When We Touch

I have an idea. “I need to take care of some things before tonight. Bring Coco home when you’re done.”

Brown eyes flecked with caramel flash to mine, and relief floods my veins when I see happiness shining in them. “Home?”

“Yes.” It’s settled, no discussion.

“Okay,” she replies, and it’s all I need for now.

Eighteen

Ember

Tabby returns and exchanges the Hazelnut Dacquoise for Coco and six more orders.

“She’s a born salesperson,” my best friend announces as my pixie takes off to the back of the store and up the stairs to my apartment.

“She’s four,” I say, placing the elegant dessert in a box on the counter.

Before I close it, we both stand back in wonder at how beautiful it is.

“You’re really fucking good,” Tabby says, her voice hushed.

“It turned out well,” I say, my voice equally hushed. Then I start to laugh. “Aren’t we supposed to have faith in my abilities?”

“Yeah, but… wow. This leaves those penis cakes in the dirt.”

“Ugh—where I’m happy for them to stay.” I roll my eyes, annoyed at the memory of Betty Pepper using her cake orders against me. “I want to be known for bakes I can actually be known for.”

“I don’t know.” Tabby shrugs. “Nothing wrong with being the perverted Peggy Porschen.”

“Only if it’s very small and on the side.” I say, closing the lid and wrapping a wide, iridescent bow around the box.

“My worst nightmare—small and on the side.” She starts to giggle. “That is not what she said… Or if that’s what she said, she said it and ran.”

I snort and roll my eyes as Tabby lifts the box in both hands. Coco comes dancing back into the room. “I’m locking up when we leave,” I say, scooping my daughter onto my hip. “We’re spending the night at Jackson’s.”

Tabby spins back around her velvet lips parted, eyes sparkling. “What does that mean?”

“It means it’s too hot to stay here, and Coco’s not going back to my mother’s.”

Black-rimmed eyes blink back and forth from my daughter to me. “You wouldn’t do this if you weren’t serious. I know you too well.”

I only shrug. The decision was made last night in Jackson’s arms. It was reinforced today when I learned the truth about our past, and it was set in stone when he looked in my eyes and told me to bring Coco home.

“It’s serious.”

My friend’s face goes dreamy, and she sighs as she walks to the door. “It’s like a fairytale. Happy endings do happen in real life.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow—I’ve got work to do.”

* * *

Coco sits at Jackson’s kitchen table, her collection of play-dough toys neatly assembled around her. She’s humming her made-up tune as she rolls out red dough, and I return to staring at my weathered notebook. Almond cake with strawberry preserves and buttercream lattice icing, fresh flower decorations, daisies and lilies.

Not lilies—those are funeral flowers.

Funeral…

I’m trying to plan Donna’s wedding cake, but my stubborn brain keeps circling back to Betty Pepper’s story.