Courtship of the Cake

by Jessica Topper

  Sure enough, nestled under the pillows had been the small white box holding her slice of groom’s cake.

  Had she dreamed of me that night?

  Without another word, I pulled the Spiderman cupcakes from the case and began to box them for transport in clear, plastic clamshell containers. Feeling Dani so close, knowing she was watching me, gave me the shakes worse than any hangover or sugar high could.

  “If every dessert has a story behind it, what’s with the dozen Spidermen?”

  “Nash’s son is turning ten today.” I crimped the tops shut and threw a sideways glance her way. “He did tell you he has a kid, right?”

  “Of course I know about Logan.” Dani’s shoulders rose defensively. “But . . .”

  “But he didn’t tell you it was Logan’s birthday today. Because I’ll bet he doesn’t even know.”

  Nash was off his call now, and back within earshot. I finished my task, and grabbed a loaded fruit tart from the case as well. The kids would have their Spidey cakes, and no doubt would love Logan’s lumpy boxed-mix creation. He had only let me help so much, and so its resulting surface was like the craters of the moon. The adult guests would probably appreciate an alternative.

  And I had the feeling I had just invited two more.

  Quinn was going to string me up in the orchard, pie me with the fruit tart, and let the turkey vultures come peck my eyes out.

  “Did you hear that, Nash? What great timing—your off-road time happened to fall during Logan’s birthday. How awesome!” Dani enthused, but the look she channeled toward him was anything but awesome. She was clearly embarrassed for him.

  Nash had everything now. Hit songs, a huge following, money in the bank. And that was on top of his golden boy looks and what some might call charm. Rock stars of his caliber didn’t have to win girls with the pity card.

  She couldn’t be with him because she felt sorry for him. Could she?

  “That’s a big reason why we, um . . . we came into town a week early, anyway.” Nash was back and fastened at Dani’s side again. She winced under his death grip. “To see the kid! And hey, we even brought him a gift. Perfect! When’s the party?”

  I glanced up at the clock, remembering my words to Quinn earlier. What was supposed to be a quick cake consult had sucked me into a surreal time vacuum. “Pretty much . . . right now.”

  Dani shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Nash’s arm on her shoulder. “Maybe you should call first?” she suggested to him.

  “Yeah,” I laughed. The memory of almost taking down Nash was chuckle-worthy now. “Too many surprises for one day might be a little hazardous for your health.”

  Dani raised a brow at me.

  “I’ll just text Bear.” Nash reached for his phone again.

  Of course. Leave Bear to do the dirty work. My laugh dried up in my throat. Wasn’t that always the case? Nash taking the easy way out. Or Nash just taking, period.

  “Well,” I said loudly, clapping my palms together. “Sorry we didn’t have time for a full cake consult. Next time you’re in, Danica, we’ll do a tasting.”

  Mmm, there was that blush again. I could mist color across her face just as quick and precise as waving an airbrush across a cake’s perfect surface. Nash was too absorbed in his phone to pick up on my double entendre or her reaction to it.

  “Not necessary,” she stammered.

  “I insist. You need a taste before you can really decide.”

  “No need,” she said stubbornly. “I’ve already made up my mind.” Her eyes were cool, shallow pools, forbidding me to dive too deep. But the silver cake charm at her throat shifted as she swallowed hard.

  “Bear said he’s on his way here,” Nash announced, “And something about driving you back to Mandy Davis’s for your van? Or maybe you’re just going back for another helping of dessert?” He pumped his fists and pivoted his hips to emphasize helping.

  “This,” I said, thrusting the boxed tart toward him, “is dessert. You’re better off not showing up at Quinn’s empty-handed.”

  “Please, Spencer. Does it look like I’m ever empty-handed?” He ignored my offering, choosing instead to snake his arms around Dani’s slim hips from behind and work his fingers into the tiny slits passing for pockets on her low-slung jeans. “Come on, babe,” he murmured against her neck. “Time for you to meet the whole fam-damily.”

