No Weddings (9 page)

I grinned, sighing. For as much trouble as my sisters had been growing up, I truly relaxed being here with them among family. More than mere blood ties, they were true friends and protectors and had my back no matter what.

Even if I did keep secrets from them.

Hannah was developing into a big one.

Guys didn’t share feelings. Not with other guys. Definitely not with sisters. It’s why we invented locker-room talk. If we couldn’t share our inner touchy-feely, you’re damn right we’d share the conquests. Without an outlet, guys might burst out crying in random places, like walking down the sidewalk during rush hour, from the pressure of being bottled up.

And that embarrassing shit ain’t right.

“You seal the deal with Hannah?” Kristen’s calm voice interrupted my thoughts.

I coughed, choking on the beer that had decided to make a run for my lungs. After a dozen coughs, I looked at Kristen through tears in my eyes. “What?”

She glanced at me with concern. “You okay? Drink much?” She spoke slower and moved her fingers in fake sign language at me. “I said, did you seal the deal with Hannah?” She slumped back from the effort at harassing me, as if it was too much, and sighed. “Do we have our cake supplier or not?”

I snorted, shaking my head, then nodded. “Yes. And no.”

Kristen’s brow furrowed. “What the hell does that mean?” She got up and went into the kitchen.

“Hannah wants to supply to restaurants and resorts, even if it’s for weddings. I’m sticking firm on the point of her not interacting with other event planners. It’s too risky for Invitation Only. But I could tell she wanted to be a part of things, so I offered her a trial run on our first party.”

Kendall turned toward me. “And she agreed?”

“Yep.”

“And will she sign?” Kiki asked.

“Yeah. She explained the importance of her setting up the cakes on location, and I get that. We’ll have to cave on that point and trust that she’ll protect us when she does.”

Kristen called out from the kitchen. “Perfect. Call her and set it up. We’ve got less than two weeks before the event.” She came back into the room with a platter of club sandwiches right as Kendall finished setting up the Monopoly board on Kristen’s coffee table. Playing had become a ritual while we hashed out our business plans. Competitiveness flushed out the best ideas.

I was always the dog. Imagine that.

S
weet Dreams was quiet before eight in the morning. Feet up on a chair opposite me, I typed like a madman. Outside, pedestrians occasionally walked by the large plate glass window next to me. Every now and then, one would stop to admire my bike, rotating around her to take in all the custom chrome details, turning her into a one-bike show.

I shouted out to the empty front room, “You know, you really should think about getting a couple of overstuffed leather chairs up here, maybe a couch.”

On that comment, my tenth random statement in the last hour, Little Miss Baker finally graced me with her presence from the back. “Why? So you could make yourself
more
comfortable?”

Under steady brows, I dropped my head to the side, sending her a deadpan look. “You know you want me here. Who else would give you invaluable business tips? Oh, and speaking of business, our first event has a Super Bowl theme. And is
at
the Super Bowl.”

Dressed in one of those little tees she liked to wear, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Invaluable? Wait, what? At the Super Bowl?” Her eyes widened.

I nodded.

“Nice.” She got this faraway look like she’d already begun planning out the cake.

Pulling my feet down, I straightened in the hard chair, glancing left and right. “And yes, I’m giving you invaluable advice. Do you see customers beating down your door? I don’t.”

Glaring with narrowed eyes, she strode over and took the seat where my feet had just been. “Okay, Mr. Hotshot Business Man, what would you do if you were me?”

I made a show of scanning the room, pretending to take in the place through a fresh set of eyes as if I’d just walked in. And even though I had plenty of ideas without having to take another look, I ran through what came to mind anyway.

The display case was perfectly arranged with a rainbow of cupcakes decorated in unique themes. She had classic black-and-white photographs on the walls in tasteful, matted frames. Large potted plants occupied two corners. An open credenza along the far wall held a few perfectly stacked books. The place
looked
nice but didn’t invite you to sit down and stay awhile.

“Who’s your target market?”

A blank look on her face told me she hadn’t done her homework.

“Who are you baking all of this for?” I clarified in layman’s speak.

She shrugged. “People who like cakes and cupcakes.”

“And you’re just waiting for them to show up?”

A confident nod.

While I liked her rose-colored-glass enthusiasm, it was misplaced. She’d been open for an entire week, and I’d been there at different times in between classes. Not because I’d had nowhere else to be, but because I found something calming in her store that I didn’t find anywhere else. It had become my own personal study library of sorts. Hannah popped up front every hour or so to keep me stocked in free Pellegrino, and she gave good Wi-Fi.

An occasional stray customer would wander in, and after seeing her assorted temptations, would always buy at least one. One customer ordered a dozen. But I’d never seen more than one or two people an hour walk through her door.

“Do you want to cater to an adult clientele or to children?”
Please say adults.
I cringed to think what might happen if my study sanctum transformed into a sticky playground.

