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Chapter One~Anastasia~“This isn’t going to work.”
I blow out a breath and stare at the shit-tastic mess I’ve scribbled on my sketchpad in disgust.
The idiots who hired me, and no, I don’t always refer to my clients as idiots, didn’t give me a place to start. When a couple wants a wedding cake, they usually come to me with photos they’ve pinned on Pinterest or found in magazines. They have colors and flowers they prefer.
They have a bloody vision.
But the people who marched into my bakery a month ago? They had none of that.
“We want you to go with your own vision,” they said with wide-eyed smiles and imaginary cartoon hearts bursting over their heads. “You’re an artist, and we wouldn’t dream of intruding on your process.”
I appreciate their vote of confidence. I really do. And, sometimes, clients are too stringent in what they want.
“I want exactly this,” some brides will say, and I have to gently remind them that I don’t copy others’ work.
But at least tell me what colors your flowers are. Throw me a damn bone!
It’s not my wedding.
I’ve been in the wedding cake biz for a dozen years, and while living in California, I was lucky enough to be on Best Bites TV, designing and executing massive works of sugar that would make the most discerning art critics weep with joy.
But now I live near my hometown of Seattle, Washington, where my family is, and I’ve opened a new business here. I love it. It fuels me and exhausts me, just as a person’s passion should.
But today, there’s nothing in my well of ideas. My muse has decided to go on vacation, and she didn’t give me any warning.
Fucking muse.
When this happens, which isn’t often, I find it’s best to step away from my kitchen.
So, I pack up my sketchbook and pencils, get in the car, and get ready to battle Seattle traffic.
Once on the road, I call my sister, Amelia. She likes to go to museums with me, and sometimes, the conversation alone will get my mind churning with new ideas.
“Hello, favorite sister,” she says when she answers.
“I’m headed over to the glass museum,” I say immediately. “Wanna go?”
“I would love to, but I’m recording today, and I have to do three videos to catch up. I’m sorry.”
Lia is a super successful YouTube sensation. She films makeup tutorials and reviews products. With more than three million followers and her own makeup brand in the works, I couldn’t be prouder of her.
Not to mention, she has a new husband who keeps her more than busy.
“I get it. I miss you, though. I haven’t seen you in weeks. So, let’s try to do a girls’ night out, okay?”
“Yes, please. I’m down for that.”
“Soon. Like, tomorrow night.”
“Hold please.” She pulls the phone away from her mouth but doesn’t bother to cover it, so I can hear everything. “Wyatt? Babe, Stasia’s on the phone and wants to do girls’ night tomorrow night. Do we have plans? Oh, right.”
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, surprised that traffic through downtown is as light as it is.
“Hey, sorry, I can’t tomorrow night. We’re supposed to go to a gala for the new cardiothoracic wing at the hospital. Jace asked us weeks ago.”
Our family is big and a little confusing. A diagram and a Ph.D. in astrophysics might be necessary to figure out who belongs to whom, and how we all fit together.
Wyatt is Amelia’s husband. His brother, Jace, is the chief of staff in cardiothoracic surgery at Seattle General. Jace is a big deal. Actually, there’s a lot of that in our family.
“We’ll find a night to get together,” I reply.
“Actually, you should come with us,” Lia says, excitement in her voice. “I have dresses you can choose from and borrow, and I’ll totally do your hair and makeup. It’ll be fun. Say yes. Say it right now.”
“Like my ass will fit in any of your dresses. Besides, I have so much work, Lia. I can’t waste a whole day on a gala where I won’t know anyone.”
“You’ll know me and Wyatt. And Jace and Joy. Levi and Starla will be there, too.”
I sigh because, deep down, I want to go. I don’t get to dress up often, and I love hanging out with Wyatt’s brothers and their wives. Not to mention, I never get to see my sister.
But I have a wedding cake due on Saturday morning that’s only half-decorated, and I really have to get this other cake designed so I can get to work on it first thing on Sunday.
“You’re too quiet. You’re thinking of a way you can ditch work so you can go, so just do it.”
I bite my lip. If I stay up all night tonight finishing Saturday’s cake, I can make it work.
“Okay. I’ll go.”
