A Long Time Coming (Cane Brothers, #3)(91)

“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.”

More like one for each hand, thanks.

I reach to pull out Lia’s chair for her, but Brian gives me the stink eye of all stink eyes, so I back off. Instead, I pull out my own chair and mentally thank myself for being so gentlemanly. The Beave sits next to me, Brian sits next to The Beave, and Lia sits between us like a happy little family.

Not uncomfortable at all.

“Now, I’ve informed the baker of our preference of flavors,” The Beave starts out with.

“What would those be?” I ask. “Because I don’t think you asked Lia.”

“I told her what Lia likes,” Brian says.

“Oh, and what did you say?” I question.

Brian straightens and says, “Vanilla bean with vanilla frosting.”

Ha, we fucking knew it.

“That’s not what she prefers,” I say as the hairs on the back of my neck rise, a dog fight about to break out. “If she has to suffer through something as drab as vanilla, then she prefers to pair it with a raspberry lemon curd. She also enjoys red velvet with cream cheese frosting, but the cake must have chocolate chips in it. If there are no chocolate chips, she wants nothing to do with red velvet. But her favorite flavor is lemon blueberry, which I’m sure is not an option you considered.”

Brian’s eyes narrow, and he turns to Lia. “You have been just fine with vanilla before.”

Lia looks back and forth between us. “Well, it’s not my first pick.”

“But a pick at that,” The Beave chimes in. “And since we will have over three thousand attendees, going with the most common flavor will obviously be the most beneficial choice.”

“Three thousand?” Lia asks, looking at The Beave, then Brian. “I thought we cut that list down.”

“We were going to,” Brian says, “but I spoke with Mother last night, and we think it’s best not to insult anyone.” Except your damn fiancée.

“Not insult anyone?” I step in. “How do you even know three thousand people? That seems absurd to me.”

“Well, good thing it’s not your wedding,” Brian shoots back. “Maybe when you’re finally able to get someone to fall in love with you and walk down the aisle instead of creeping on other men’s girls, you can choose how many people attend the wedding.”

“Hey,” Lia says. “Brian, he’s not creeping on anyone.”

“Now, now,” The Beave says, trying to talk us down, but my hands are clenching into fists under the table.