Page 54 of Some Like It Hott

“I’d love some,” Natalie says.

And just like that, we’re holding two slices of chocolate cake, walking back to our table.

“Good luck brainstorming that list,” Natalie taunts around a huge mouthful of the best chocolate cake on Earth.

I can’t disagree with her assessment.

“Is chocolate cake your favorite dessert?” I ask.

“As a rule, definitely,” she says, her nose crinkled as she thinks about it. “My all-time favorite though…there’s this bakery in New Haven, Connecticut, that I visited one time when I visited my sister at college. Lucibello’s. And she ordered me this pastry—it’s called a Sicilian cannoli. It’s puff pastry filled with custard, and holycrap—I swear to God, it waslife changing. But did you know you can’t get Italian pastry around here for love or money? Maybe in San Francisco, but it’s really hard to come by on the West Coast, generally. I’ve had a lot of Scandinavian pastry, but the custard’s not the same. I have food fantasies about Lucibello’s custard all the time.”

She’s all riled up, talking a mile a minute, face flushed. I reach out and swipe a tiny bit of chocolate frosting off the corner of her mouth. I want to lick it off my finger so bad that I can already taste it. I lift my hand to do it, and her eyes go dark. I feel like I’m balanced on a narrow ledge, and I don’t hate the rush of adrenaline it gives me.

My phone buzzes, and at the last minute, I drop my hand and wipe my finger on my napkin.

Natalie bites her lip.

I pull out my phone. It’s my boss, Anjali.Just checking in to make sure everything’s going okay there. We on track with everything?

I close my eyes and text back,Absolutely.

When I glance back at Natalie, she’s eating cake with all her attention.

“Your birthday parties must have been a trip when you were a kid,” I say.

She shrugs. “Not so much. My parents weren’t big on birthday parties.”

“What does that mean?” I ask. “Like, you didn’t have them?”

She shrugs. “My parents were both pretty busy, and they had ideas about what was important. Chocolate cake and Bouncy Town didn’t figure in. When I was nine, I started planning my own parties. That’s part of how I got good at activities planning.”

My chest is tight. I can imagine little-kid Natalie, a bundle of fun energy looking for any outlet. What kind of parents wouldn’t want to do everything in their power to make that kid smile and laugh?

I want to give little-kid Natalie every birthday party she never had.

“Forget that,” she says, waving a hand, grinning. “Old news. C’mon. Let’s go play in the arcade till we aren’t so full and can bounce again.”

We play Skee-Ball. I score 50,000. She scores 7,500.

“You hustled me,” she accuses.

“You didn’t ask if I was the Skee-Ball champion of the Western world,” I point out.

“It feels like information you should have shared when we discussed whether there’s anything you do for fun.”

“I haven’t played since I was a teenager,” I say.

“And yet you’re still this good.”

I cross my arms. “It’s like riding a bicycle.”

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “Do you want to jump into the foam pit?”

I frown. “I don’t know. I have issues with the foam pit.”

“What kind of issues?”

“Trust issues. What if there are sharks?”

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