Chapter 2

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EPOV

 

 

I felt like a fucking asshole for yelling at Blondie this morning. My ex-wife called earlier to tell me she’s moving back to London. That isn’t what pissed me off though; she’s taking the dog with her. We’ve been sharing custody of Spencer since we split three years ago. He’s like my kid and it annoys the fuck out of me that she made that decision without discussing it with me. I still need to call her to fight it, but at the time I decided making an apology cake was better suited for my mood.

 

 
Being in the kitchen has always soothed me. I started baking to deal with stress when I was a teenager and it’s turned into something really great. My sister and I opened The Sugar Shack seven years ago and now I’m one of the top wedding cake makers in the city. All in all, it everything is good.

 

 

When I left the cake, I was nervous about leaving my number with Blondie. She’s cute. She’s clearly feisty and has a good sense of humor. If that backfired, I would’ve felt like a bigger fucking dick than I already was that morning. I don’t know if she’ll actually call me, and if she doesn’t, that’s fine. I’m not going to seek her out again. I put the ball in her court.

 

 

Pam runs the customer service side of things. I don’t have the best people skills. Pam’s aren’t much better, but she’s better at the sarcasm than I am. Some days I don’t know how we’re still open. She took an order this morning and I’m still trying to figure out her chicken scratch. All I know is the client wants chocolate layered with coconut cream.

 

 

“Pam, what the fuck does this say?” I ask once I have the cakes in the oven.

 

 

“Tits, Eric. Don’t you know what those are? Or has it been too long?” she smirks.

 

 

“Fuck you. Someone really ordered a tit cake?” I’ve done all sorts of shit. Tit cakes included. I used to model them after Nora’s. Now I go off of memory.

 

 

“Yes, someone really ordered a tit cake.”

 

 

I shake my head and go back the kitchen. As the cakes are baking I start on the coconut cream. I work up the design I want to do and spend my afternoon creating a titty masterpiece.

 

 

***

The next morning I’m in the shop by myself making tarts when I hear the doorbell ring. I stop what I’m doing so I can wash my hands real quick. As I’m drying them off I head out to the front. Color me surprised when I see Blondie standing there.

 

 

“Hi, can I help you?” I smile at her.

 

 

“I hope so. One of my stylists is leaving us at the end of the month so I thought I’d get treats for her last day,” she tells me.

 

 

“Ah, you’re in luck. I specialize in treats,” I wink. “What kind of treats are you looking for?”

 

 

“What do you have?” she counters.

 

 

“I can make anything you want,” I shrug. “I made you a dick cake, for fuck’s sake.”

 

 

“That was the most creative, yet bordering on offensive, apology I’ve ever gotten,” she laughs.

 

 

“Well what do you do here besides cake?”

 

 

I walk over to grab the portfolio Pam made for me. I set it on the counter in front of her and say,

 

 

“This is examples of what I can do. I have a naughty book in the back and right now I’m making pear tarts.”

 

 

“A naughty book, huh? I don’t think it’s appropriate for the occasion but I may need to order a naughty cake for Lafayette’s birthday. It’ll be the only pussy he ever eats,” she smirks while she flips through the portfolio.

 

 

“Ah, well, I’m a pro,” I smirk back. I can let her decide if I’m talking about eating pussy or making pussy cakes. I can do both quite well.

 

 

“That remains to be seen.”

 

 

“Let me know and I can give you a demonstration,” I smile. “If you like I have some shit we didn’t sell yesterday if you want some samples?” I offer. “Cakes, cookies, cupcakes, I can make you a fuckin’ peanut butter and jelly… uh… pecan pie and a berry cobbler. That shit’s almost gone. I’ve been munching on it all morning.”

 

 

“Sounds tasty.” She closes the book in front of her. “I’m actually thinking the cheesecake bites might be perfect. Could I get a variety of flavors or do you only do original?”

 

 

“I can do whatever fucking flavor you want,” I shrug.

 

 

“How soon do I need to get my order in? I’d probably need a hundred and fifty of them.”

 

 

“A week.”

 

 

“Okay,” she nods.

 

 

“Do you have the flavors in mind?” I ask.

 

 

“Uh, no, not yet. I’ll have to do some research since you don’t have a list for me to choose from.”

 

 

“Yeah, follow me,” I say without thinking. I don’t know why I don’t just go back and get a list.

 

 

She follows me into the kitchen and she’s careful not to touch anything. I pull the flavor list I have made up for such occasions. I can literally do anything she wants, but I keep the most popular easily accessible.

 

 

“These are the most popular. Turtle truffle isn’t on the list, but it’s my favorite,” I tell her as I put the pie dough I was working with back into the fridge and grab a new disc to work with.

