“Brooklyn.”
“Nice to meet you, Brooklyn.”
“Are you hitting on the baking goddess?” a young woman asked as she walked toward the dessert table.
Roman’s brown eyes twinkled, and he smiled slightly. “Yeah, I was trying to. But you interrupted, you little rug rat.”
He reached out to grab the young woman around the shoulders and pulled her into his body.
She laughed. “Please don’t mess up my hair. It took forever for me to get it this way.”
“Brooklyn, meet my sister, Brielle. She has no filter and is generally a pain in the ass.”
I grinned. “Ah, then I’m going to get along great with her.”
Brielle laughed. “I like you. Jazz was right, wasn’t she?”
Roman smiled. “Yeah, she was right. Where is Jazz, anyway?”
“She went into the house to make a phone call.” Brielle shrugged out from underneath Roman’s arm. “When can I have a piece of the cake?”
“When Mom and Dad cut it,” Roman said.
“They won’t notice a skull missing, will they?” Brielle asked, her blue eyes shining with the quintessential younger-sister plea.
“The skulls aren’t edible,” Roman said. “They’re just for decoration.”
“You’re a baker now, are you?” I asked, putting my hands to my hips.
Roman raised his brows. “They’re edible?”
I nodded. “Made of sugar.”
Brielle reached out to grab one and Roman smacked her hand. “What are you? Five?”
She scrunched her nose.
“I saw that,” another man stated as he approached. He looked very similar to Roman, but instead of brown eyes, they were blue like Brielle’s. He tugged on one of Brielle’s red curls. “Are you misbehaving, urchin?”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.
“Fine, I’ll call you troublemaker instead.”
“That’s better.” She sighed. “Brooklyn, this is Virgil, my brother.”
“Older brother,” Virgil said with a wink.
“Nice to meet you.” My head was spinning from all the introductions. Jazz and I had set up an hour before the party guests had begun to arrive, and from the moment they started showing up I’d been bombarded with questions and conversation. But Jazz had been right. It was excellent word of mouth, and I was having fun.
The heat lamps around the perimeter of the huge white tent provided enough warmth to take the chill out of the late winter air. Guests floated along, holding cocktails and taking food from passing servers.
“Where’s Homer?” Brielle asked, looking around, a mar frowning her face.
“Probably skipping rocks in the pond,” Roman quipped.
“Our other brother,” Virgil explained. “He’s not as charming as me. Or as nice.”
“Stoic is a better word for Homer,” Roman said.