“Adults, I think. I don’t mind kids, but I need calm up here to be able to create in back.”

Thank fuck.

On a deep breath, I let my mind race. “Okay. Here’s what you do. Make this a haven for those looking to escape. Like me. Make it like a home library. You’ve started along that vibe, but you have all this empty space up front. Utilize it. Get rid of the plants and put in a few more comfortable furniture pieces.”

She leaned forward, absorbing my rapid-fire suggestions.

“Think about serving coffee. Maybe not everything a coffee bar offers, but a gourmet choice or two. Are you considering hiring help anytime soon?”

“Yes, but with this amount of business it hasn’t made sense yet.”

“Put an ad out and start interviewing while you beef up your marketing efforts. Our sidewalk attack might’ve been a good initial blast, but you need to keep up the momentum. People can’t buy your cakes if they don’t know about you. The location is good for pedestrian traffic, but you can’t rely on it.”

I tapped my chin. “Oh, and think about serving wine.”

She furrowed her brow. “What?”

“Don’t you girls ever go out for each other’s birthday parties? Imagine fifteen women in here all eating cupcakes and drinking wine. You need to get some board games. Plenty of room on the bottom shelf of that wall unit over there.”

“Won’t I need a license for the wine?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a contact down at the liquor licensing department.” I furrowed my brow, trying to remember the rules for establishments other than bars. “I’m not sure if you can get one for just wine. Maybe it’s a beer license I’m thinking of. Oh, hell. There’s an idea. Serve beer.”

Her face screwed into an indignant scowl. “With cupcakes?”

I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest, thinking. “Bacon. Make a rich chocolate cupcake with bacon. There’s a cigar lounge I know not far from here. Team up with them and serve cupcakes laden with bacon and whatever else tastes good. Ask for Roy. Tell him I sent you. He’s the manager, a friend of mine, and an old friend of my father’s.”

A sudden spark in her eyes caught my attention and I paused. Those luscious pink lips curved into a lazy smile. Her intriguing demeanor made it seem like she had a secret.

Whatever thoughts I’d had in my head fell away as I leaned forward, sliding my forearms onto the table. My gaze held hers. In casual jeans and that little tee, her hair clipped up off her long neck, she looked like the best thing in her shop to eat.

Without breaking our eye contact, she slowly rose off her chair. After she stood for long seconds, her smile widened.

“Thanks for the ‘invaluable’ business tips, Cade.”

She turned and broke the spell I’d fallen under. Then I got a long look at her fine ass in jeans that gripped her hips like they were painted on.

With a quick glance over her shoulder, she caught me staring at that glorious asset. Her smile twisted into a smirk. “Oh, and Cade, who exactly is your target market?”

I blinked.

She disappeared.

Oh, yeah. Hannah was in a league of her own. And my target had just narrowed to a singular quarry.

D
ays later, I stumbled into the front area of Sweet Dreams with coffee, as usual. Only the room was crowded. Eight strange faces greeted me, a couple of them bright-eyed and cheery. The rest had traveled from the sort of place I hailed from: groggy and a little slow on the uptake. The ones without coffee stared at my Starbucks tray. I turned, shielding my coffees from them in case any got the inadvisable idea of tackling me.

Uncertain what provoked the mass exodus of college-aged brethren to show up before store hours, I made my way back to the kitchen. Hannah was intently focused, poring over a stack of papers at her desk.

Understanding finally hit me. “You’re hiring.”

Blinking, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled when she saw me. “Ooo, coffee.” She abandoned her stack and grabbed the cup I held out. “I’m bleary-eyed from reading all those resumes.”

“Any potentials?”

She nodded. “Two really stand out above the others. I’ve already had ten-minute interviews with each of them. Daniel is a little edgy—has a Mohawk, piercings, and tattoos—but I love his fun personality. Chloe’s more reserved but has been baking since she was twelve. Both are qualified with great references, and they’re smart enough to learn quickly.”

“Which one’s Chloe?” I edged toward the doorway. Conversations between the applicants had erupted, everyone talking and laughing. A group of five congregated around the couch. Mohawked Daniel leaned forward in the center of the larger group, telling a story that pulled the others to the edge of their seats.

“The one with red hair pulled into a fluffy ponytail,” Hannah whispered, pressing beside me.

Chloe sat in the remaining group of three, oblivious to Daniel. She was calm in a welcoming way and engaged with the other two girls about a topic so funny, they all burst out laughing.

You could tell a lot from watching people interact with others: the expression on their face, body language. Both top candidates seemed honest and didn’t carry baggage on the outside—critical qualities in employees.

“I like them too. I say hire them on the spot.”

G
ame day arrived. Our first event.

For the occasion, Hannah didn’t bake a cake of the football field. And she didn’t do a lame football-shaped cake. Nope.

She built the whole damned stadium.