Page 37 of The Trouble with Runaway Brides

“I’m merely suggesting it so that people don’t walk away from your wedding and say, ‘It was nice, but the cake…’”

“I make a great lemon cake,” Greta says, clearly offended.

“I’m sure you do, but how many brides have lemon cakes?”

She hems and haws. “That doesn’t mean anything. We could have layers of whipped cream, maybe some strawberries.”

Kenzie picks up a piece of cake—red velvet, I think—but she doesn’t try it. “This isn’t going to make me happy.”

I pick up the piece she put down. “It’s delicious. This is the cake your guests will brag about.”

“I don’t care.”

“Your fiancé will.”

“He only wants me happy.”

A sadistic laugh bubbles up out of me and I throw back my head. “Keep convincing yourself of that. You might want to ask Mr. Asbury if he approves of lemon. You already made them change their plans to have the wedding here.”

Greta’s head is volleying between us, but she doesn’t say anything.

There’s a knock at the door and a girl interrupts because she needs Greta at the register.

“I’ll be right back. Play nice.” Greta gives me the same long stare she’d give me when we came in here after middle school and messed around.

I hold up my hands as if it’s not my fault.

“Keep that innocent act going.” Kenzie casually looks at the pieces of cake on the tray and picks up a marble one, taking the tiniest bite.

“You’re not going to taste it like that.” I pick up a bite, put the entire three-tier piece into my mouth, and lick my fingers clean.

“Neanderthal.”

“You wish.”

“Why would I wish that?”

“Never mind.”

“Tell me.”

“Just forget it.” I pick up the white cake with white frosting. It’s my favorite, and if I’m stuck doing this, I’m going to enjoy something about it.

“You always did like white cake best, didn’t you?”

I shrug.

Silence surrounds us except for the noises from the front of the bakery—a crying baby, a loud toddler, people from Northern Lights Retirement Home carrying on loudly as if they forgot their hearing aids.

“So, Van and Brinley then?” She doesn’t look up from the book.

“Yeah.”

“When? I mean, it was only weeks ago that I saw her.”

I’m torn about whether I should tell her anything. This is Brinley’s news, but she’s not going to share it with Kenzie unless something changes while Kenzie’s in town. Still, it’s not like she couldn’t find out if she went back into old Buzz Wheel posts.

“That day you saw them in New York.”

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