Page 36 of The Trouble with Runaway Brides

“Please, it says that in every damn interview you two have done since announcing your engagement. Your first meeting sounds pretty fucking boring if you ask me.” I open the door to Sweet Suga Things.

Kenzie stares at me for a long beat, juts out her chin, and stomps past me into the bakery. She stops short and I run into her back because the lobby is filled with people and everyone’s eyes are on us. Mostly they’re giving Kenzie dirty looks, but when they look at me, they put on a smile and say good morning.

I can tell it frustrates Kenzie because she shakes her head. “Maybe I should announce you next time? Here comes the golden boy, His Highness Lance Whitmore.”

“That would be nice.”

She rolls her eyes. Thankfully, Greta has hired help in the past couple years, so instead of having to wait until the morning rush is over, Greta tells us to walk down the hall to the tasting room.

Kenzie rushes away from all the judging eyes and I don’t blame her. I had no idea people had such strong feelings about what happened between us. Wasn’t it me who was heartbroken, not them?

In the tasting room, the table has a book on it with three chairs around it. Kenzie hooks her purse on the back of a chair while I lean my back against the wall and cross my legs, pulling out my phone.

“You’re not even going to help me?”

I look left and right. “Am I the groom? The best man? Father of the bride?” I bury my head back in my phone.

“Fine.” She violently flips page after page, looking at the photographs of all the cakes Greta has decorated for the people in town. “I feel like I want staggered, not tiered.”

“That way, you can jump from cake to cake. Sounds like a good choice for you.”

If looks could kill, I’d be on the floor and bleeding profusely. I admit it was a low blow. The anger in her eyes doesn’t faze me, but the flash of hurt is like a needle to the eye.

Greta comes in with two trays full of small bites of cake. She smiles at me. “Hi, Lance.”

“Hi, Greta.” I push myself off the wall and kiss her cheek in hello.

“Kenzie. I never thought I’d be baking your cake.” Greta smiles warmly at Kenzie.

“Please don’t put arsenic in it,” she says, looking at me from the corner of her eye.

Greta laughs and places the trays on the table. “People need to mind their business around here and remember that they’re not perfect either.” She pats Kenzie’s hand and I kind of want to call her a traitor. “Is the groom running late?”

Kenzie’s smile drops. She shakes her head with an expression of disappointment. “No. He’s working. I’m handling most things myself.”

“Well, usually the groom doesn’t offer much in the way of opinions. They just eat the cake and say they like everything anyway.” She chuckles. “Plus, you have Lance. And he was just here with Brinley, so he knows the ropes.”

“Uh-huh,” Kenzie says, seeming unconvinced. “Wait. What? Brinley’s engaged?”

I nod.

“I didn’t know,” she practically whispers.

“Well…” I give her a look to imply she has no reason to know, but the way she slowly turns back to the cake book makes my gut twist. I hate this soft spot I still have for her.

“But we’re not talking about Brinley. Let’s talk about you,” Greta says. “What’s your favorite cake?”

“Lemon,” we say at the same time.

Fuck. Keep your head buried in your phone, asshole.

My gaze meets Kenzie’s, and she’s fighting a smile because I remembered.

“Okay, well, it’s not really a traditional wedding cake flavor, but you’re the bride, so you get what you want.” Greta writes it down. “I have a bunch of samples here for you to try, so from there, you can decide whether you want it all to be lemon or whether you want to include some other flavors.”

“The cake is a big thing. Don’t you think you should go with what the majority of people would like? Chocolate, white, marble, or even red velvet.” There I go again, spouting off at the mouth.

“Lance, you’re such a people pleaser,” Kenzie says as if that’s a bad thing.

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