Lip Smacker

by Bailey, Alison G.

  “How long have you lived in this house, Mrs. Smacker?”

  “Fifty-four years.”

  “Wow, you never hear of people staying in one place like that nowadays.”

  “I went from living with my parents to living with the love of my life.”

  “I guess you’ve seen a lot of changes in this area.”

  “Yes, I have. Some good and some not so good.”

  I knew what Logan was doing. He was easing this conversation toward business. If his plan was to divide and conquer, it would fail. There was no way he would ever divide Wavy and me. It may have been naïve, but I hoped being around Wavy, listening to her talk about this old house and family, would convince him to back off from trying to get the bakery.

  “Some developers don’t take into account the effect on the community. I’ve been trying to explain to your granddaughter—”

  I burst out of the kitchen holding two bowls. “Pudding!”

  I put the bowls in front of Wavy and Logan, quickly retrieving mine from the kitchen.

  Logan didn’t touch his dessert. “Like I was saying, Harper—”

  “No business talk at the dinner table,” Wavy commanded.

  “Really? Most of the deals I make are conducted over dinner and drinks.”

  “My house, my rules, young man.”

  Logan leveled his bright blue gaze at me. “You made a deal.”

  “You heard her. Her house, her rules.” I shoved a mound of pudding in my mouth.

  After dinner, Logan attempted to talk Harper, but Wavy and I kept busy cleaning up. By the time the food was put away and the kitchen clean, Wavy was tired and ready for bed. I made sure my grandmother was settled in for the night before saying goodbye.

  As we crossed the street toward my place, I felt pretty accomplished and proud that I had evaded any business talk thus far.

  “Wavy really enjoyed having you over tonight,” I said, standing at the bottom of my steps.

  The sun was just setting and the soft glow made his features even sharper. God, he was pretty.

  “And what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  He stepped toward me. “Did you really enjoy having me over?”

  I pursed my lips into a straight line. “Wavy and I did most of the talking. You were kind of a dud.”

  The corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly as his gaze floated down to my lips then exposed shoulder.

  Stay strong, Elipheleta. This isn’t high school. He’s playing you.

  Stretching my arms above my head, I let out a big yawn. “I am pooped. See ya around.”

  I spun around and bounced up the stairs. Halfway up, a strong large hand wrapped around my elbow.

  “What about our deal?”

  I looked down at him standing two steps below me. “What about it?”

  He took one step up closer to me. “You said you’d listen.”

  I inhaled, taking in the magical aroma of Christmas trees and candy canes. There was an audible zap from the electricity flowing between us. Then I realized it was the street lights coming to life. But there was no doubt something was being transmitted from one to the other.

  “True. But I forgot Wavy’s rule about no business talk at the table. And now I’m too tired to listen with a clear head. You wouldn’t want to take advantage of my weary state, would you?”

  He took another step up, putting us face to face. “Make no mistake about it, Lip. You’ll be willing and wide awake when I take advantage of you.”

  I felt a slight wobble in my knees, so I grabbed the railing for balance.

  I chuckled. “That’s clever…the sexual innuendo. That’s how you’re going to play this? Because I’m immune and can’t be swayed by your flirty smile or your strong jawline. I’m more than soft creamy skin, nice breasts, and an ass that won’t quit.” He swallowed hard. “I have a brain and I know how to use it.”

  He blew out a frustrated breath. “Jesus Christ, Lip, most people would jump at the chance to have a windfall like Harper is offering. Get out while the gettin’ is good and sell that shabby shithole money pit.”

  At that, the evening took a turn. In one sentence Logan had diminished everything I had worked so hard for. I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into the bakery. Sure, I knew it was not anywhere near what it could be, but to hear it from someone who did not know its history was like a knife to the chest. My bottom lip tingled, a sure sign that tears were not far behind. I tightened my grip around the railing, and willed myself to stay calm.

  Glaring at him, I said, “You have no idea what you’re talking about. I realize it’s your job to clear the entire block to make way for Harper, but don’t you ever put down the work my grandmother and I put into that place.”

