Page 6 of Sweet Bred

“Well, if you do, you won’t get any judgment from me.”

She laughs. “I would deserve to be judged. No one should ever eat that much cake at once.”

“That’s a fact, huh?”

“Yep. It’s a local ordinance, actually.”

I’m far too into the playful tone that this conversation has taken on. Clearing my throat, I say, “I meant to ask when you first came in. When is your wedding?”

Usually when I ask that of a bride-to-be, she lights up at the question. Juliet doesn’t.

“In two months,” she says simply, and drops her eyes back to the plates in front of her. “I’m tasting the chocolate one next.”

I forbid myself from reading into her reaction. In all likelihood, it didn’t mean anything.

“Oh, no,” Juliet says around her bite of chocolate cake, covering her mouth. “This one is just as good. I’m never going to be able to choose.”

“You don’t have to choose just one,” I say. “A lot of couples opt for multiple flavors. We can do a different one for each tier.”

She frowns. “What’s the maximum number of tiers allowed?”

Her question, asked in such a gravely serious tone, makes me laugh. Deeply. Then she starts laughing, too.

Aside from with my brothers, I haven’t laughed like this with anyone since…damn, I can’t even remember.

“I wasn’t trying to be funny!” she protests.

“I’m sorry,” I say, collecting myself. “You just looked so worried.”

“One’s wedding cake is a very serious thing.”

“Of course.”

“Well?” she asks. “How many tiers high can we go?”

“I’d say five is the max.”

“All right. I can work with that.”

I can’t stop myself from imagining how exceedingly lovely she’ll look in a wedding dress. “How many guests are you expecting?”

“Oh…probably…a hundred and fifty? But possibly more. My parents and my fiancé’s parents keep inviting more people.”

“A five-tiered cake would be entirely appropriate, then.”

“Okay. That’s good to know.” She adjusts in her seat. “It’s hard for me to picture a hundred and fifty people gathered together, let alone figure out how much they’ll eat. I don’t want to be wasteful and end up with too much cake.”

“Understandable,” I say. “For what it’s worth, though, any leftovers will freeze well.”

“Right. And I guess there’s that tradition of eating leftover cake on your one-year anniversary, huh?”

I nod. “Yep. There’s that, too.”

A stretch of silence follows that feels…weighted, I guess. Juliet suddenly has a faraway look in her eyes, and her mouth is ever-so-slightly turned down.

I don’t like seeing her like this. She should be happy, talking about her wedding. As much as it pains me to know she’s engaged to another man, the idea of her being unhappily married is fucking awful. This sweet girl deserves all the joy in the world.

“Something on your mind?” I ask.

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