Page 60 of Yours Temporarily

“I’m no baker of wedding cakes.” Morgan crosses his arms over the chef’s coat, his brown skin glistening in the light. He doesn’t need to take off his chef’s hat for me to know his hair is more gray than black. He’s been our chef most of my life. “Not to the standard Mrs. Kress expects for a wedding.”

“I can bake the cake.” Zuri steps up, looking at me with sincerity, and as my heart starts beating wildly, I almost forget what we’re discussing until she speaks again. “I took a wedding-cake class once.”

“This is a wedding cake we’re talking about.” Mom wrings her hands, shaking her head, disapproving.

“I want Zuri to make the cake.” Hope clasps Zuri’s hand, smiling. “The girls and I will help.”

“As long as it’s not a boxed cake.” Mom yields, her gaze darting between me, the disaster, and Zuri.

“That’s if you all have a grocery and hobby store. Point me there so I can get the supplies.”

I nod. “I’ll drive you.”

“Can we go now?”

She’s serious, so I glance at the stove. It’s seven thirty. “The hobby store might be closed, but the grocery store is probably open.”

“If I can get the cakes baked tonight, they’ll have time to cool. Then tomorrow we can focus on frosting and decorating.”

I block out everyone’s words as I walk toward Zuri and catch the keys Gavin tosses me. Several voices shout out thanks to Zuri for the attempt. My mom, doubtful, claims she’ll still try to call Delia’s Bakery to see if they can make a cake on short notice. The bakery is thirty miles from Pleasant View, so I doubt her solution will work.

Zuri is our main plan—my whole plan.

In the hallway, I take her hand and stop walking. She halts. Her long maxi dress flows around her ankles with her movement and fits her trim figure in all the right places.

“I don’t like when you ghost me.” I use the words she used when I created a distance between us.

“I haven’t ignored your calls.” She looks at me with those guileless eyes that send my blood thrumming.

“I’m sorry if I said something to upset you.” I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and she shivers. I have no idea what I’m even apologizing about.

“I’m sorry for getting upset for no reason.” Her gaze flicks to my mouth before refocusing on my eyes, and I muster all my self-control not to pull her in my arms, snuggle her cuddly body, and kiss her. She rolls her eyes and resumes our walk. “I was a bit jealous. But I’m good now.”

Does she mean she’s good because she’s moved back to our fake status or she’s figured out that I like her? I settle for lifting our entwined hands and kissing her fingers. Whatever unfinished business is between us, we might have some time to resolve in the car or during this cake debacle now that she’s finally talking to me.

CHAPTER 22

Zuri

My uneven breathing whispers into the silent kitchen as I lean in, my eyes narrowing. Morgan surrendered the kitchen to me—the fleeing chef likely feared repercussions from any association with my task. Now, it’s just me and Serafina who flew in with Jeremy’s boss this morning. She insisted on assisting, claiming kitchen-support experience from helping her best friend. I squeeze more blue icing from the piping bag.

“It’s beautiful.” Serafina sighs dreamily. “I can’t believe how you’re crafting the illusion of a waterfall cascading down the three-tiered cake.” She nudges in a fondant rock at its base.

Am I succeeding? Since the two of us smoothly iced it with white fondant earlier, I’m now finishing the artistic aspects. The spacious kitchen island offers ample room for maneuvering as we add the final touches and edible decorations. An itch tampers with my concentration, demanding the use of my already busy hands. I straighten, place the piping bag on the plate, then rub my wrist against the nagging sensation on my forehead.

Serafina steps away and rubs her back. “Hard to believe it’s four twenty already.”

“You should sit.” I nod toward a stool without mentioning the obvious—the poor girl has been on her feet for hours, and she’s pregnant. Still so much to do. My gaze sweeps the chaos strewn across the counters. Powdered sugar dusts one area. Bags of sugar, remnants of butter and marzipan, and bottles of vanilla and almond extracts stand among the various baking tools we’d bought. Three hand mixers each rest in their own unwashed mixing bowls, having done their duty crafting the separate frostings and fillings. I could have washed them in between, but I also wanted backup mixers should one of them break or for whatever reason not work.

“Go rest, Serafina. I’m almost done, and I’ll clean the mess before the Kresses and their relatives return from the rehearsal dinner.”

Last night, on our drive to the grocery market, I called Lexi to send me the video she recorded while I made a practice wedding cake after that class. I also had her text me the recipe from my Rolodex since I hadn’t posted the cake or the video on my blog.

“I wish you’d made my wedding cake.” Serafina slumps against the counter rather than leave. “You’re an amazing chef. The Kresses are blessed to have you here, and it’s been wonderful to see Jeremy as happy as he is around you.”

Is that true? “We had fun last night.” I smile at the memory. “Jeremy not only helped me shop but also stayed in the kitchen as we baked the three tiers. He even made me laugh in our rush to get the cakes made to perfection.”

We finished the task well after midnight, and I slept in his childhood bedroom. Since Sonya’s occupying Gavin’s old bedroom, Jeremy slept in one of the vacant guest rooms. Her pursuit of Jeremy slowed since the ski area, which might have something to do with my little tantrum. Plus, Sara’s been less invested in pushing them together. Perhaps she’s just overshadowed by the wedding preparations, or maybe she fears making me mad before I finish the cake.

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