The Cake King (Sugar & Spice Book 1)

by Rosie Chase

  “I’d come over beside the bed, tell you to sit up, and what would you do?”

  I kept my eyes closed, grinned, thought about what I wanted to do. What I would, in the past, have been too closed off or too shy to admit.

  “I’d unzip your jeans. I’d take out that huge dick. I’d stroke it, run my hands up and down it. And then I’d wrap my mouth around the head and give it all the attention it deserves.”

  “Aww, fuck yes, Sam. Fuck me with your mouth.”

  I could hear the faintest squeak of his bed and I grinned.

  “I wanna come in your mouth, Sam. But, I wanna come in that sweet, hot pussy even more.”

  “Yes.”

  “I push you back on the bed. You’re already spread, wide open. Waiting for me.”

  “Yes,” I breathed, sliding my fingers along my wet folds. “I am. I’m so wet for you, Michael.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  I clicked my vibrator on.

  “I climb up onto the bed and kiss you. I kiss you so hard you’re gasping.”

  I was gasping.

  “I run my tongue down that sweet body. Over those bouncy tits and that quivering belly and onto those thighs that are already so wet, already smell so good.”

  I ran my vibrator down the slick opening of my sex and shivered.

  “I kiss that pussy, slide my tongue up and down. Who’s that pussy wet for?”

  “You, Michael,” I groaned. “Oh, God.”

  “That’s right. I lick that clit. Tease it. Suck it.”

  I panted, bucking my hips off the bed in time with his words.

  “And then I pull up, get between those smooth legs, and slide into you. Nice and slow until I fill that pussy all the way up.”

  I moaned, pressed my vibrator to my clit.

  “Oh, fuck me, Michael,” I rasped. “Fuck me hard.”

  “Yeah, you know I will. I’ll give you just what you need.”

  His breath came in short gasps and, my eyes screwed shut, I pictured him. His strong, scarred arms caging me as he drove into me. Over and over. As I imagined the sound of our sexes slapping together, the feel of him filling me up, the feel of my sex tightening around him. Pulling him closer.

  “Oh, God!” I breathed, tumbling off the precipice of our imagined encounter and into a darkness of sheer pleasure. As if I were gold. A treasure on some distant shore. And Michael had found me. Knew me for what I was. Held me close.

  Wouldn’t let me go.

  Distantly, I heard his low moan and I knew he’d come too and I smiled, giddy and serene.

  “Fuck, Sam. That was amazing,” he said.

  “I know,” I replied, still out of breath and just now opening my eyes to the empty room.

  “I miss you,” I sighed, rolling over. I didn’t care that I’d already said it. I needed to hear myself say it again. Needed to know I could.

  “Can I tell you another fantasy I have, Sam?” Michael asked.

  And, somehow, I knew this one wasn’t going to be the naked kind of fantasy. Even I had taken the bus out of Sexy Town and somehow found myself on the rickety bridge to—I hesitated to even admit it—Lovesville.

  “Yeah,” I whispered, all I could manage.

  “I never liked Rome. Or Paris. Or New York. I always fantasized about traveling to these tiny little places… all over the world. Finding these ancient culinary traditions, learning them, learning the people, learning how people make do, how they make life happy when they have so little… So much of that is rooted in food, Sam.”

  “I know.”

  “But I never had anyone to go with me. I always wanted… I always wanted you.”

  I smiled, took a deep breath, closed my eyes. Summoned the truth to my lips.

  “I always wanted you, too,” I said. And the truth tasted so sweet. And so scary. And so real.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Dude, why did you not tell me about Michael?” Rei hollered as she ran down the hall to me the next morning. Someone shouted at her to shut up through their door and I shook my head. That was a fool’s errand if I ever encountered one.

  “What… it was just… did someone hear us?”

  “Hear you—did you have phone sex last night?”

  I opened my mouth but couldn’t find the words for either a confirmation or denial.

  “Oh, you pink haired, dirty little bitch,” she said as she punched the elevator button over and over.

