Make You Mine

“I wish Liam was black.” Instantly her green eyes go round, and she leans closer, whis

pering, “Is that racist?”

“Depends on what you say next. Why?”

She falls back on the stool, her eyes fluttering shut. “Because your Devil’s food cake with the coconut pecan buttercream icing and dark chocolate ganache is better than sex.”

“Then you’re not doing it right.”

“You’re not doing it at all!”

Cutting my eyes at her, I set the sharp knife aside.

She sniffs. “Well, you’re not.”

Choosing to ignore her jab, I return to her original statement, reaching for the bowl of vanilla pastry cream. “Liam is white. His penis has to match him.” Pausing in my filling, I study the bisected cake in front of me. “I was planning to use all this cream for the inside, but maybe I should save some for the tip…”

“Oh my god,” Tabby snorts. “Mousey little Donna White has totally knocked my socks off. This is the tackiest order in the history of Ember Rose Cakes!”

I arch an eyebrow at her. “Donna didn’t order it.”

Red-velvet lips part, and Tabby’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “Who did?”

“Help me.”

She lifts the opposite end of the top layer, and together we slowly place it over the cream-filled bottom.

The little bell over the door rings, and I step back, crossing my arms, admiring the lifelike almond-sponge penis cake with vanilla cream filling. “She doesn’t like fondant, so I’m thinking I’ll cover it in beige marzipan—”

“You’re working late tonight, Ember.” My mother’s stern voice echoes through the large, empty store (a.k.a., my future bakery-slash-home).

With a hiss, Tabby spins beside me, blocking the cake with her body. I freeze, my heart thudding frantically in my chest. Oh, shit.

“Uh…” Tabby walks fast to meet my mother halfway between the front door and the large table at the back wall where I do my decorating. “We got a last-minute cake order for Donna’s shower.”

I frantically look for anything to cover the oversized male member—as if that could possibly save us from the shit-storm about to erupt.

“That’s nice.” Condescension is thick in her voice. “Donna’s mother has been a faithful member of the church since you were little girls. I’m sure she’ll appreciate your talent…”

My mother stops, and a knot lodges in my throat. Seconds like hours tick past as she steps around my best friend, arms crossed, frowning down at the phallus. Thank God I haven’t added the extra cream to the tip yet.

“What is this?” Her voice is hard, disgusted.

“Just what the doctor ordered!” Tabby calls out. “A little taste of what’s to come!”

It’s no use. My mother is impervious to humor.

“God gives you a talent, Emberly Rose, and this is how you thank him? By making porn?”

My mind drifts to a list of questions, the way it always does when her lectures start: Would God really be angry about a cake shaped like Donna’s future husband’s penis? Doesn’t God have bigger fish to fry? Does God even fry fish? Jesus ate fish…

“Are you listening to me, Emberly Rose?”

I blink back to attention. “It seemed like an interesting challenge.”

The sweetest little voice cuts through the tension in the air. “Mommy’s cake! Mommy’s cake!” Everything is forgotten as I dash forward, scooping my little girl into my arms.

“Coco bean!” I spin her around and kiss her velvety cheek. The entire world is suddenly brighter.