Page 61 of Yours Temporarily

I grit my teeth against an itch under my hair cap, a necessary discomfort to prevent any stray hairs from marooning themselves in the cake. Earlier today, Hope and her friends helped acquire the decorations. But, while I had lots of helpers, I encouraged everyone not to miss the rehearsal dinner. I’m capable of managing this final task alone. Besides, part of me would have preferred to work solo at this phase, so if anything went wrong, I could fix it by myself. Of course, I wouldn’t mention this to Jeremy’s boss’s wife, who’s starting to feel like a friend. In truth, her presence has saved me hours. She’s been incredibly supportive, and her energy and encouragement have really bolstered me.

I reach for the piping bag and lean in again to finish my waterfall before standing back to assess the cake. Moving from one side to the other, I survey the playful cascade accented with ripples and frosty edges to look like movement. My chest expands at the decent creation. “I’m no artist, but this turned out pretty good.”

“As a kindergarten teacher, I can’t promise I’m the best judge of art.” Her laugh rings out. “But I’d say those hours you said you spent looking at the cake picture on Pinterest this morning paid off. It’s stunning.”

It kinda is. Impressed, I nod, but my eyes narrow. As much as I like the waterfall, should I add or remove something? Unless it’s just me wanting perfection, I can’t figure out what’s amiss.

A shuffle in the hallway makes me jerk.

“They’re back already?” I rush to the kitchen, needing to clean.

But rather than panic alongside me, Serafina smiles at someone over my shoulder. “Looks like I’m no longer needed here.”

She gives me a little wave and scoots off as I spin around.

Jeremy emerges dressed in jeans and a V-neck navy sweater over a blue shirt. His mischievous smile sends my heart into hyperdrive.

I smile back. It’s so hard to be mad at him, especially over my personal insecurities, really.

“As the best man, aren’t you supposed to be at the rehearsal dinner?” I shouldn’t want him to be anywhere near Sonya since she, too, went to the rehearsal dinner.

“Rehearsals are over, now it’s dinner. I had to come and check on you.” He stops in front of me. His hand lifts to my jaw, and his fingers brush off remnants of something, powdered sugar perhaps.

Struggling to breathe, I fight the urge to close my eyes.

“How’s it going?” His hand drops to his side, and his gaze flicks to the island. “You—wow!”

His low whistle slides out. Amazement gleams in his blue eyes as he takes my hand and leads me to the island. “You made a waterfall cake? How did you do that?”

I shrug, my chest expanding as he assesses the cake. “Zee, you should be opening a cake shop instead of a café.”

“Have you forgotten the pressure we were under last night?” Wedding-cake bakers, I’m sure, have to deal with deadlines and pressures from demanding clients like Sara, not to mention the women society has termed bridezillas.

“The waterfall is perfect.” He points at the olive-green leaves and vines. “I like how they entwine the tiers. It adds a touch of organic detail.”

“I hope it complements the watery motif.”

“They’ll like this better than Mom’s original rose-themed cake. A waterfall is more meaningful to them.”

“Hope told me to make whatever cake was easier, and I thought of that picture of them in Uganda in front of the waterfall.”

“Exactly.” He leans in, squinting as if studying something. He then ushers me over, and I move to crouch beside him. Our breaths unite as he points at the brown fondant-crafted stones.

“There’s stones around the top tier and at the bottom tier around the waterfall’s base. Is there any reason you didn’t want to put the stones around the middle tier?”

I slap my forehead with the back of my gloved hand. “That’s what’s missing.”

His detailed eye is always needed. It would look better if all tiers matched.

I reach for the fondant from the container, the balls I’d rounded, and offer one to Jeremy.

“You should put it on.”

His eyes widen. “You want me to mess up the cake?”

“You’re meticulous. If anything, I’d be the one messing up.”

He holds back his hands, and I point to the box of gloves. After he slides on a pair, I hand him the stone, then watch as he places the first stone. He then looks at the design on the other side when I hand him the next stone. While it takes forever, he lines the stones to match the other tiers. Then he steps back with a lopsided grin, yanking off his gloves and tossing them into the makeshift trash can under the island. “How did I do?”

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