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Mira put the Element in park, turned her back on the big white tent in front of them, and said, “Jen, thank you for coming with me. The cake would probably be all over the car if I had to do this by—”
“Shh.” Jen gave her head a shake. “You’ll jinx us. You know that saying, don’t count your chickens until the cake is on the table.”
“I…do not know that saying,” Mira said, then nodded. “But I like it.”
Gingerly sliding the cake box out of the car, Mira took one side and Jen took the other, then they recited, “Don’t trip, don’t trip, do not fucking trip,” all the way up the grassy hill until they reached the tent.
After they unboxed the cake and set it carefully on its stand, Jen stepped back. “It’s perfect, Mira,” she said, her chin wobbling. “It’s perfect, because it’s sonotperfect.” Turning away from the cake, from its pale-blue buttercream, its textured, almost chaotic strokes of green and purple and pink frosting creating a watercolor portrait of a meadow in springtime, but one you could reach out and feel with your fingertips, Jen said, “I’m so proud of you, Mira. Because you don’t usually do this. My life is a love letter to catastrophe, but you don’t usually let yourself be…not perfect.”
Since she’d stopped denying that she routinely worshiped at the altar of perfection after the conversation with her mom, Mira said, “It was kind of liberating.”
“It’s kind of stunning.”
Wheeling around at the deep, friendly voice she’d only ever heard on the radio or the news, Mira said, “Senator Richardson. Good morning.” She shifted her gaze to the young women with him, one under each big arm, both in gorgeous silk pantsuits, one ivory, one burgundy. “You must be the brides.”
“I’m Renee,” the petite brunette on the senator’s right said, reaching out for Mira’s hand and shaking it. Stepping out from under her dad’s arm, Renee moved closer to the table, examining the cake for a long moment, squinting, tilting her head to one side and then the other before saying, “Amy, I can’t evendealwith this right now.”
Mira’s heart made a break for her throat. “You don’t like—”
“I know, right? It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen,” Amy said through a thick warble.
With a surprisingly strong grip, Renee took hold of Mira’s arms. “We didn’t want a wedding. We were just gonna go to Vegas, until Dad asked us to stay and get married here.” When she looked at the cake, her eyes went glassy. “And now, I’m so glad he did.” Swinging her gaze back to Mira’s, she squeezed her arms so hard it hurt. “You get us.”
“You really do,” Amy added, still nestled into the senator’s side. “It’s amazing. Thank you, Mira.”
Clearing his throat, Senator Richardson said, “I always trust my instincts. And my instincts told me you would give my daughters exactly what they wanted. I hope Glazed and Confused gets a big bump from this. And whatever you do”—he winked—“don’t forget to vote.”
“Yes, I will. I mean I won’t forget. I will vote. For you, of course,” Mira spluttered, blinking the sting from her eyes while she watched them walk away toward the catering table. Spinning on her heel, she shared a silent scream with Jen, then a slightly less silent laugh-hug, until Jen tensed, stiff as a board, and whispered, “Oh shit.”
“What?” Mira asked, turning in the direction of Jen’s wide-eyed stare.
“The cake is phenomenal,” said a tall, pale man with nearly black hair swooping perfectly over his forehead.
“Paul?” The cake splitting in half so purple doves could fly out of it would have been less of a shock. “What are you doing here?”
Shifting her gaze between them, Jen said, “I’m gonna go check out”—she looked around until she found something plausible—“that fountain over there. Good to see you, Paul.”
“You too, Jen,” Paul said, his eyes locked on Mira’s until he leaned toward the cake to get a closer look. The gesture reminded her so much of Cole, the way he’d studied her cake at Ashley and Madigan’s wedding, the way she’d always felt plugged into an electrical outlet whenever he was near, the way she hovered around zero watts without him. “This is amazing.”
“Thanks,” she said. “But why are you here?”
Paul huffed a laugh. “I’m not stalking you, if that’s what you think. It may not be as small as Red Falls, but Bozeman is still pretty small. The senator hired my company to do the digital displays.” He waved a hand at one of the three large screens surrounding the dance floor in the middle of the park. “They’re actually pretty cool.”
“Oh, right,” Mira said, giving him a bubbly laugh, or at least trying to. “What are the odds?”
Paul’s smile seemed far too genuine. “Will you be sticking around?”
“Jen has to head back. So do I,” she added quickly, even though she didn’t actually have anything to do except more zombie-ing around the bakery.
“I see.”
“Where’s Chrissy?” she asked.
“She’ll be here soon. Where’s Cole?”
The question landed like a sledgehammer. “Oh, um,” she hedged while the ground beneath her feet vanished. “We’re…not together anymore.”
“Really? That’s too bad.”
