Seducing the Bride

He’s already managed that without ever touching me.

But I’m saved from replying when a competent thirty-something blonde wearing a French twist and a smile appears from the back of the bakery to stand under a modern chandelier. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Perrie Atkins.”

She smiles and shakes my hand. “My last-minute bride. Welcome. I’m Misty, the owner.” Then she turns her attention to Hayden and sticks out her arm in a professional greeting. “And you must be the impatient fiancé. What was your name?”

“Hayden.” He doesn’t correct her presumption that he’s my groom.

“Actually—”

“We’re really eager to taste cakes today and check one more thing off our list.” He wraps his arm around me and pulls me against him. “Aren’t we, princess?”

I’m not sure what the devil he’s up to, pretending I’ll be marrying him this weekend. But instead of making a scene about something that doesn’t matter, I shrug him off. “I really don’t have a flavor in mind, like I said on the phone. So I’m eager to try some samples and make decisions today.”

“I’m glad I can squeeze you in. Since your cake only needs to feed thirty or less…”

“The event will be really intimate,” Hayden cuts in.

“And I want the cake to reflect that. It should be simple but elegant. I found some things I like on Pinterest.”

“Perfect. That will help. If you’ll show me your pictures, I’ll get your tasting tray ready.

When she disappears, I reach for my phone and launch the picture-based social media app, all too aware of Hayden beside me. “You let her think you’re my fiancé.”

“You didn’t correct her.”

“Not worth the argument. She only cares about the cake.”

“Would you be more excited about this weekend if you were marrying me?”

I turn to him, mouth agape. “Why would you even ask that question?”

“Fine. I won’t make you answer that aloud when I already know the answer.”

“You don’t. That’s so far out of the realm of possibility…”

“Is it?”

He’s actually suggesting there’s an alternate universe in which he and I would be joining hands in a few days and exchanging till-death-do-us-part vows?

“Here we go.” Misty returns with a giant baking sheet lined with nearly a dozen beautifully frosted petite cupcakes and two bottles of chilled water. She sets it on a wide desk tucked in the corner and motions us to the chairs in front. “Would you like me to walk you through the flavors?”

“Please.”

“On the left is our most popular type for weddings, white. I can serve that with an almond cream filling that’s deliciously light or we can go with something fruitier like strawberry or raspberry, which will also add some visual panache to your cake. Down the row, I’ve got red velvet, chocolate, lemon, carrot, pink champagne, coconut, marble…”

After she goes on about each and tells me all the available fillings, I’m reeling. I thought this would be a simple matter of telling her what I wanted the cake to look like and picking a flavor that most people should enjoy. But like with everything I’ve run into while planning this event, the selections are more complicated than I thought.

“Do you have specific recommendations?”

“They’re all good. It’s just a matter of personal preference. I brought you one of everything to taste.”

“Hayden is allergic to coconut,” I blurt, then get annoyed with myself. Will he even eat the cake?

“I’m glad you told me. Let’s remove that sample.” Misty plucks one of the mini cupcakes out of the middle of the line. “Once you pick the cake flavor, we’ll test some fillings. I’ll pull any with coconut, so you don’t need to worry.”

“Thanks.” Hayden smiles like he’s totally enjoying himself.

“Of course.” Misty nods like she’s ready to get down to business. “If you’re still not sure where to start, maybe you can tell me some of your favorite desserts.”

“My girl loves a sinful bread pudding,” Hayden offers.

He remembers that?

Misty nods enthusiastically. “Me, too. The Capital Grille—”

“Has the best, right?”

“Definitely. Oh, my gosh…”

“But Perrie is really all about the ice cream, the lighter and creamier the better.”

“That’s helpful. Do you like the fruity flavors, the more traditional ones, or—”

“The unusual ones,” he puts in for me. “We found a place once that made a lemon biscotti flavor that had her groaning the whole time she was eating it. We didn’t have any alone time that evening, so it made for a long damn night.”

I stare at him, wide-eyed. That night, shortly before my high school graduation, is etched into my brain—and only in part because of the amazing ice cream. I remember being days away from turning eighteen and so, so aware of Hayden as a man, of wanting him until I ached and hating the fact he didn’t see me as anything but a child. “That’s not true.”

“You loved that ice cream.”

“I meant the way you felt about me.”