  Dani reached for the box in my hands. “I’ll carry it, Mick. And thank you.” She snuggled uneasily against him, eyes never leaving me. “Let’s get this party started.”

  Dani

  SMALL WORLD

  A baker!

  A baker had crashed my sister’s wedding. A baker, living here in a borough of twenty-five hundred people. A baker, who just happened to be best friends with one of the country’s cockiest, rowdiest rock stars . . . aka my fiancé.

  Could the odds get any odder?

  Nash didn’t say another word until we were back in the car. But the second he turned the key in the ignition, he turned on me. “Could you have at least pretended to be attracted to me?”

  “Nash, I—”

  “You barely touched me. Or laughed at my jokes.”

  “Oh, was I supposed to giggle and fondle you while you and your buddy compared the notches in your belt?” I smarted, remembering Mick’s player comments and who taught whom. “Why didn’t you just hire one of your groupies then, if that’s what you wanted?”

  “You know why!” He slammed his palm on the steering wheel. Anguish thickened his voice. “You know!” Clearing his throat, he added, “I can’t have you getting cold feet right now, Dani.”

  My feet wanted to burn a trail right back up to the Night Kitchen’s door. I wanted to demand more answers. But there was no going back now. I needed to stay in the here and now, and help Nash.

  “It’s going to get easier,” I said resolutely.

  “For you, maybe.”

  I realized too late the folly of my words. Things were going to get worse for Nash before they would get better.

  “One down,” he muttered. “Too many more to go.” His arms folded across the top of the steering wheel, and he dropped his head to rest on them. “Spencer was one of my closest friends. I thought it would be easy with him.”

  “You’re doing great, Nash.” I tentatively touched the back of his neck, feeling the tension corded in his muscles.

  “How could I have not known it was the kid’s birthday?”

  “Sweetie, I’ve only been on tour for one summer, and I can’t even keep my days of the week straight. How long have you been at this?”

  He slowly sat upright, arching against my hand like a cat. “Ten years,” he whispered.

  “Well, you know the old saying ‘today’s the first day of the rest of your life,’ right? So let it be the day you start remembering the little things. Like his birthday. And his favorite color. And whether he’s afraid of the dark.”

  “Those are huge things. I’ve missed out on so much. I never got to . . . sing him to sleep, you know? Didn’t get to hear his first words. Hell, I don’t even know his middle name. Quinn never even sent me a picture.”

  “Did you ever ask for one?”

  Nash gave me a long look as my answer. Then he swung the car over the double yellow line and gunned it up the hill, down a side street, and across a small one-lane bridge. I marveled at the fact that he had probably clocked a hundred thousand miles on the road since leaving New Hope, and yet he still remembered his way back.

  Then again, he had probably memorized his escape route a long time ago. And coming home was just reversing it.

  You’ve got to go through it, darlin’. Not around it.

  • • •

  Posy and I had a marathon texting session as Nash navigated the back roads.

  Did the NOPD rule out an inside job?

 
Seriously, Dani? Should I start charging you by the hour? If you need a good headshrinking, I have plenty of colleagues I could recommend.

  Just tell me.

  I knew the police had found the birdcage, dented and empty in the back alley behind the wedding venue. They’d worked the case for several more months before closing it cold. My phone went dark for a moment before lighting up with bubble after bubble. The texting equivalent to Posy’s usual mile-a-minute Long Island banter.

  Every employee on staff that night was questioned and released. No one attempted to cash any of the checks; it was all just for the cash. A couple was seen in the video leaving through the back door, pushing a baby carriage. Since we had an adults-only reception, that ruled out any guest involvement, too. Coulda been a baby in there. Coulda been the birdcage. They probably strolled in off the street and got away lucky, Dani. NOPD labeled it a random, unfortunate, unsolved incident. So yes. They ruled out inside involvement.

  Which apparently had ruled out Mick, since he had been employed there. I wondered if Posy knew that.

  I’m more upset that he played you, honestly, than I am about the money now.

