Penny pressed a floury hand to her chest, her eyes wide and dramatic. “I know, I’m the worst best friend ever. But in my defense, ovens don’t run themselves, and apparently, neither do rent payments.” She put down one tray and brandished the other like Vanna White. “Salted caramel chocolate chip.”
Drew snagged a cookie and groaned after his first bite. “This is pure magic.”
“And this one—drumroll, please—is cookies and cream. Personally tested on three of my regulars and one delivery guy. You’re about to taste happiness incarnate.”
Drew inhaled another cookie, this time trying the cookies and cream.
“This isamazing,” I mumbled around a mouthful.
Penny clapped her hands, bouncing in place. “Yay! I wanted to add them to the winter rotation, but I’ve been fussing with the ratio for weeks.”
“It’s perfect,” I reassured her.
Her smile glowed like I’d handed her a winning lottery ticket.
The outer door swung open. “Oh, good. You’re here.” Celia swept into the bakery like she owned it, our mother right behind her. Two cameramen trailed behind them with their equipment already angling for the best shots.
Without so much as an apology for being late, Celia gently sat in a chair. “Is the lighting good for me here?” she asked, tilting her head toward one cameraman and flashing a practiced smile.
I bit back a groan. Of course she didn’t ask if the lighting was good for anyone else.
He nodded while the other cameraman panned the shop.
Behind the counter, Penny’s hands fluttered like startled hummingbirds. “Oh, um ... I didn’t realize you were filming this.” Her cheeks turned a rosy hue, while her smile stayed bright.
Celia gave a tiny laugh—one of those calculated, breathy sounds she used when she wanted to look adorable. “I’m so sorry. This is all happening so fast, I must have forgotten to mention it. Do you mind?”
Her tone was syrupy sweet, but the cameras caught every frame, and I realized she wasn’t talking to Penny at all. She was performing.
I still hadn’t asked which company was filming her. Usually, she handled her own videos and an assistant edited and posted them. Something about the whole setup felt off.
Our mother didn’t miss a beat. She pulled out her phone and held it toward Penny. “We have a release for your consent to be filmed.”
Of course they did.
Nothing for me, or Drew either. I guess she wasn’t worried about us suing them.
“Oh, sure,” Penny pressed her finger to the screen and signed. Her curls bounced as she leaned over the counter, cheerful despite the ambush.
“I’m assuming you have the samples ready?” Mom asked, her tone clipped, businesslike.
“Definitely.” Penny clasped her hands together, her whole face lighting up. “I pulled together the flavors you requested. I should mention I can’t make a multi-tier cake in time, but I can create a smaller one with one or two layers, and provide a matching sheet cake for the guests in the same flavor.”
Good for her. Drawing a line with a smile.
Something I never seemed to manage with my family.
Celia waved her hand as though bestowing a blessing. “And I respect your time. Thank you so much for agreeing to help us out on such short notice.”
I nearly choked.Respect her time?Celia didn’t respect anyone’s time. Not mine. Not Drew’s, not Penny’s. The only time that mattered was hers.
“You’re welcome,” Penny said brightly, her smile crinkling her eyes. She glanced at me, and I tried to return her joyful look, but feared it came out stiff. “If you all want to take a seat, I’ll bring out the samples.”
Mom perched beside Celia. Drew and I sat across from them with our backs to the door. It was unsettling to watch my sister filmed like she was the star of her own reality show. Which I guess she kind of was.
The kitchen door swung open, and Penny bustled out, tray balanced on one hip. “Okay who’s ready for sugar?” she asked in a sing-song voice. She set the tray down with a flourish, like she was unveiling treasure. “First up—blueberry-lemon buttermilk cake with blueberry jam. It’s basically sunshine in cake form.”
My stomach twisted. Of course.One of my favorites.
