It’s good. It tastes like cake.
Across the small table from me, Rusty nods very seriously.
“What do you think?” Susie asks her.
Rusty thinks for a moment.
“The almond is coming through very strongly,” she says carefully. “It’s overpowering the other flavors.”
Charlie raises her eyebrows, and for a moment, Susie is struck speechless. I force down a laugh.
Rusty has been hanging out with my brother Eli a lot. I didn’t realize that he was training her palate or that Rusty could tell when a cake had too much almond extract in it.
But I’m one hundred percent sure I know where she got those phrases from.
“Well, I’ll make sure to add a little less almond in the next batch,” Susie says, her face somewhere between amused and taken aback. “What did you two think?”
“I liked it,” says Charlie.
She keeps giving us single bites of cake. They follow more or less the same order as a beer or wine tasting, from the least to most powerful flavors: white, rose, lemondrop, spice cake, and finally, chocolate.
“Your ring is absolutely beautiful, by the way,” Susie says when Charlie has a mouthful of lemondrop cake. “I so rarely see colored gemstones on engagement rings.”
Charlie looks down like she’s only just realized it’s there, then swallows cake.
“It’s a family heirloom,” she says.
Susie just sighs.
“I love jewelry with a history,” she says. “So romantic. How did you propose?”
That last question is to me, a forkful of cake halfway to my mouth.
Shit. We never came up with that part of the backstory. It never even occurred to me.
I glance over at Charlie. She’s laughing at me, eyes sparkling.
“I think you should tell the story,” she says, delicately putting one hand on my knee. “It was so unique and romantic, and I never suspected in a million years.”
Her touch sets off a wave of warmth, impossible to ignore even as I’m trying to frantically think of a romantic-yet-unique way that I could have proposed to Charlie.
I put my hand on top of hers, bring it to the table, and hold it. She watches me, eyes still laughing.
“Well, if there’s one thing to know about Charlotte, it’s that she’s absolutely crazy for ceramic figurines of angels,” I start.
Her eyebrows dip ever so slightly.
“Her apartment is lousy with them,” I go on. “It’s her biggest hobby. She’s always on eBay, looking for more, and I knew that there was this particular figurine, only produced for a few years in Belarus, that she was absolutely mad about.”
Charlie is now half-skeptical, half trying not to laugh.
“Go on,” she says, squeezing my hand in hers. “This is my favorite part, about the ceramic angel from Belarus.”
“Well, I managed to find one and outbid her for it,” I say. “And it’s got its arms sort of outstretched, so one day while Charlotte was at work, I broke into her apartment, set the angel on the kitchen table, and left a note that said come into the bedroom.”
“I especially loved how that wasn’t creepy at all,” Charlie murmurs.
“And of course, I was in there, hiding with the ring, waiting on one knee,” I say. “And she said yes!”
“Of course I did, pumpkin,” she says, smiling a little bit too wide. “You’ll always be my sweet banana muffin.”
I have to bite the inside of my lips to keep from laughing. I take a deep breath, staring into Charlie’s hazel eyes, and try to ignore the fact that we’re both moments from losing it.
“You’ll always be my gooey honey bun,” I tell her.
Charlie’s eyes start watering. She takes a deep, controlled breath.
“My darling pookie bear,” she says, somehow keeping a straight face.
“My favorite cuddle gremlin,” I say back.
I’m squeezing her hand way too tight, because I’m half a second from completely losing my composure, but Susie rescues me.
“That’s just the sweetest thing,” she says. “Is the wedding going to be angel-themed?”
“Absolutely,” says Charlie, looking up at her, dead serious. “Angels everywhere. Nothing but angels.”We bid Susie farewell, promise to be in touch about cake, and then none of us says a word until we’re back in the car, doors shut.
The second we look at each other, we both burst out laughing. I laugh so hard I snort. There are tears running down Charlie’s face, and she shoves them away with the back of her hand.
“What?” says Rusty frantically, from the back seat. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing, sweetheart,” I manage to gasp out.
“Why are you laughing?” she demands.
I can see her serious little face in the rearview mirror, and it only cracks me up harder.
“Stop laughing,” Charlie gasps. “Oh, my God, Daniel.”
“Charlie told a funny joke,” I manage to gasp out.
“What was the joke?”
“That she likes ceramic angels,” I say. It’s the best I can do.
“Cuddle gremlin,” Charlie mutters from the passenger seat.
We both crack up again.
“Why is that funny?” Rusty demands. “Charlie doesn’t like angels.”