  The doors opened and an elderly couple was standing there with their luggage, probably on their way to catch an early flight home. Rei was not deterred.

  “Holy shit,” she said. “I’m gonna put a pin in that because I need all the details, my friend. But, no, what I meant was… this—”

  She opened her phone and handed it to me. There was an article from The Sugar Beet and the headline, “Cake King Delights In Mountain Soul Food.” I squinted at the headline and scrolled down… to a picture of Apple Butter. And Michael. And Michael at Apple Butter. My heart thrummed.

  “I… don’t understand…”

  “Your man saved your ass,” Rei said. “He showed up at Apple Butter and tipped off the press about him being a guest baker there. The place is packed. It’s all over Bakestagram. Here, look—” she closed the article and opened Bakestagram. Her feed was full of pictures of Michael behind the counter of Apple Butter.

  “Holy shit…” I laughed and tears came to my eyes.

  There was Michael eating blackberry cobbler with some of our regulars. Michael whipping up a batch of chocolate chip cookies. Michael with his arm around Nellie’s shoulders as she beamed, her cheeks bright pink.

  I bolted off the elevator.

  “Cover for me,” I said.

  “Promise me I’ll get the filthy, filthy details of your illicit phone sex.”

  “No.”

  “Whatever. I’ll tell Megan you had to take an important call.”

  She was still hip thrusting the air when I headed out the door and onto the patio, flicking my phone open and hitting Michael’s number.

  It rang a few times and then, “Sam? Everything ok?”

  “You’re not in London,” I said, sounding snappier than I meant to.

  He chuckled a little over the sound of the breakfast rush and I heard him go out the back door. I’d recognize that squeaky hinge anywhere. Which meant…

  “You were phone fucking me from my own room last night?” I hissed, pulling out a chair but not sitting in it. I waved a waiter away then called him back and asked for coffee.

  Michael laughed again. And then I laughed too.

  “So… what happened, Michael?”

  “You needed someone to fill in at Apple Butter.”

  “Correct. But I had no idea it would be the fucking Cake King.”

  “I know. But I wanted to do it. I wanted to help this place you love so much. I wanted to… Sam, I wanted to help this woman I love so much.”

  I gulped. Tears slid down my cheeks and I scraped them away.

  “I…” I faltered, felt dizzy, off balance. “I have to go.”

  I hung up the phone, chugged my coffee, and ran back inside to join Rei in The Bakery. We sliced up our nougat from the previous day and Megan came around the room tasting it. There was no decision made out loud; she only marked things down on a clipboard and then went back to the front of the room.

  “Today y’all will be making cheesecake.”

  I groaned inwardly. I’d never loved making cheesecake, never really found a footing with it. I knew immediately that Rei would win this challenge. Cheesecake was her speciality. It’s part of what made Velvet famous. Still, I paused to write down Nellie’s mother’s cheesecake recipe before we started.

  My thoughts immediately drifted away to Apple Butter.

  To Nellie and the smell of that kitchen.

  And the smell of Michael. Cloves and bergamot and good coffee.

  And the way he smiled at me. The way I could tell he was smiling even when were were on the pho
ne. The way I could picture the exact shade of his eyes. The way I would know his voice anywhere.

  The way he was mine. And I was his.

  I knelt down by the oven to set it preheating and saw my reflection there, in the black glass. Still the same pink hair, the same brown eyes, the same old t-shirt. But a new smile. A new lightness.

  Had I ever looked so happy?

  So free?

  And, my whole life, I’d thought love was a cage. A trap. A road with nothing at the end but a broken heart.

  Would that happen here? Would Michael break my heart?

  I closed my eyes, ready to dispel the old voices. The old echoes of warning. The hateful whispers that crept from the dark corners my parents had left in my heart.

  But nothing came.

  I took a deep breath, waited.

  Still nothing.

  I opened my eyes. I was still there. Still whole.

  I stood up, turned off the stove, folded up my cheesecake recipe and tucked it into my back pocket. Tom and Megan were standing at the double doors, talking in low tones. Tom smiled as I approached and Megan went off to check on Danielle and Rei’s progress.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I need to go. I need to… go to him.”

