Page 2 of Baking for His Omega

First birthdays only come once.

Wyatt’s first birthday party was probably the smallest known to man, but I was determined to make memories, even if the party was only for us and the few people I’d met since moving to Oliver Creek a few months ago. Mostly from a daddy playdate in town once a week we’d gone to several times. So, Wyatt would have some kids to play with at his celebration.

Judson, my ex, bailed on us at the last minute. Even though I wanted Wyatt to have his bio daddy there, I was relieved to see the text.

Judson already moved on. Friends had spotted him hanging out with some omegas in the city, and one sent me a picture of him dancing in a club only two days after we’d broken up. He’d probably moved on even before I decided to leave.

He’d love-bombed me in the beginning. Lavished me with extravagant gifts. Talked about me being his fated mate after our second date, although I didn’t feel the same. Judson was my chosen life partner, but no more.

My deer never recognized Judson as our fated and wasn’t particularly happy to have him around. I’d accepted that I might not ever meet my mate and was at peace with that fact.

I should’ve listened to my deer, but my Wyatt. He was worth going through all of this. I’d do it all again to have him in my life.

Keeping things simple for the party, I hung some dark-and-light-blue streamers in the dining area and on his high chair. Also a few balloons I’d blown up myself, no helium for us. It wasn’t much, but I wanted pictures of everything.

Plus, I was on a budget.

When Judson canceled, he’d also bailed on the one thing he was supposed to do for his son’s first birthday: be in charge of cake. In a panic, I called Bearly Baked, the bakery I’d walked past many times but never gone in because I knew I’d go overboard. The place smelled incredible. The man who answered, probably based on the freaked-out tone of my voice, had gone to the trouble of making me a smash cake for him at the last minute. I could’ve gotten a few cupcakes from the grocery store, but this was a special occasion for a very special boy. Oliver Creek got better by the second.

A sting of anger zipped through me at the thought of my ex not coming. Not for me but for Wyatt. One day, when I showed my boy the pictures of his first birthday, would he ask where his other father was? Would he wonder why Judson didn’t feature in his life at all? He hadn’t even seen Wyatt since he was eight months old, missed so many firsts. I’d texted him a video of Wyatt’s first steps.

He sent back a thumbs-up. Luckily my phone didn’t break when it hit the wall. I couldn’t afford to replace it.

Sometimes it seemed like yesterday when I started hoarding my money to leave, but on days like this, it felt like years ago. This party was sparse by Pinterest and social media standards, but I had to make every penny count. We were subsisting on my dwindling savings. I would have to get a job soon. I’d been looking everywhere, but there didn’t seem to be anything to fit what I needed. Plus, I would need daycare for Wyatt, even though that was the last place I wanted to put him. Next thing I knew, I would be getting updates on one of those security cameras from a virtual stranger. I’d ask the playdate daddies for recommendations.

I shook off the negative thoughts. Things wouldn’t be perfect, but at least I wouldn’t be settling for the bare minimum when Wyatt and I deserved more.

Everything was ready, except me. Wyatt was stirring in the other room. He usually took some time after waking up before he called for me. His littleDadawas one of the best sounds in the world.

I was still in my pajamas from the night before, since I’d spent a lot of time getting bits of yellow and white goop from every surface after a scrambled egg incident at breakfast. Glancing at my watch, I recognized showering would not be happening quite yet and ran to the bedroom to dress. I had barely fastened a pair of jeans and gotten a T-shirt over my head when the doorbell rang.

“Coming,” I yelled, just as my son went from self-soothing to wanting his dada. I stopped in his room and got him out of his crib. Before answering the door, I called out to the person again and put Wyatt down on his play mat.

I swung the door open and gasped. Here I was, in my plainest clothes. I hoped there were no traces of scrambled eggs in my unwashed hair. I hadn’t shaved.

In front of me stood the handsomest man I’d ever seen.

He held a pale-blue box and my next breath.

Chapter Three

Gideon

The smash cake and the one for the adults at the party were my favorite things to bake. As I prepared the batter, I always thought of the little person who would be celebrating their very first birthday with their family.

So much promise. They could grow up to be anyone or anything. And their family, their moms or dads, would be there to watch and share in the adventure. I tried not to be envious of that and just enjoy my small part of the whole thing.

Which I usually managed just fine. Fate had not seen fit to give me a mate, but my life was pretty good with my business and friends, and I tried to remember to be grateful for those things. But I still hoped one day to bake a smash cake for a little one of my own.

Shrugging, I began the cake ordered by the panicked customer. He’d given me a color theme but hadn’t actually said what flavor, so I went with my standby of a vanilla bean cake with a vanilla pastry cream filling. The little ones often preferred less strong tastes, and some hadn’t even had chocolate by their first birthday, so vanilla bean was a go-to choice.

After blending sugar and butter until light and fluffy, I scraped the seeds of a full vanilla bean into the mixture. Dry ingredients and sour cream or buttermilk were added in thirds of each until I had a fluffy delicious-scented batter ready to put in three nine-inch round pans and the small one for the smash cake.

Usually I was doing one thing after another so quickly, I didn’t get to take the time to enjoy it, but with everything else for the day completed and the doors locked, I was able to put extratime and care into the decorations for the smash cake and the larger one as well.

Boxing the cakes, I locked the door behind me and headed out to make the delivery on my way home. It wasn’t far out of my way, fortunately, and I’d soon be home having dinner.

The address I’d been given was in a section of town where people often landed when moving here with little money. Our reputation as a thriving town with new businesses opening all the time and job opportunities had brought in not just tourists and investors but people who looking for a new life, and many ended up here, at least at the beginning. A far cry from a city slum, it was still not fancy, mostly small apartments and older homes that could use some work.

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