  Yep. That answered that.

  Just forget him, D! Go party like a rock star! Live!

  “So what did you think of Mick?” Nash asked, breaking me out of my mobile revelations.

  “Mick seemed . . .” Several words sizzled on my tongue, but I settled. “Nice.”

  “Oh yeah,” Nash snorted. “He’s nice. Sugar and spice and anything to get a slice.”

  “A slice?”

  “You know. Of pie. Snatch. ‘A piece’ doesn’t exactly rhyme,” he muttered. “I can’t believe he hooked up with Mandy Davis.” Nash shook his head. “When this cat’s away, the mouse must play, I guess.”

  The box with the fruit tart weighed heavy in my lap for the rest of the short ride.

  I remembered how my fingers had grazed Mick’s as I had taken the box from his hands, and his thumbs had caressed my palms. One touch from him and my insides turned as gooey as a chocolate lava cake.

  Yeah, I bet he heated those to perfection, too.

  I could just imagine the line of ladies at the bakeshop door, lured in by Mick’s sweetness and lies. Ugh. He probably had a secret back door that led up to some bachelor baker sex den.

  So he hadn’t ruined my sister’s wedding, after all. But Nash Drama’s best friend was certainly no angel.

  “I thought you said they lived on a half acre?” I exclaimed, marveling at the beautifully manicured expanse of lawn as we crunched up the long, graveled driveway. Even with the mammoth house roosting royally in the center, the property seemed to go on forever. There was a tangle of woods in back, and I could see a swift-moving current at each break in the trees.

  “No, it’s just called the Half Acre.” Nash turned to me. “Look, Dani. There’s a lot more that I haven’t told you.”

  Likewise.

  “It’ll keep,” Nash said, reaching for the door handle.

  I twisted the ring he’d given me. It was just loose enough to completely rotate, but tight enough not to just slip off. I still wasn’t used to its weight, and its brilliance never failed to catch me by surprise. I never wore jewelry when I worked on clients, and even after hours it was an afterthought. Except for the cake charm, of course, which I wore as a reminder that bittersweetness lurked between the layers of lust and love.

  As if I needed reminding.

  • • •

  “Can we have all the single ladies out on the dance floor?”

  I winced as the DJ repeated his request. Mick’s arms were twined around my waist as if he had already memorized every curve of my body.

  “You’re being paged.” His lips and his words teased gently against my skin. “No hurry, I’ll be waiting right here.”

  “Are you still single, dear?” My mother caught my arm as I made my way toward where Posy was standing with her wedding cake. “You wouldn’t know it by the way that man has laid claim on you. He’s all but shaken out his shiver train.”

  Leave it to my mother to bring up animal mating rituals in comparison. At least she had gone for the common peacock-feather analogy. Nothing more embarrassing than having your mother wax poetic on the smooth moves of male giraffes (he nudges the female until she pees, then drinks her urine) or the exploding testicles of honeybees.

  “Choo-choo,” I replied, pumping my fist up and down like a railroad engineer. “I will gladly board that train if it’s pulling into the station.” I jumped onto the back of the conga line of single women snaking their way toward Posy.

  “Nice of you to join us,” my sister hollered over the predictable Beyoncé “Single Ladies” soundtrack the DJ had decided fit the mood. “I was beginning to wonder.”

  “Whether or not I’m still single?” I joked. “You sound like Mom.”

  “Pat’s worst fear.” Posy laughed. “No, I thought maybe you already left with Bachelor Number One.”

  “You mean Only One,” I said, turning and blowing a kiss in his direction. He didn’t do anything cheesy like try to catch it, or rub his cheek. He just slowly brought two fingers up to his lips, pressed them there, and sent one sailing discreetly back.

  “I mean your dance card is usually open-ended, and I want you to be careful.” She gave him the once-over once more. “What’s up with his arms? Think he’s into self-harm?”

  “Can we please not psychoanalyze him and just get this cake pull over with?”

