I separate the bacon, throwing some on a tray before moving the pretty intact pieces onto some paper towel to dry out. My brothers would be horrified if they were here to watch me candy the bacon since they absolutely hate savory-sweet flavors, but I love it. I then take the pan, measuring out how much bacon grease I need before setting that to the side. I blow away a piece of hair that has escaped out of my ponytail and start the batter. I know I’m supposed to measure the bourbon, my aunt Audrey got on to me last time, but I feel the Lord knows how much the cupcake needs.
With a grin, I mix everything together in the mixer, crumbling pieces of bacon into the batter as it’s starting to become one. It’s so cool to watch, and I enjoy it immensely. Once everything is mixed well, I take the bowl and scoop the batter into little cups. Thirty of them. I throw those into the oven before starting on the frosting. My favorite flavor is maple, and I might be heavy-handed with the extract, but I know it’s gonna taste incredible. As it mixes, I start the candied bacon and check on my bourbon-soaked pecans. I’ll do twenty with the nuts and ten without for my nonalcoholic folks. The bourbon in the cupcake batter cooks off, so I’m glad I don’t have to keep those straight too.
After throwing everything into the blast chiller, I sit on my stool while I wait for the cupcakes to bake. I bring my heels up onto the highest foot rail so I can lean on them as I check the cameras at the house to make sure everyone is still asleep. When my older brothers, Aiden and Asher, lived at the house, it was hell since they were early risers. I had to come up with the lie that I was working out. And, in my opinion, cupcake-making could very well be a workout.
I squat to get the cupcakes out of the oven, I sweat like mad, and I lift heavy pans.
Problem is, I ruin the “workout” when I stuff my mouth with my creations.
Before I can check my Instagram, I hear the oven bell ring, so I move the cupcakes to the cooling area. I then clean because I’m a neat freak, and I make sure everything is ready for decorating. My favorite part. I get my piping bag ready just as the side door opens and my aunt comes in while pulling her hair up into a high bun. As always, her grin is bright and happy, and it gives me that fuzzy feeling.
I love my aunt Audrey.
She is so cool and such a free spirit. She is always laughing, and you can’t help but feel welcomed and loved. That’s probably why Audrey Jane’s cupcakery is such a success in Nashville. There is some stiff competition out there, but Audrey makes a mean cupcake. She’s even moved into cakes, hot chocolate bombs, and together, we’re learning some breakable chocolate hearts that can be filled with candies or gift cards. We haven’t mastered them yet, but we’re getting there.
“There is my gorgeous niece,” she coos to me as she comes over, placing her hands on my shoulders and kissing me on my cheek. “Good morning.”
“Morning. No Penny or Phillipe this morning?”
She shakes her head. “Penny started her period last night and is currently dying on the couch—I’ll need to bring her something on my way back home. And Phillipe is gone with Tate for the hockey tournament in Alabama.”
I nod. “That’s right. I forgot.”
“So, it’s just us.”
I beam over at her. “My favorite.”
She snickers. “Goodness, you’re your momma made over, with Lucas’s eyes. So gorgeous.”
If my grin could grow, it would. If I ever feel bad about myself, all I have to do is hang out with Audrey for a bit. She inflates my head with affirmations that hold me over until I get down on myself again. Really, she is the best aunt ever.
“So, what’re you making?” she asks me as I start to decorate.
“Maple bourbon bacon pecan cupcakes.”
She groans loudly. “Thank the heavens. I’ll need to post that ASAP so people know to come in.”
“I soaked the pecans in bourbon.”
“God bless you.”
We giggle together as I start to assemble, using such care and precision just like Audrey taught me. I may not be as fast as her, but I’m getting there. I know I’m good at it, but hearing her gasp and cheer as she looks over my masterpieces solidifies my confidence.
“Oh, Stella Ann. So good. Where is my taste?”
I hand her an extra, and she moans once the flavors hit her tongue. “Jesus above. I swear, you are a magician with your flavors. So damn good.”
My face warms as I take a bite, all the flavors exploding in my own mouth and making me feel all kinds of good. “I think Thursday, I want to do a butterbeer cupcake, with little Harry Potter glasses on them.”