“Bryce Roberts. Well, he was disturbingly forward.” Spinning around, I toss his card into the trashcan and dust my hands off, brushing the creepiness off my skin.
“Excuse you. Why are you throwing out a hot guy’s number? I thought you and Reese weren’t serious?” Joey pries as my phone beeps.
I reach excitingly for it and hear his quiet laugh. “I have the hottest guy’s phone number. I’m set.”
Reese: I’ll come to you. 8:00p.m.?
Me: Sounds perfect.
**
I worked on the cake for the Smith/Cords wedding all night, finally passing out a little after 2:00a.m. It was one of the prettiest cakes I’d made yet. The bride had requested edible cherry blossoms along the base of each tier and I surprised myself at just how realistic they turned out. I snapped a close up picture of one before sending it to Reese, since he seemed to appreciate my work. His response was nothing short of swoon worthy. Yes, now that word is being thrown around in my vocabulary as well. Joey texted me early on Saturday and told me that he wasn’t feeling well, thinking he had some bad food at the restaurant with Billy and was being taken care of in bed all day. I’m sure that meant not just in a bring you chicken soup and popsicles kind of way. This meant that I would be making the cake delivery on my own today. I was a bit nervous. I hadn’t done that in years, the last time being when Joey spent a weekend with a very hot Greek guy he met at a club. They fucked and fought while I busted my ass trying to carry a six tiered cake up a huge flight of stairs. He paid for that one for weeks.
I stare out at Sam through my shop window. The van is pulled up in front of the shop, back door wide open and ready for me to slide the cake inside. It’s almost noon and I need to leave now if I am going to make it to the reception hall to drop off the cake in time. Traffic is always a nightmare on Saturdays and I know it’s going to take me longer than I would like to get there. I’m stalling, not really wanting to attempt to carry the cake by myself and possibly have a major mishap. “Damn it, Joey.” I grab my phone out of my pocket and scroll to my favorite wedding planner’s contact info.
“Hello, sweets,” she sings with her chipper I’m going to keep everybody in this god damned wedding party calm voice. I chuckle into the phone.
“Hey. I’m just now leaving to drop the cake off so I might be a bit late.”
“We’re running late as it is so no worries. This fucking bride is driving me insane.” She sighs dramatically. “I seriously feel bad for her groom. Pretty sure he’s in for a lifetime of annoyance.” I hear commotion in the background and can only imagine what Juls is dealing with. She’s had some doozy brides.
I sigh in relief. “Thank God. I’m flying solo today since Joey is playing house with Billy. I really hate doing deliveries alone.”
I hear her gasp dramatically. “What are you doing? Go find the preacher. He’s been MIA for twenty minutes. Sorry, I gotta go, Dyl. This wedding isn’t going to start at all without me. Hey, are we still on for a much needed girl’s day tomorrow?”
I jump in excitement, almost having completely forgotten about the massages and facials we booked weeks ago after declaring how little we see of each other. “Yes. I’m so ready for the spa and my Juls time. Good luck with your nightmare bride.”
“Thanks, I’ll need it. Bye, sweets.”
I click end and turn around, staring the cake down as it sits on my side table that I do consultations at. “Alright, it’s just you and me. Don’t fucking piss me off and I won’t eat you. Got it?”
I prop the front door open and drop down, carefully and oh so slowly picking up the cake and carrying it out to Sam’s back door. Setting it down on the ledge, I ease it inside while holding my breath and saying every prayer I can think of silently. After successfully putting it where I want it, I close my eyes tightly and force the air out of my lungs. Okay, half the battle’s over. Moving the holder in place that keeps the cakes from sliding all around the back of the van, I secure everything tightly and close the back doors. Spinning around to walk to the driver’s side, I’m halted immediately as I run straight into a brick wall of a chest. Oh terrific.
“Jesus Christ, Justin, you scared the shit out of me.” I push away from him as he lets out a small annoying laugh.
“Sorry, Dyl pickle.”
Ugh. I hate when he calls me that. I haven’t been able to eat a dill pickle in two years.
“What do you want? I’m running late and really don’t have time to chat.” Nor do I want to. I move to step around him when his arm shoots out and grips my waist. “What the hell? What are you doing?”