“I didn’t forget,” I answer, consciously ignoring her jab at my relationship status as a perpetual bachelor. “I'm on my way to go get them right now from the best bakery in town. She’ll love them.”
The line is quiet for a moment before Mom sighs wistfully, giving a little sniffle.
“Are you all right?” I ask softly, bracing myself for her to poke again at the fact that her only son may never take a wife.
“It’s just both of my kids, they’re all grown up now. My little girl is getting married, my little boy is such a hard worker. I'm proud of you, Bash. I hope you know that.”
“I know, Mom.”
“Which is why I'm going to kill you if you show up without those cupcakes.”
Laughing, I wish her goodbye before hanging up my phone and dropping my head into my hands with a groan so heavy it could’ve come from my toes.
Dammit!
With all the craziness of my company’s looming merger, I'd completely forgotten that I was in charge of the cupcakes. It was the only thing Clara asked me do and there was no way I was going to let her down. She knew I was too busy with my career to offer much else despite being willing to do anything she wanted. I'd even offered to foot the bill for the entire wedding—not that she’d allow me to. Pride ran in our veins.
Ah, hell. What am I going to do?
The thought of letting Clara down, even over something like cupcakes, was horrible. All her life I've been there to help her in any way that I could, and I'm not about to fail now. Her rehearsal dinner is going to be perfect, no matter what I have to do to get these damn cupcakes.
“Rosa?” I call into the speaker on my desk.
My secretary instantly gives a greeting in response. “Good afternoon, sir! Have you heard the phone ringing off the hook? Thank God Friday is coming up, am I right? Ah . . . Um . . . Not that I don’t love being here. Oh my, do I love working. Here, I mean.”
I rub a tired finger in a circle against my temple, a headache blooming as the woman rambles on. When she finally takes a breath, I make my request. “This is going to sound odd, but what’s the best place in town for cupcakes? I'm talking high-end, beautiful, obscenely expensive cupcakes.”
The prim older woman cleared her throat in response, the sound garbled over the speaker. “If you want obscenely expensive cupcakes, sir, then you’re going to have to go to Holly Cakes. It’s on Fifth Ave. It’s real busy though. Sarah Jessica Parker just posted a video of herself there and the cupcakes looked so delicious! It was like a real-life Sex and the City episode—”
“Thanks, Rosa,” I answer before she can go into one of her famous monologues. I quickly shut off the speaker and turn to my computer. “Holly Cakes . . .” I mutter aloud as my fingers clack against the keys.
A bright pink and ivory website loads quickly. A woman with red hair stares out from behind the glassy screen, her smile huge and head thrown back in laughter. In her hands is a tray of the most gorgeous looking cupcakes I've ever seen. My mouth instantly starts watering, and I'm not even a dessert guy. News stories scroll by, highlighting the young woman’s skill with flavor and decorations. A recent article in the Times heralds her bakery as potentially the best up-and-coming confectionery in the city.
“Bingo,” I mutter under my breath, squinting at the screen as I dial her number.
Holly Cakes might be busy, but no place has ever struggled to find a spot for a name as well-known as mine or a wallet as loaded.
Chapter 2
Holly
“Holly Cakes, this is Holly. How may I help you today?” I speak into the phone pressed against my shoulder, voice perky despite being elbow deep in bright blue fondant as I roll it out in front of me.
My muscles already burn all the way up my arms. When I first started baking, I'd been worried that I was going to gain a ton of weight from tasting everything, but I had severely underestimated just how much physical work went into running a business like this.
“Hi, Holly! This is Bob calling again from City Bank. We’re really hoping that you’ve considered our offer a bit more and—”
“Bob, I've told you at least a dozen times already, I am not franchising. I can’t open a second store because there’s only one of me. So, unless you’ve discovered how to clone humans since our last conversation there’s not going to be another Holly Cakes.”
“Don’t you ever daydream about rolling your BMW down Broadway and seeing another Holly Cakes crammed with people?” he asks, forcing enthusiasm into his pitch.
I bite back a sigh and roll my eyes. With my surge in popularity after a featured spot in The New York Times, so had come a surge of people looking to give me advice or to take a piece of the profitable pie that I had so lovingly and carefully baked.
Holly Cakes had been my dream since I was a kid. I used to draw pictures of what my future storefront would look like while my mother hummed and checked our cake in the oven. Fit with gossamer pink drapes and creamy white stools and tables, the bustling bakery that I stood in today is a near perfect replica of my childhood drawings.
I'd grown up in the kitchen, helping my mother make cakes and pastries and muffins. I'd learned everything I know from her. The recipes I use are still based off of her own creations. She would be so proud of me if she could see how I'm doing now. There are times when I still expect to see her come strolling through the door to request a lavender cupcake, her favorite and the store specialty.
Sighing deeply, I hang up the phone on the persistent banker. My nostrils flare as I suck in a breath to calm myself, focusing on the task at hand. I still have to finish the ganache for a customer’s fiftieth birthday cake, then I have to take inventory and make sure that the van is ready for my deliveries in the morning. Most days it feels like my to-do list is never ending, especially during this time of year. Everyone’s getting married or celebrating something, and while I'm grateful and happy to be working myself to the bone, it means that I don’t have a second to relax. If I wasn’t such a workaholic, I'd be miserable.
“Holly!” my assistant says, pointing a flour-covered hand at the phone that’s ringing off the hook again. “The phone!”
She grins and shakes her head while I grab it, tucking it against my ear and returning to my fondant. She would’ve answered had I not been insistent that I should always be the one to do so. There was something special to me about always being the one to greet a potential customer.
“Holly Cakes, this is Holly. How may I help you today?”
The voice on the other end is cool and silky smooth, like dark chocolate. “Hi, I'm calling to put in an order.” There’s a faint rumble to the deep tenor that makes my heart pick up its pace. He clears his throat impatiently when I dare take a breath before answering.
“Fantastic, what are you looking to order, sir? Right now, we’re looking at a month-long waiting list—”
“Oh, you don’t understand. I need this to be ready tonight. I'll be there at six sharp. I need six dozen cupcakes. What flavors do you offer?”
I blink once, then twice, steadying the phone against my ear. My infatuation with the man’s deep voice has completely evaporated into thin air. Six sharp? Sure thing, let me just grow an extra pair of hands and get right on that!