Summer laughed out loud, then quickly covered it with a cough. "Family?" she echoed in disbelief. "Pie?"
The last time her mother had baked pie for the family was … never. She'd never baked them pie. Because despite her public image as hostess supreme, the truth was, Eve Bloom barely stepped foot in the kitchen – unless the cameras were rolling.
"It's the pitch for my new series, I told you about it. We're going for a more homey feel. Anyway, I'll put you down for the nine AM call-sheet. "
"No, mom, I'm not coming on your show-" Summer tried to object, but Eve didn't pause for breath.
"I'll have Marcie take care of those bangs. And wear something blue, you know the stage lights always wash you out."
"Mom, I told you, I'm not-"
Suddenly, there was a flash of orange ahead on the road. Summer cursed out loud and slammed on the brakes, yanking the wheel to avoid hitting …
What was that?
She caught a glimpse of something round and fluffy dashing off into the undergrowth as she pulled over to the side of the road. She caught her breath, her pulse racing.
So much for lowering her blood pressure. Between her mom's delightful call and that kamikaze cat, she would be lucky if she reached the wedding in one piece.
Summer checked the backseat, but the cake boxes were thankfully intact, and when she fished her cellphone from where it had fallen between the seats, there was nothing but dial tone. Her mom had already hung up.
"Thanks a lot, buddy." Summer could see the cat through the windscreen: a fat ginger fluffball now happily sunning himself on the steps of a ramshackle old house, as if he hadn't just tried to kill her. "Look both ways next time."
Yes, she was talking to a cat. No, she hadn't slept in twenty-two hours.
Yes, she needed coffee, and fast.
2
Summer made it the final few miles without any more interruptions (animal or maternal) and finally pulled up the gravel drive of a stately-looking hotel overlooking the beach. She drove around to the delivery entrance, and found a woman pacing there, clutching her phone. She had blonde hair pulled back in an immaculate bun, and wore a crisp white shirt and pencil skirt, despite the warm weather.
"Is that the cake?" she demanded, the moment Summer climbed out of the van.
"Reporting for duty."
The woman let out a massive sigh of relief. "Thank God. Sorry," she added, with a flustered smile. "The bride's been talking about this for weeks. I don't think she'd even mind if he left her at the alter, as long as she still got to eat the cake."
Summer laughed. "Don't worry, I just need to assemble it, and we're good to go."
"Can I help with anything? I'm Brooke," the woman added, looking less stressed now.
"Nice to meet you, I'm Summer. And yes, I'd love some help carrying those boxes in. Carefully."
Together, they unloaded the van. Brooke guided her through to the kitchen, which was already a hive of activity. "I've told the caterers to stay out of your way." Brooke showed her to a clear corner. "You're the VIP."
"And I bet they'll love me for it," Summer joked.
"Do you need anything?" Brooke checked, but her phone was buzzing like crazy, and Summer guessed she had a million other places to be, so she waved her off.
Now came the fun part.
Carefully, she laid out the sturdy base, and then set about unpacking each layer of the cake. There were six in all, cut in perfect squares that got smaller in size. Summer had already frosted them in a thick peach buttercream, and now she retrieved her bowl and ingredients from the cooler, and whipped up another batch of frosting to use as a kind of cement: carefully building the cake layer by layer, until it stood: sturdy, sweet, and utterly irresistible. With a few sugared rose petals, a dusting of gold leaf, and the piece de resistance – a custom cake topper, crafted to match the photo the bride had sent – Summer's masterpiece was complete.
And it would taste even better than it looked.
"Is this ready for the table?" a server asked. It took three of them to wheel it out, and Summer couldn't resist stripping off her apron and following them. The hotel was bright and airy, and the reception spilled out of the main hall onto the patio that overlooked the bay. It was a picture-perfect scene, with the afternoon sun sinking over the ocean, guests mingling between white linen-topped tables, and gorgeous displays of fresh-cut roses spilling from every column.
Summer kept to the edge of the patio, skirting the crowd as she tried to blend into the background. She wasn't exactly dressed for the party, in cut-off jeans and an old T-shirt, but she loved seeing the looks on people's faces when they bit into something she'd made, and cutting a wedding cake was an extra-special moment.