I'm wearing the kind of hair that belongs on a woman going to a fancy red-carpet event, not a baker who spends her days covered in food scraps.
"Go on then," Debbie says, nudging me off the stool. "Give us the entire picture. Let's see if that dress is as good as your hair."
Now, I'm not about to take anything away from Debbie's work, but the dress is the real showstopper.
It’s a wrap dress in a dark purple that shimmers with every move I make. The soft silk whispers against my skin as I stand, the V-neck dipping just enough to be daring without being indecent. The black belt cinches at my waist, emphasizing curves I usually hide under aprons and oversized sweaters.
I stare at the reflection, letting my fingers trail down the smooth silk. "You know, Debbie… I think this dress might actually be better than the one I wore to my wedding."
Debbie's reflection appears beside mine, her eyebrows climbing. "The glow-up is real, honey. And the sexy confidence is a welcome addition."
“Well, Coltdidpick it out,” I say, running my hands down the silky fabric.
“Smart man,” Debbie approves, gathering her tools. “He knows what looks good on you. Now, go knock ’em dead, Zoey. This is your night.”
My night.
The thought sends a fresh wave of nerves crashing through me.
This isn’t just a party. It’s the launch of the Snow Leopards x Butter Batch partnership.
The pastries I've been working on beside Colt all week will be judged by the entire town. I swear he knows my recipes better than I do now. I don't know how many times he tested that batch before he showed me, or how many times he read my notebook.
Speaking of which, Colt has been buzzing with a secret all week. Something he found 'inspired by your notebook,' he’d said with a wicked grin.
I grab my clutch, a tiny black thing Quinn insisted I borrow, and take one last steadying breath. The apartment is quiet, Morgan is already at the event with Avery, who promised to keep her from mainlining sugar before the speeches.
It’s time.
The Leopard Den’s event space is nothing short of a winter wonderland crossed with a pastry lover’s wet dream.
I step through the arched entrance, and the massive room, usually used for corporate dinners or player draft events, has been transformed.
Snow Leopards purple and gold banners hang from the ceiling, twinkling with thousands of tiny fairy lights that mimic falling snow. In the center of the room, a giant ice sculpture of the team’s leopard mascot glitters under spotlights, its mouth open in a silent roar.
But the real masterpiece… is the bakery display.
Mybakery display.
Along the entire north wall, a long table draped in linen holds my creations. Dozens of them. Tiered stands showcase the three finalists Colt helped me choose: the Raspberry Tarts Chilmore has fallen in love with, with their glistening jewel-like tops. The Sea Salt Dark Chocolate Brownies cut into perfect squares, Harold's favorite even if he won't admit it.
And then… the real surprise… Cardamom-Butter Twists, their flaky layers dusted with sparkling sugar, perfected by Colt Lane.
“Holy shit, Zoey.”
Quinn appears at my elbow. She’s resplendent in a black leather dress that’s so tight I can actually see her nipples.
"Wow, Quinn. Going for the 'distract everyone from the pastries' look, are we?"
She grins, striking a pose that makes the leather creak in protest.
"Please, this dress is vegan leather. It's cruelty-free and way out of your budget." She loops her arm through mine, her perfume a cloud of something expensive and dangerous. "So all of this looksinsane.Did you know they had achocolate fountain?”
I follow her pointed finger to a corner where an actual fountain of molten chocolate bubbles invitingly, surrounded by bowls of strawberries, marshmallows, and chunks of pound cake.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I whisper.
“Don’t you dare.” Quinn loops her arm through mine. “You’re going to walk in here like you own the place. That’s all your hard work up there. Now, come on. Your fan club is waiting.”
