Page 7 of Free to Breathe
The head judge, a snooty French pastry chef, had remarked, “Then I suppose it’s good for them that you just won $50,000, Mr. Blake.”
I’ll never forget the look on Brendan’s face when he turned to me and said, “No, the University of Washington just won $100,000 donated by myself and Ms. Freeman.” He picked me up and swung me around in the air.
I felt unstoppable, like nothing could touch me. Maybe I could tackle my own demons with as much bravery as Joey Blake and as much determination as Brendan Blake. But as the weeks and months passed, and work became my primary focus again, I started to feel like Cinderella after the clock struck midnight. The glass slipper fell off a while ago. Hell, it didn’t fall off—it had shattered.
It’s time to face my reality head-on. And right now, reality involves laying three pieces of ridiculously delicate foil so smoothly, people would think I’d airbrushed it onto the cake.
Picking up the book of 24 karat rose-gold leafing, I match up the edge to the side of the bottom of the layer. Peeling away the delicate leafing, I pull off the paper. Almost perfect. Spinning the cake layer around, I keep going, overlapping just a bit so the lines start to obliterate. Dabbing here and there, my soft brush blends any seams. Over the top, I begin where the edge didn’t quite match the height of the cake and lay the foil so it meets in the center. Using a barely noticeable patch where I know Phil will affix the ornate cake topper, I dab everything down until it’s finished.
Done.
I reach under the cake layer and gently place it on top of the other layers, trying not to disturb them. It’s precisely 3:58. I’m debating if I should sacrifice my time with Em and the girls to make sure this cake arrives safely at the reception, when the door to the kitchen opens and Caleb walks in. He stops dead in his tracks. “Whoa, Cori. That’s…” His words halt.
“I know.” It was a pain in the ass, but it’s absolutely magnificent. “Let me get a picture before I head out with Phil.” I pull my phone from my pocket and start walking around, taking pictures from all angles.
“No,” Caleb replies. “First, you’re due for a shower. Then Em’s waiting on you to transform you into something more beautiful for tonight.”
I snort. “That won’t be too hard.”
He frowns. “’Cause it’s hard to improve on perfection.”
I laugh as I pat his cheek. “You’re sweet, but really, that was funny. I thought I’d go with Phil to make certain nothing happened with the cake.”
Caleb glares at me. “I have my orders. You’re to hit the shower and report to Em’s studio. I’m going to help Phil with the cake.” I start to protest, but Caleb stops me. “Cassidy’s orders.”
I shake my head. “I’d really feel better if—”
“And Cassidy would feel better making some part of this up to you. Should I assume Phil knows how to get it into the van?”
I nod. “We just need to load up from the front.”
Locking the wheeled cart into place, Caleb and I slide the cake over much the same way a patient is transitioned from a hospital bed to a surgical table—carefully. Rolling my hard work down the hallway, I hear an astonished “Holy crap.”
I nod, refusing to acknowledge Colby’s awe more than that before I continue walking backward toward the entrance.
“Let me get the door at least.”
“Appreciate that, Hunt,” Caleb answers, sending me a curious look. I ignore it, as I do most things when it comes to Colby.
Colby follows us out and watches as I give instructions to Phil and Caleb about how to secure the cake and how not to touch the golden foil, and hand them the soft brush in the event they do brush anything. Despite my fury at Phil, I give him a quick kiss when I mutter, “Drive safely,” before I turn to head back into the mansion.
“You’re welcome,” Colby calls from where he stands in the driveway. With a flick of my hand, I walk inside to bask in the warmth of a shower before my sisters descend upon me.
* * *
“Christ, Em. That hurt,”I bitch a short while later as my eyebrows are being ripped from my face.
“Do you want to look and feel good?” She’s merciless.
“It’s not like anyone’s going to look twice at me when I’m surrounded by the rest of you, so who the hell cares?” I’m dressed in a black sleeveless top, dark-wash jean shorts, and complementary black Valentino espadrille platform wedges. Okay, I look halfway decent this evening.
Em snickers derisively as she picks up her makeup brush. “Please. I was hoping that top would fit based on how much weight you’ve dropped since your clothes are hanging on you. Did you pick them up at a bargain sale?”
I smile beatifically. “Maybe I did.”
As she dabs the waterproof foundation on my face, she leans in. “Don’t get smart with me, missy. I’ve yet to apply your makeup. You could end up looking like a raccoon.”
“Anything’s better than what you’re starting with.”