  • • •

  In hindsight, maybe it was my head that really needed examining. Jax thought that my player radar, or my “playdar,” as he liked to call it, had just temporarily malfunctioned that night. But falling for Mick felt more like a critical error . . . and seeing him today made me realize my system still hadn’t recovered.

  Mick

  SLICE OF LIFE

  “Dude. So quiet today,” Bear observed as he drove us up to Mandy Davis’s house on the hill. “Cougar got your tongue?”

  “Jeez. Will you stop with the lame jokes? And for the love of God, don’t tell Nash my business, please.”

  “Come on, Mandy Davis? Total MILF. I gotta live vicariously through you, dude.” Bear gave a wistful smile, but I knew his mind was elsewhere. He’d always had a one-track mind when it came to girls, and there was still only one woman in town for him: Ms. Angie Vega. Even during that brief time when she had been Mrs. Angie Alvarez.

  “See? And here I’m thinking I need to rip a page out of your playbook,” I told him, giving his fist a tap with my own.

  “So . . . aren’t you going to tell me all about her?”

  “Mandy?”

  Bear rolled his eyes. “No, Nash’s lady friend. Gimme the deets, man! The dirt. What’s she like?”

  More beautiful than I remembered. Quieter. Wiser. Sexier. More jaded? A total mystery to me.

  “She’s not what I expected.”

  She’s way too good for him.

  Bear just nodded slowly. I seriously considered the notion that we really did share half a brain, after all.

  “Thanks for the ride, man.” I hopped into my van, sitting lonely now on the circular drive. There had to be hope, I thought, throwing it into drive and heading toward the Half Acre. Yes, she had just walked away from the Night Kitchen with my old best friend’s ring on her finger.

  But she still had that charm around her neck.

  • • •

  Walking through the French Quarter with Dani had been like a festival in itself. She wanted to dance in front of every bar spilling live music onto the street, and kiss under every street lamp that bore a French name. Which, in the Quarter, was almost every one of them. She’d collected more beads than a Mardi Gras float by the time we reached the iron gates of Jackson Square. All the while, she clutched the small, slim box containing a sliver of the groom’s cake, whi
ch I’d snagged from the dessert table for her before we ditched the festivities. And that charm, its long length of ribbon wound around her finger like a reminder, swayed tantalizingly.

  No matter how I sliced it, no pun intended, my life—and even my love life—seemed to revolve around cake.

  “Let’s make love in the park,” she whispered against my mouth, looping beads around both of our necks as I kissed her under the lamp marking Pere Antoine Alley and Rue de Chartres.

  The cool caress of the beads and the touch of her tongue sent a shiver up my spine. Her sense of adventure was a turn-on, but New Orleans at night was a different creature than it was in daylight. The Square was one of my favorite places in the city by day; its low-hanging crooked oak trees reminded me of the Half Acre’s orchard back home. But by nightfall, it struck me as a sad and secretive place, best left to itself.

  “Let’s get you home,” I suggested instead. Her hotel was a quaint terraced town house just a few blocks away.

  “Where’s home for you, Mick?” she asked, tracing the scars up my forearms until she reached the swooping blue bird tattooed there. I had told her earlier why I’d gotten that particular tattoo, following old sailor’s lore that when a swallow was spotted at sea, land couldn’t be far away. I’d felt lost for so long. Losing hope. Castaway.

  Now, with her body pressed tightly to mine, and the ocean of her eyes luring me, I set a course. Straight and narrow, like an arrow to the heart. She felt like home.

  “Anywhere you are,” I said, voice rough, as I took her in my hands and my mouth right there on the curb of the stone-lined street.

  “Then take us both home,” she said, soft and serious. Her cavernous eyes gave and took sanctuary. Liberties. Permission.

  My mouth moved to kiss her neck, mingling with the beads she wore as I tongued her delicate throat and tasted her salty sweetness. I wanted her, possibly more than I had wanted anything in my entire life.

  Definitely more.

  I wanted more.

  Dani