Simple white frosted wedding cakes with fresh flowers winding a path down the tiers. A pale purple tiered cake dotted with delicate butterflies suspended by thin wire, appearing ready to take flight. Another white cake, two square tiers trimmed in gold leaf.
I turn the pages slowly, remaining quiet as I take her work in. These aren’t just cakes, they’re like little works of art. Too beautiful to eat.
Though I bet they taste damn good.
“Your cakes…” My voice drifts as I keep flipping the pages, taking in the artistry, the variety, the smiling faces of the occasional bride and groom posing next to their cakes. Cakes Maisey created for their special days.
“My cakes what?” she asks, and I hear the nervousness in her voice, catch the way she’s clutching her hands together in her lap when I glance up to find her sitting next to me on the couch once more.
I didn’t even realize she’d sat down. I was too entranced with her photos.
“They’re amazing,” I tell her, lifting my head so my gaze meets hers. I want her to know I mean what I say. “They’re like art.”
Her cheeks flush and the pleased closed-mouth smile curling her lips makes me happy. “Thank you.”
“I mean it. They’re beautiful. And I never think cake is beautiful.” I sort through the pages, searching for one cake in particular, slapping the page with my palm when I find it. “I think I want a cake like this for my parents.”
She scoots closer to me, her hair brushing against my shoulder when she peers down at the page I’m indicating. The cake is constructed of three square tiers, frosted in white and gold and black. It’s something Mom would like, I just know it.
“Art Deco style?” Maisey leans in, tapping the photo with her index finger. Her nail is short, and painted a pale pink. “Like The Great Gatsby? I loved that movie.”
“My mom did too. She’s redone their bedroom over the years to have that mirrored look. Straight lines everywhere. Lots of gold.” An idea forms in my head. “Maybe we should make it a costume party.”
“But I thought it was a surprise party?” She sits up straight, turning her head so her gaze meets mine once again, and our faces are so close.
Almost kissing close.
“I’m sure we can put something together without them knowing exactly what’s going on.” Maybe we can. Or maybe I can just sit here and stare at Maisey’s lips for the rest of the afternoon. They’re full and pink, formed in the slightest pout, and I remember her taste. How sweet her kisses were. How much I enjoyed kissing her.
We did a lot of things when we were teenagers, but we never actually did the deed. I’ve kissed that mouth for hours, though. I bet all those hours add up to days. Weeks. Maybe even months.
“Where’s the party at?” she asks, sounding the tiniest bit breathless.
Like maybe my nearness is having as much of an effect on her as having her so close is on me.
I mention the very hotel I’m staying at near the lake—it has a giant ballroom—and Maisey nods her approval, scooting away from me. Guess we’re back to business. “That’ll be perfect. Let me work on a sketch tonight and I’ll send it to you. Maybe via email?”
“You can text it to me, if that works,” I suggest, wanting to get her number.
She’s a little hesitant at first, but eventually she’s got my phone in her hands, adding her name and number to my contacts. I take the phone from her when she’s done, sending her the quickest text, and then she’s hustling me out of her little cake shop, the door closing with a firm slam behind me.
I’m left standing on the sidewalk, blinking against the intense late afternoon sun, my head spinning, my body vibrating with need.
Yeah. I’m not ready to go back to California yet. I have some unfinished business to attend to here in Cunningham Falls.
And that unfinished business has everything to do with Maisey.
Chapter Five
Maisey
“So.” Brooke leans against my kitchen counter, a wineglass dangling from her fingers. Her smile is smug, the smile of a woman who is happy, confident, and madly in love. “You haven’t filled me in on the details about your encounter with Tucker yesterday.”
Ugh. I want to punch her in her too-happy face.
Wait. That’s not true. I don’t want to hurt my sister. Finally she’s in a place in life where everything is going her way, and no one deserves it more than her. I would never admit this out loud, but I’m a little envious. Yeah, yeah, my life is good. I’m pleased with how quickly my business is growing. I have a cute duplex I rent and I’m saving money in the hopes to eventually expand my business and maybe, possibly buy a house someday soon. A little fixer-upper. Something cute and charming and all mine.
But right now, those things are just…dreams. Future visions on my imaginary vision board.