  He let out the slightest breath of a laugh, nudged his glasses higher on his nose.

  “I thought you might say that. Actually, no, I hoped you would. I have a car standing by for you.”

  I grinned at him, teary eyed.

  “Thank you, Tom.”

  “Good luck,” he said.

  I turned back toward Rei and Danielle, both watching me from behind their mixing bowls. The contest belonged to them now.

  “Good bake,” I said, waving to both of them.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Do you want a driver or your own car?” Tom asked. Like that was a totally normal question I got asked all the time.

  “I’ll drive,” I said, thinking if all I had to do between Louisville and Apple Butter was think about what I was doing, I might lose my nerve.

  “Can you handle a stick?”

  “You bet she can!” Rei shouted from across the room.

  Tom chuckled and reached down into the bag slung over his shoulder then handed me a valet fob and I groaned inwardly. I’d never once used a valet.

  “This isn’t… some kind of European sports car, is it? I’m not going to get out there and find a Lamborghini, right?”

  Tom grinned at me. “It’s this or the bike.”

  I groaned.

  “You’ll have to get used to these things, my darling,” Tom said. “I know it can be tough. But, if you’re going to be with him… this is his life. And there’s room in it for you.”

  A little blossom of hope and happiness unfurled in my heart. So delicate and precious and warm.

  When the valet pulled around in a hunter green, classic Mustang, I laughed out loud.

  “Alright,” I muttered, and revved the engine. This car matched Michael perfectly. The way it purred and rumbled and had so much pent up energy, so much willingness. “Let’s go.”

  Five hours later, I pulled into town. Immediately, it seemed different. The town seemed brighter, prettier, less run down, full of more potential. It seemed like ages since I’d been there and I had to remind myself it had only been a little under two weeks. The town hadn’t changed.

  I had.

  I pulled around the corner and saw a line of people on the sidewalk.

  “What the hell…”

  They were talking and gesticulating and they all had phones in their hands. Some were taking pictures of the street, the town, the car I was driving. I turned up the street and every single person in that line was waiting for a seat at Apple Butter.

  “Holy shit. Holy… Oh, Michael.”

  I had to circle the block again just to find a place to park and, when I did, I texted Rei.

  Sam: I’m here. Super nervous.

  Rei: Chill the fuck out. Just walk in there. Profess your undying love. And bone him.

 

  Sam: You’re the worst.

  Rei: I’m actually the best. Pls take pics!

  Sam: Oh my God.

  Rei: For real tho, let me know how it goes.

  Sam: Will do.

  I got out of the car, pushed my phone into my back pocket, and locked up. Thanks to the crowd, I had to park half a block away in front of the old pharmacy, so I had plenty of time to question just what I was doing. What I had done. Walked away from a contest I maybe could’ve won. Walked toward a man I was afraid of loving but loved anyway. Toward a man who wanted me. Who wouldn’t throw me away.

  My hands balled into sweaty fists and I tried to breathe deep and… as I neared Apple Butter’s door and smelled the familiar scent of cinnamon apples and home cooking, I began to really, truly relax. I pushed in around the crowd and a few regulars said, “Oh, hey Sam!” and “Good to see you back!”

  I grinned, kept moving forward, kept pushing my way in.

  Nellie was behind the counter and she beamed when she saw me. I wanted to run to her. Hug her. Let her hold me while tears rolled down my cheeks. Thank her for everything. Including convincing me to respond to Michael’s invitation to the contest.

  Instead, she pointed in the back.

  I bit my lip, tried to gather up my courage. I’d come this far. I couldn’t run away now. I pushed into the kitchen door and there he was.

  “Sam?” he stopped stirring something, put the bowl down. “What—is everything okay?”

  “I left the contest,” I said.

  “You… why?”

  “Because it’s not my dream to bake wedding cakes.”

  He crossed his arms in front of his chest and smiled at me. A gentle smile. But also questioning. Challenging.

  “What is your dream, Sam?”