 

 

“That sounds delicious,” she says. “I love turtles. This is a pretty good list. Do you have an order form around here somewhere?”
I have the pie dough on the table with my rolling pin in hand and I nod at the side counter.

 

 

“The form is there. Sorry, this is my sister’s job, but she’s running late.”

 

 

“Oh. I can just call it in later,” she shrugs. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

 

 

“You’re not bothering me. I’m used to Pam coming back to yell at me about some shit,” I chuckle. “Technically this is my job too, but she’s better with people… clearly.”

 

 

“You know when I first saw The Sugar Shack printed on that paper I thought this was a strip club,” she tells me.

 

 

“I’m not taking my clothes off with this fucking gut,” I say, lifting my shirt to show her my stomach.

 

 

“I can see why.”

 

 

I poke a few of my abs before I drop my shirt.

 

 

“Nah, I started baking as a stress reliever and it stuck,” I explain.

 

 

“You poor thing,” she says without sympathy.

 

 

“You’re more than welcome to start taking your clothes off,” I joke.

 

 

“I think I’ll pass.”

 

 

“To each her own,” I shrug. “If you want to sample something other than dick cake you can open that fridge over there and try anything in the red drawer,” I say as I motion to the fridge with my elbow.

 

 

“No, that’s okay. Eating your dick was enough.”

 

 

“It is pretty big,” I deadpan.

 

 

“And… soft.”

 

 

“I can give it to you hard if that’s what you’re into.”

 

 

“Hard cake? Not so much.”

 

 

“Is there anything else hard you’d like me to give you?” I ask, lifting my eyes to look into hers.

 

 

Her friend did say she could use some dick. Maybe it could soften her up some. Fuck.

 

 

“And what would I need hard?” she challenges. She’s got her bitch face back on.

 

 

“Apparently someone’s lost her sense of humor since yesterday,” I grumble as I look back down at my pie dough.

 

 

“Right. Well thanks for nothing,” she says and turns to leave. “I’ll go somewhere else.”

 

 

“Shit. Sorry,” I say. “This is why I don’t run the customer service side of things. I swear, it was a joke… sorry…”

 

 

“It’s fine. See ya around.” She walks out of the kitchen without giving me her name or a chance to say anything else.

 

 

I sigh. I’m getting used to women walking away now. At least I didn’t have eight years invested in this one.

 

 

I go back to making the tarts. If she comes back, she comes back. I’m not going to mention to Pam that I potentially lost a customer. However, if she wasn’t always late we wouldn’t lose people.

 

 

An hour later I’m taking the tarts out of the oven. Pam is doing whatever it is she does and I start to feel bad again. I feel like one of those sour patch kids commercials when they’re sour and then sweet.

 

 

Fuck me running.

 

 

I go to the fridge and pull out all of the ingredients a turtle cheesecake. Two hours later it’s cool and I’m sliding it into a cake box.

 

 

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Pam on my way out. I don’t wait for her reply.

 

 

The spa Blondie works at isn’t too far from the shop. As a matter of fact, I saw her going into it yesterday after the coffee shop incident. It takes about fifteen minutes to walk to it. When I walk in I’m greeted by the same guy that smashed the cake in her face.

 

 

“Mmm… Honeypie, you’re back,” he says. “Whatchu done to piss off my girl this time?”

 

 

 

“Offered her something hard,” I shrug.

 

 

“She need it,” he smirks. “She ain’t here.”

 

 

“Ah, that’s probably best,” I snicker. “Can you give her this when she’s back?” I slide the cheesecake onto the counter. “All of it.”

 

 

“Another dick in a box? Sook need a dick in her box,” he mutters.

 

 

I have no idea what a Sook is, but I assume it’s Blondie.

 

 

“Apparently she doesn’t want one,” I reply. “This is a g-rated treat.”

 

 

He picks up a business card and a pen. Lafayette writes something on the back and hands it to me. “You could just deliver this yourself,” he suggests.

 

 

“I want to keep my dick, thanks,” I chuckle as I take the card.

 

 

Lafayette snatches the card back. “Then you won’t be needin’ that.”

 

 

“Be honest, do you think she’ll kick me in the balls if I show up on her doorstep?”

 

 

“Her bark is worse than her bite,” Lafayette tells me. “But I would be a shame if she fucked your pretty face up.” He starts to tear the card in half.

 

 

“I’ll give it a shot,” I say and pluck the card from his hand before he finishes. “Besides, you’ll be the one in trouble for giving me the address in the first place.”

 

 

He flips his scarf over his shoulder and says, “That Amelia’s handwriting. Mama didn’t raise no fools.” With that, he saunters off.

 

 

I smile and pick up the cheesecake. I lied to Pam. I won’t be right back. Oh well. Time to get my ass handed to me.

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