“I didn’t get to say goodbye!” I complain, stomping my foot.
“You can tell them bye later,” he mutters, going through my contacts. “We need to consult an expert immediately.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And by expert, you mean…?”
Chapter Thirty
Perfectly imperfect, just as we like them.
Roman
“-his mom!” Elodie giggles. “And she said no!”
Hmph. “I still think she was lying.”
“And then,” she cackles, “his dad said no too!”
The entirety of Ruby and Will’s bridal party laugh, and I think Frank even points at me. Will slaps my back, not trying a single bit to belay his bellows.
“I hate all of you,” I grunt. “I’m not letting any of you try the cake samples.”
Elodie and Will share a look, then snort in tandem.
“Especially not you two,” I grumble. “I might not give you any at the wedding, either.”
Will whistles, unconcerned as he digs through the mess of silk flowers on his huge dining room table, selecting several and adding them to an ever-growing pile beside him. He’s making a boutonniere, which requires a single flower. Single meaning one. Uno. Un. Ichi. It does not in any way at all ever require more thanoneflower.
Beside him, Ruby’s already finished her bouquet and is spending the rest of arts-and-crafts time gabbing and tasting cake samples as I set them in front of her. Her bouquet is hideous. The colors are fine, since Liam and Brian only provided the best faux flowers Liam’s hundred-thousand-dollar-budget could buy within the color palette chosen for the wedding, but the construction is… lacking.Severely. When Will offered tomake some “adjustments”, she went on a blind-girl rant aboutfeelmattering more thanlooksand then said she’ll be picturing him as hideous from now on in solidarity with her bouquet. I am ninety-nine percent sure she doesn’t care a wit about thefeelof her flowers any more than she does the looks, beyond not wanting them to physically hurt her when she has to hold them. I’m one hundred percent sure that by the time the wedding rolls around, Will will have convinced her to let him make her a replacement arrangement.
I set a miniature cake in front of her, then follow the curve of the table as I deliver more tiny cakes to Brian, Amelia, Liam, Amber, and Frank. I hesitate over Elodie, who wins one with puppy-dog eyes and a little pout, then groan when Will employs a puppy-dog-eye-pout combo too. “You guys are pathetic,” I mutter, giving him his mini cake.
“That’s not an insult,” Will says. “Pathetic people get cake.”
I throw myself into the empty seat between him and Elodie, taking my own piece of cake off my serving tray before tucking the tray between mine and Will’s chairs, for lack of room on the table.
“This one is a vanilla bean cake with raspberry filling and a Swiss meringue buttercream,” I tell the table. “It should be lighter than the last one, but not as light as the lemon elderflower one from earlier.” I bite into mine, then grimace as the light, fluffy flavors hit my tongue. It’s light and fluffy, yes, but notlightandfluffy. “Absolutely not,” I declare, making a grab for Will and Ruby’s cakes. “Don’t eat that.”
Will, half his cake already shoved into his mouth, asks a muffled, “Why?," then smacks my hand away from him and his bride.
“Because it’s trash,” I answer. “Spit it out.”
“If you take this cake away from me, I will hurt you,” Ruby warns.
“Trust me,” I say. “Youdon’twant to eat that. I’ll bring you back some of the lemon one.Thatone tastes good.” I glance at Elodie. “Some might even call it my best.”
“Itoldyou a million times, Salty, I wasn’t insulting your lemon cake!” Elodie grouches. “It’s not my fault you’re a sensitive baby when you’re in the testing phase. How was I supposed to know?” She refers, of course, to our first meeting, when she tore my lemon cake to shreds right in front of my eyes. “Not to mention, calling something ‘not your best’ isn’t an insult. It’s an observation. Which I was parroting from Ruby, who was parroting it fromyou. So even if itwasan insult, it was you insulting yourself!”
I sniff. “I’m not a sensitive baby. I’m a sensitiveman, and the sensitive part of me is my taste buds, which are telling me that this,” I lift the sad remains of my tester, “is garbage, and nobody here should be consuming it, least of all the bride and groom.”
Elodie shrugs as Will shoves the rest of his cake into his mouth. “They seem to disagree with you.”
My heart shatters as Ruby takes a bite of hers.
It’s too late.
I’ve poisoned them with my mediocrity.
I fall back in my chair, throwing my head to the ceiling and bemoaning past me’s lack of foresight. Rule number one of being a chef: tasteeverythingbefore you serve it. Well, after keeping knives sharp. And prepping your ingredients. And making sure those ingredients are quality. So. Rule numberfourof being a chef: taste everything before you serve it.
