.

  Of how he’d failed them both.

  “I don’t have time right now for any of that.” Straight-up lie. He had nothing but time.

  Thankfully, Melissa got the hint and didn’t push it any further. “Well, who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone at Adam’s wedding.” She wiggled her eyebrows up and down in anticipation, and Will’s stomach tightened. He’d rather go back to the previous lecture than start this particular new one.

  “You k
now that’s not going to happen.” An image of Charlotte in her apron flashed through his mind, and he shook his head to clear it. No. It wouldn’t happen. Couldn’t.

  Melissa snorted. “You might be a hermit, but you’re still good-looking. It’ll happen eventually.”

  He smiled to pacify her, but no. He couldn’t take any more time away from his sister. And what woman would understand his responsibility toward her? A girlfriend, or wife, was just a complicated mess waiting to happen. His duty was here.

  Always the baker, never the bride.

  She ought to needlepoint that and hang it on the wall.

  “Mommy?”

  Her five-year-old daughter’s tiny voice barely registered above the electronic beeping of her handheld game. Zoe accompanied her to The Dough Knot every Saturday morning and alternated between “helping” mix batter, playing games, and reading books under the high stainless-steel counter in the kitchen.

  Right now, though, she sat at one of the tables in the vacant dining area, driving Charlotte semicrazy with her endless random questions. The elderly couple who had just left with their weekend brownies had found it adorable.

  Charlotte half wished she could ask them to babysit.

  “Yes, Zoe?” She tried to keep the impatience out of her tone. Usually, Charlotte loved their weekends together, but this particular Saturday was different.

  She turned from putting the last few rose petals on the layered strawberry cake she had baked that morning, already boxed up for delivery. If she had a dime for every fake flower petal she had ever created out of icing or fondant, she could probably fund her own wedding.

  Not that there was a groom in sight.

  Zoe’s voice finally registered through her drifting thoughts. “Mommy, can I have a cookie?”

  “Have you already had one today?” She couldn’t remember in the Saturday rush if she’d given one to Zoe with her ham sandwich for lunch.

  “No.”