  Without giving him a chance to reply, I turned and marched up the steps. When I got to my door I looked back at Logan, standing where I had left him, stunned.

  “And by the way, Logan, fuck you.”

  I pushed my way through the door, leaving Logan to stew on my steps.

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, I stood at the end of the pier, flapping both arms in the sea breeze as I looked up at the great white whale of a ship. My spunky grandmother and her two equally spunky cohorts were on the main deck. Caribbean music blasted from every direction as the ladies waved one hand, while using the other to hold tall umbrella drinks exploding with fruit. The pure joy on Wavy’s face made my heart sing while at the same time threatened tears.

  Deep down I was beyond grateful to have had a lifetime with this amazing woman. But as the ship headed out to sea and she disappeared from view, I could not help but feel that a lifetime was still not long enough. The crowd around me broke away as tears streamed down my cheeks at the mere thought of a world without Wavy.

  After the abruptness of Mom and Dad’s death, I thought it was better to have an idea of when the grim reaper was coming for my loved ones. But knowing Wavy’s future did not diminish my pain in the least. No way around it, losing the ones you love fucking sucks. I breathed in a big dose of sea air, and wiped my tear-stained cheeks before heading to the bakery.

  Throughout the morning I fought the funk I was in by keeping busy, baking, and packing up the supplies I needed for the weekend. I had two events planned at Seabrook Island, a barrier island about an hour’s drive from Charleston. I was glad both events fell on the same weekend that Wavy would be gone. They would be a good distraction from my worry.

  I was excited and nervous about tonight’s big wedding reception: one-hundred-fifty cupcakes for the guests and a six-inch round cake for the couple to cut into. The wedding ceremony was being held on the beach, the reception at a private oceanfront home.

  The rest of my weekend would be at Camp Lighthouse with Bridges, a nonprofit organization dealing with children going through grief. I had been a volunteer for the past two years. The first six months after my parent’s death I went through a tailspin, lashing out at just about everyone as if they were the one driving the car who killed my parents. Lots of alcohol and dabbling in drugs did not lessen the loss I felt in the pit of my stomach. I needed to get out of my head and focus on a way to make a positive impact in this world. That was what my parents always wanted me to do. Bridges was a way of channeling my energy and grief in a constructive manner. And somewhere along the way while helping the kids to heal, they helped me to heal. So, each year no matter what was going on in my life, I carved out this one weekend for camp Bridges.

  I was in the kitchen rechecking my supply list for this weekend when I heard the familiar jingle of the bells out front. Standing at the counter was a tall, gangly young guy wearing baggy long shorts and a T-shirt. He was holding a big arrangement of purple peonies, my favorite flower.

  “Are you Elliptical Snacker?” he said in a squeaky nasal tone.

  “I’m Lip Smacker.”

  “Huh?”

  “My name.”

  “What about it?”

  “I think the flowers are for me.�
�

  “Are you Elliptical Snacker?”

  “Yes I am.”

  He held the flowers out to me. “Cool. Have a nice day, Miss Snacker.”

  Raising the bouquet to my nose, I inhaled the sweet citrus scent. Wavy probably suspected that I would be a bit blah after seeing her off this morning. Leave it to her to send this beautiful arrangement to brighten my day. I peeled back the brown paper wrapped around the flowers and was shocked to find my purple scrunchie. Logan. I lifted the white card nestled between the petals. It simply read, “I’m sorry.” A few butterflies took flight in my belly. I allowed myself to enjoy the tickle for several seconds before eradicating them and placed the flowers on the counter. It was very thoughtful of Logan to send an apology. It was also very weird that he knew my favorite flower.

  Since business was dead, I decided to close early and get a head start on my weekend plans. After loading the last crate of supplies into the Lip Smacker van, I took one last scan of the kitchen to make sure I had everything I needed. Holding the bouquet to my chest, I locked up the bakery, jumped in the van, turned up the radio, and headed to Seabrook.

