“I already planned on asking Alexa to play some Glenn Miller while I delight myself in color coordination.” Dad has a cookie in one hand, a colored pencil in the other, and his head tilted down so I can see the bald spot on the top of his head.
I’m not sure if it’s because I’m constantly over here fixing things for them, but man, it seems like my parents have aged drastically over the last year. I try to ignore the pang in my gut at this thought.
“Sounds like a winning night,” I say, finishing off my cookies.
“Oh, did I tell you Ellen over at the flower shop received your email invitation?”
“You didn’t, but let me guess: she had something to say about it.”
“She had no idea it was a joke invite, and when she got the real one in the mail, boy did she stick her foot in her mouth.”
“Wow, so embarrassing for Ellen,” I say, turning back toward the directions and trying to understand the pictures.
“Oh, you could tell she was thoroughly embarrassed at bunko the other night. I told her some people just don’t get your sense of humor.”
“Yup, I’m a strange one,” I mutter.
“Which reminds me: I ran into Henrietta yesterday, and she asked if you planned on using Cake It Bakery for the anniversary cake. I assumed you already put in the order with Nora, but she informed me Nora said you never came in to see her. Is that true?”
Practicing patience and trying not to grow irritated at the mention of Nora, I say, “Haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
“Well, you might want to go in soon to talk to her. She’s getting booked up with weddings.”
“Maybe we don’t have a cake; maybe we do something like . . . doughnuts. I can pick some up from Top Pot and make some sort of doughnut wall.”
“Don’t you even think about an insane thing like that,” Dad says. “Those doughnuts belong in mouths, not on walls.”
Mom pats Dad’s arm. “I think what your father is trying to say is that although we love Top Pot, we would prefer a cake from Nora. She’s a family friend, and we’ve had one of their cakes at every event since I can remember. It would feel wrong to have anything else. Please go see her tomorrow. It would mean so much to us.”
I exhale out my frustration. “If that’s what you want.”
“Thank you.” Mom claps her hands. “And maybe when you’re there, you can ask her out on a date.”
And there it is . . .
CHAPTER THREE
NORA
“Okay, let me read your order back to you. Three tiers, vanilla sponge, strawberry filling, and bubblegum buttercream coat with drips of fudge along the side and two zebras on the top, but the zebras need to be realistic, not cartoon. Did I get that right?”
Mrs. Cano on the phone says, “And don’t forget the slogan on the side.”
“Ah yes.” I read the quote I put down on the order form. “‘What a man. You finally made the bed. Yay!!!’ And that’s with three exclamation points.”
“Perfect.” Pure joy rings through her voice. “After forty-five years of being married to my husband, he finally figured out how to make the bed. This is cause for celebration.”
“With a bubblegum cake, no less. You’re a good wife.”
“I believe I am to put up for so long with a man who can’t make a bed.”
“An absolute saint,” I say just as the bell at the front rings. “Mrs. Cano, this has been lovely, but a customer just came in. I’ll have this for you in two days, ready to pick up.”
“Thank you, dear. Have a lovely day.”
“You too,” I say before hanging up.
I set the phone and pen down, scoop my long black hair up into a bun on top of my head, and then head to the front, where I see a man bent at the waist, taking a look at one of the display wedding cakes I have in the front windows.
“Can I help—”
The man stands tall and spins around, pulling the breath straight from my lungs.
Cooper Chance.
Tall, with black hair and light-silver eyes framed by black-rimmed glasses, he gives off all sorts of PNW vibes with his formfitting straight-leg jeans cuffed at the ankles, showing off his faded brown Thursday Boots. His worn jeans contrast with his pressed slate-blue shirt and olive-green cardigan that just so happens to be pushed up to his elbows. If Clark Kent and L.L.Bean had a baby, it would be Cooper Chance.
A family friend for years.
A faultfinder of a man.
A man who knows how to push my buttons.