  “You. My dream is you. To be with you. To travel with you. To see the world with you and spend every night in your arms and every morning making breakfast together. To come back here, to Apple Butter and to Mattie’s, and to find all the places like this one and all the recipes that sustain people because food is love. And I love you, Michael. I love you. I love you.”

  My heart pounded, rattling my ribs, sending a warning to my brain. This was a dangerous confection and I had no recipe to follow. But then Michael was grinning. He was smiling ear to ear and his warm brown eyes were shining with tears and he was then he was pulling me to him, pulling me into his arms, cradling me to his chest.

  “I love you, Sam,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into my hair. “I want to live this life with you. I want to cook with you and see the world with you and I want to wake up and see you and your fluffy pink hair every morning. Forever. Stay with me, Sam. I’ll never let you go.”

  He cradled my face in his strong hands, pulled my mouth to his, crushed my lips in a kiss so ardent and sure and perfect I was sure there must be cameras somewhere. I must be living the end of a RomCom about a scrappy baker and a bad boy baker biker billionaire. I laughed with giddy amazement as Michael held me close.

  “Will you stay with me, Sam? Always?”

  I wasn’t one-hundred percent sure, but I think the Cake King just proposed to me.

  Epilogue

  The wedding really was beautiful. As rich people weddings go. It really did take place on a private island in the gorgeous marshlands of Georgia and, when the sun set, the whole sky and all the water lit up a brilliant pink.

  Megan and Talia positively glowed in their white gowns. Magnolia blossoms floated in the water around us, tea lights resting in their centers, and Michael’s cousin’s band played while we all danced.

  A few photographers snapped photos and people took videos on their phones and it all immediately went up everywhere. There were vines of Megan and Talia dancing, kissing, exchanging rings to the hoots and hollers of everyone in attendance.

  Every single dessert was photographed to within an inch of its life by professional photographers. Food
writers interviewed all of us and nodded their heads enthusiastically as they listened to our answers.

  “And so you all came together through a competition?”

  “Yes.”

  “And who won the competition?”

  Well, it wasn’t me. Apple Butter, which was doing very well now, made my homestyle petit fours and every guest got one. The tiny little buttermilk pies were a big favorite. And all the glitzy city food bloggers couldn’t wait to spread the story of the country restaurant in the boonies serving up old-timey, homespun food to A-list celebrities.

  Rei’s cheesecake was presented on a pedestal at the rehearsal dinner and she was interviewed by about five of Michael’s food writer friends who all took pictures of the impossibly fluffy, impossibly tasty confection. She rolled her eyes at them when they asked if she wanted to open her own bakery.

  “Fuck off,” she’d said, laughing. And no one could tell whether she was joking.

  Of course, most of the attention went to the wedding cake. As it should. In the end, it was Danielle who reigned supreme. Four tiers of perfectly flavored hummingbird cake were crowned by a magnolia-shaped sugar flower and little tendrils of handmade petals dripped down to the very bottom where they mixed with the local wildflower petals. Of course, the pictures were all over Bakestagram first. Then a two page spread in Bon Appetit. And then a huge write-up in Olive. It looked like the Cupcake Queen was lined up to be the next Cake King.

  “Congratulations, Danielle,” I said, pulling her into a hug.

  She grinned. We all sat at one big table. Me and Rei. Adrienne and Kamillah. Danielle and Jasper. The final six. Some of us had become so close during the competition and we’d all become friends since then. I’d never had friends like this. Friends I’d made on an equal footing. I knew, somehow, we’d be close the rest of our lives.

  That two weeks in Louisville had changed so much for us. For all of us.

  “Oh, here comes your man,” Rei said, as Megan and Talia finished their first dance.

  I turned to see Michael in his tuxedo. He really did look the part. The bad boy biker baker billionaire. The Cake King. But I knew, from those two weeks and all the weeks since, the truth about him. The sweet country boy who wanted to see the world. The man who had held me every night and made love to me nearly every morning. The man who’d listened to my repeated insistence on not wanting to wear an ostentatious paperweight on my finger and had given me, instead, his grandmother’s tiny silver band.