  I was in awe as I pulled up to the house where the wedding was taking place. Who was I kidding, this wasn’t a house, it was a southern mansion. Bright white columns ran the length of this two-story, pale yellow plank structure tucked behind mature palm and weeping willow trees. The first level porch appeared to be a wrap around, while the porch on the second level was lined with white wicker rocking chairs. I lost count of how many front steps I had climbed by the time I hit the first landing on my way to the front door. The wedding planner, Bernadette, greeted me, then instructed two strapping lads from the setup crew to help unload my van.

  The inside of the place was just as beautiful as the outside. Stepping into the living room, I immediately had a panoramic view of the ocean through the wall of windows. The large white room boasted light hardwood flooring and a fireplace mantel made of the same driftwood used in the beams that ran across the vaulted ceiling. Shades of blue, green, and cream permeated the color scheme. I could tell the owners had high-end taste, but not overly fancy. The vibe was definitely warm and friendly.

  Turning the corner I saw two spacious adjoining rooms. One room was set up with a bar and several long tables for the food. The other room was empty except for a round table in the corner for the wedding cupcakes. White and light blue hydrangeas flowed throughout the two rooms, the outside deck, and down to the beach where the ceremony would take place. I claimed a small area in the state-of-the-art kitchen, right by the giant picture window, and got to work.

  I was just about done decorating the last cupcake when the ceremony started. I watched as the bridesmaids dressed in gorgeous, flowing, pale blue gowns glided down the walkway decorated in white tulle toward the beach. The design of each dress was slightly different to highlight each woman’s individual style. The bride was radiant in a simple off-the-shoulder gown accented with pearls and sequins that sparkled in the sunlight. Her brown hair was swept up, held in place by a stunning diamond pin. I stayed glued to the window until they all disappeared behind a sand dune.

  I squeezed a swirl of white chocolate buttercream onto the last cupcake and stood back, admiring my work. When the bride and her mom had come to the bakery for a tasting they’d had a hard time deciding on which flavors they liked the most. I remembered how flattered I had felt. It was times like that when I knew I was doing the right thing with my life. In the end they opted to get their top three favorites: lemon, orange, and strawberry.

  After assembling the four-tier cake stand on the designated table, I filled it up by staggering several white and pale blue frosted cupcakes. I placed the rest of the cupcakes so that they covered the entire front part of the table. At the very top of the stand sat the six-inch, double layer, round cake that the couple would cut for photos. It was covered in buttercream fondant, which I had highlighted with pale blue filigree pipping. It looked sophisticated, elegant, and stunning.

  Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I took a few pictures of my first wedding display. After cleaning and packing up my frosting bags and tools, I ran out to the van to grab my chef uniform. I was not a classically trained pastry chef, so I did not earn the chef’s jacket in the traditional way. But the bride had asked me to stay and help serve during the reception, and since I couldn’t exactly wear cut offs and a T-shirt, I bought myself the white jacket and black pants.

  I made my way down the long hallway, opening several doors before finally finding a bathroom to change in. White pristine marble ran throughout the room, covering the floors, the countertop, the bathtub, and the shower. Give me a hot plate and a TV and I could have lived in there. Back that up, there was a flat screen TV in the corner. I quickly changed my clothes, checked my makeup and then redid my hair, pulling it into a high ponytail. Deciding that I looked presentable, I balled up my T-shirt and jeans and shoved them in the cabinet under the sink. I meant sinks, plural. Once the reception was over I would have plenty of time to sneak back in here to get them.

  I was in position by the cake table when the guests began filtering in from the ceremony. From where I stood I could feel the sea breeze and smell the salt air drifting through the large French doors. No one wanted cake just yet, drinks were first on the menu. So, I took the opportunity to people watch. And gaze I did.

  There was plenty of money walking around this place. Pearls and diamonds and emeralds—oh my! I had never been big on jewelry, which was good because I couldn’t afford the real thing. I had a few of my mom’s pieces like earrings, necklaces, and bracelets that were the real deal, but I rarely wore them. All that glitter and gold didn’t impress me. Money can’t buy class, but it can sure make a person into an ass.

