“Nothing,” she sighed.
“Come on,” I said. “You’ll make me feel bad. I came here to unload about my life, so it’s only fair that you do the same.”
“Okay,” she decided with an exaggerated sigh. “I was just dumped.”
“Oh honey!” I scooped her into my arms, patting her shoulders and rubbing her upper back. I let her go a second later because she didn’t seem heartbroken. “Tell me what happened.”
“Can we go in the back?” she asked. “I’m in the middle of something.”
“Only if you’ll let me help,” I replied.
“I’m going to have to put you on the payroll,” she teased.
“Call me a volunteer,” I said. “Now what’s up?”
We walked into the back, to the industrial kitchen with its stainless steel counters and massive appliances. There were three ovens, a walk-in refrigerator and freezer as well as a room that was specifically made for bread to rise.
Petra had another baker who came to help out early in the mornings, but afterhours it was all her. She had to get things prepared for the morning and occasionally had special catering orders to fill. She must have been working on one of those because she was halfway through a massive cupcake display. There were three platters, two of which were already full.
“Someone’s having a party,” I observed.
“It’s the Women’s Networking Dinner at the riverfront hotel,” Petra said.
“Nice,” I approved.
“Yeah, I’ve been providing the desserts for three years now. It was one of my first gigs, and they’ve been really supportive.”
“I hope you’re charging them enough.”
“Of course. It’s a networking dinner, not a charity ball.”
“Still.”
“Do you want to help?” She pushed a bowl of icing toward me.
“I don’t think I can,” I objected.
“Of course you can.”
“But they’re not going to look nearly as nice as yours.”
“Just try one,” Petra encouraged me. “It’s not rocket science.”
“You’re selling yourself short,” I said, picking up a cupcake to examine it.
It was perfect and fluffy, light and toasted on the top. I didn’t want to damage it at all with a substandard icing job. But if she insisted, she must know what she was doing. I picked up a knife and spread a blob of white buttercream over the mound. It reminded me of something that Damien and I had done in the bedroom, and I blushed hard.
“What are you thinking about?” Petra asked. Nothing got by her.
“We were talking about you,” I reminded her.
“Oh yeah.” She picked up her own cupcake and slapped some frosting on it, twirling it with practiced ease. “I was dumped.”
“How long had you been going out?”
“Just a couple months.”
“So it wasn’t anything serious?”