Page 51 of The Incubus's Angel
I repeat the dowel process for the middle tier and rest my hands on my hips as I eye the long dowel meant to go through the center of all three to keep them from leaning. Regardless of the hard work it takes to create the finished product, I am also having fun watching it all come together.
Yesterday morning the kitchen had eggs, flour, butter, sugar, and a bunch of other ingredients laid out in front of me. Today I’m staring at three distinctly flavored cakes with a beautifully intricate pattern around each.
Just then, Aunt Annamae floats back into the kitchen. “Oh, you’re at the critical portion of assembly now, aren’t you?”
I roll my shoulders back. “I am. It’s exciting yet terrifying.”
Aunt Annamae reaches across the table and takes my hand. “You’ve got this, sweet Maisie. And we’re right here with you. I can’t wait to tell your parents about this.”
Lifting one shoulder in a tiny shrug, I say quietly, “They know I helped with Bodin and Tilly’s claiming ceremony cake.”
My aunt shakes her head, her eyes filling with compassion. “That’s not quite the same, is it, dear? You were essential with the flavors, design, and assembly for their ceremony cake. But this one, it’s all you.”
I let her words percolate for a second, feeling their truth seep into my heart. “You’re right. I’m a badass baker. Let’s assemble this bitch.”
“Oh, okay,” she says, slowly feeling the vibe I’m trying to exude, then catching it with a nod. “Not sure about calling the cake a bitch, but yes. Let’s assemble her.”
Spatulas in hand, I lift the coconut-and-lime tier and carefully hover it over the center of the vanilla bean sponge, then drop it on the now-invisible dowels. When nothing collapses, a collective breath escapes from all three of us—Uncle Richard also having joined at some point.
The ladder gets brought over and I step a bit higher so I’m able to see the exact spot the smallest cake should go. Heart in my throat and palms a little clammy, I eye the two clean spatulas being handed to me.
This is it. Either the cake will hold, or it’ll collapse.
Not giving myself too much time to hesitate, I lift the smallest tier and carefully lower it onto the center of the large cake underneath. There’s absolute silence as I remove the spatulas and wait to see what the cake decides to do.
It stays.
The dowels support the weight of all the layers and another audible sigh resounds around the room as we realize that the tricky part is over.
Only one final step in the assembly process remains.
Uncle Richard gives me a cheery thumbs-up before handing me the long dowel. I quickly measure and cut it for the full length of the cake before sticking it right down the center to secure all three tiers together.
With some buttercream, I cover the spot the dowel disappeared down, then come down the ladder to join my uncle and aunt.
The three of us stare at the beautiful creation for a couple of seconds before I say, “This pretty cake is in need of a crown.”
“Oh, talking about crowns, I still need to make yours,” Aunt Annamae says. “I thought it’d be better to do it later on the beach because I didn’t want it to get in the way of all the work you’re doing.”
“And Uncle Richard?” I ask, pointing to the floral crown looking pretty on top of his head.
“He’s used to it by now. Can do anything with a bit of greenery attached. To anywhere,” she says with a lascivious lilt in her voice.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “I did not need to know that.”
Aunt Annamae laughs before disappearing to the front of the shop again.
Picking up a couple of cornflowers, I place them at random intervals around the bottom of each tier. I do the same with the pansies, then the calendula, and finally the lavender. If you look quickly, the flowers seem random, but by design, no pattern repeats itself. It’s a gorgeous explosion of colors and makes the cake that much more impressive.
When I’m satisfied with the final product, Uncle Richard helps me maneuver the beast into the fridge, then I’m trudging to the front of the shop to plop my butt down for a bit.
“Are you going to be okay being all by yourself in the café today?” Aunt Annamae asks from the seat across from me. “Idon’t want you to feel like you’re missing out when we’re on the beach and you’re alone up here.”
I wave her off. “Please don’t worry about me. I’m more than okay with it. Besides, can you imagine my entrance when I walk onto the beach at sunset with that birthday cake?” I flick my eyebrows up and down for emphasis.
“They’re going to scream. And when they taste it, they’ll scream again. Or maybe moan. A whole group of moaners, though, might turn into a different type of party.” My aunt says suggestively, and I giggle at the thought of accidentally starting an orgy at a one-hundredth birthday celebration. Before we can go too far down that path, she adds, “This cake is certainly your most spectacular creation to date. It’s breathtaking.”
I inhale deeply, letting her words settle into my heart. “Thank you, but if it wasn’t for you and Uncle Richard, the flowers and all your support and advice—”