  The sun was beginning to set and as it shifted position in the sky, a bright beam of light reflected off a pair of big diamond earrings in front of me, causing me to squint. Once the bedazzled lady moved and I was able to open my eyes again, I looked across the room and couldn’t believe what I saw.

  Logan, dressed in a tuxedo with an amber colored drink in his hand, was talking with an older gentleman. The bride walked up, all smiles, and slipped her arm through Logan’s. The couple chatted a few seconds longer with the old guy before the bride tugged on Logan’s arm, clearly wanting him to go with her. The two men shook hands then the older man slapped Logan’s shoulder like he was congratulating him.

  I was glued to the spot, unable to look away. He had said to me only a few days ago, and I quote, ‘Yes, I’m single and completely unattached.’ Who the fuck gets attached in a few days? I had suspected all along he was a lying bastard. Apparently, he was also a cheating bastard. Not that we had done anything that could be remotely described as cheating, but his intentions were certainly implied.

  At least, I thought they were. I looked back at each encounter, thinking maybe I had read too much into his actions. Logan flirted with me nonstop, invaded my personal space whenever the opportunity presented itself, and enjoyed my jealousy over Miss Piss. The only conclusion I could come up with was that Logan was a lying, cheating bastard.

  Whatever. Big deal. So what. I did not care.

  Shocked? Sure. But just because I was shocked beyond belief didn’t mean I cared. Did it?

  No, no, no, no… It emphatically did not.

  I realized I had been talking about Logan using his looks, charm, and flirting ability to snag his prey, a.k.a. me, but there was a minute, miniscule, microscopic part of me that did not think it was true. That we genuinely had a connection. My ability to be gullible had reached new heights. Some mighty deep self-reflection was in my future. At the moment, my biggest concern was getting the hell out of here.

  “Hey, what’s your name?” I asked, stopping a college-age guy who was a server.

  “Spencer.” His voice and expression were void of any enthusiasm whatsoever.

  “How much are you getting paid to serve?”

  “Fifty bucks.”


  Reaching into my jacket pocket I pulled out my emergency cash.

  “I’ll give you a hundred to stand here for the rest of the reception.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “Basically, hand people cupcakes and smile.”

  For the first time since entering into our shady relationship, Spencer’s face lit up.

  He took the money and shoved it into his pants pocket as he claimed my vacant spot.

  “And if there are any cupcakes leftover, they’re yours.”

  “Awesome,” he said with a tad bit of gusto.

  Even though my day had turned horrific, one part of me felt good knowing my money and cupcakes had brightened Spencer’s day.

  Thankfully, my station was near the kitchen. I slipped inside, picked up my bag, and headed toward the door that led to the hallway. Poking my head out, I saw that the coast was clear, and I had a straight shot to the front door. I stepped into the hallway and zeroed in on my escape route. Just a few steps away from making a clean getaway, I remembered my clothes in the bathroom.

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  I would have gladly kissed my jeans and T-shirt goodbye if it weren’t for the fact that the shirt had the Lip Smacker logo splashed across it.

  Immediately, beads of sweat popped up along my forehead and my hands got all clammy. I had to control the imminent panic attack headed my way. If I panicked then I wouldn’t be able to think straight. If I didn’t think straight I wouldn’t be able to remember which door led to the bathroom where my clothes were. I turned and looked down the long hallway, the long hallway that was full of identical-looking doors.

  Suddenly, I heard three voices coming up behind me, getting louder by the second. I had no clue who they belonged to, except for one: the deep, husky, familiar voice of the very guy I was running away from.

  Fuck me from here to the moon.

  CHOOSING WHICH DOOR TO start with involved implementing the scientifically proven eeny, meeny, miny, moe method. Turning moe’s knob, I opened the door and breathed a sigh of relief. I had found the right room. I stepped over the threshold then gently closed the door, locked it, and leaned back against it.