“Yeah, if you want to get poisoned,” Oakley spat at the tall man in a suit. She whipped the lid off the box. “You need to be shut down for serving these to people.”
Inside, two of the Santa’s Surprise cupcakes were missing from the dozen, and a third had a big bite taken out of it.
I reached for one and sniffed it. It did smell a little off. Not that I was going to tell Oakley that.
“Do you have a receipt?” Gran demanded.
“Also, why are you eating cupcakes from my shop, anyway?” I demanded. “I’d never sell anything to the woman who helped my husband cheat. Did you have someone sneak in here to buy them?”
“As if I’d eat a cupcake, especiallyyours.” She turned her nose up. “Brooksey says there’s something wrong with the cream filling.” Oakley turned to the rest of the customers, who were looking a little concerned as she held one of the red-and-white cupcakes aloft. “Be warned that Emmie’s cupcakes will make you sick. Look at my poor baby.” She gestured to Brooks, who did, in fact, look sick. Or maybe it was rage.
I couldn’t believe that I’d loved him once. Now the man I’d sacrificed seven years of my life for looked at me with hatred in his eyes. As the star on top of this Christmas tree of betrayal, he and his homewrecking-affair partner were trying to ruin my business—the very last thing I had left, a business I’d managed to scrape together from the scraps of my ruined marriage with the last of my savings and against all odds.
“Oh yeah?” I said, trying to keep the tremble of fury out of my voice. “If they were so bad, why did you eat two of them?”
My husband went red-faced. “You’re a fucking delusional cunt, Emmie. You always criticize me; you always undermine me. You’re a narcissist! It’s no wonder no man wants you.”
“I’m a narcissist?” I choked out. “Why? Because I tried to get you to eat broccoli? God forbid there’s something green on your dinner plate.”
“You put bean sprouts in my sandwich,” my husband said petulantly.
“They’re good for you. As we get older, we need to be better about our diets.” I seethed.
“See? You’re nagging. This is why he left you for me!” Oakley screeched. “No man wants some woman telling him how to live his life. Just shut up and cook.”
The people in line, who were only moments ago complaining about how long it was taking, were now watching the drama unfold with rapt attention.
“You’re the one who’s dumpy and eats too much cake anyway!” Brooks’s face was almost purple as he screamed at me. “You’re not supposed to get hooked on your own supply.”
“That’s right, sweetie,” Oakley said soothingly.
“I should never have married you,” Brooks spat. He was practically frothing at the mouth. “You spent all my money, you cooked food I hated, you were always the worst-looking woman at company events. You criticize everything.”
“Because you’re an adult toddler and can’t clean up after yourself. You left your dirty clothes everywhere and tracked mud all over the floor I just cleaned. You belittled me constantly!” I cried. “Every day, you made my life miserable, and now you won’t”—I pulled out a stack of papers and slammed the drawer in the counter closed—“even sign the freaking divorce papers!”
“I’m not paying you a goddamn cent!” he bellowed, slapping the papers out of my hand. “I knew the minute you didn’t put out on our wedding night that you were defective. That’s why you couldn’t even get pregnant.”
“I put out,” I hissed at him. “I just refused to do—”
“Anal!” Oakley screeched at the top of her lungs while the onlookers watched in horrified fascination, phones out.
This wassogoing on the Harrogate Facebook group.
“Guess what! That’s how I stole him from you. Actually, correction—he came willingly.” Oakley was smug. “I believe if a man buys you dinner, he’s entitled to sex.”
“You see?” Brooks sputtered, the veins in his eyes almost popping. “A real woman is supportive.”
“I wasted years of my life with you. I should never have married you!” I yelled. “I wish you’d just died on our wedding day.”
“You’re about to kill him with these cupcakes,” Oakley snapped, waving the box at me. “They were revolting. Inedible.Poisonous.”
In the café, people had stopped eating and were looking around in concern.
“There isn’t anything wrong with the cupcakes,” I said, trying to keep my voice from sounding shrill.
Several people in line sidled to the door.
“Please don’t leave,” I begged my customers. “We have a brand-new cupcake flavor, just out last Sunday—the Santa’s Surprise cupcakes.”
