Page 1

Chapter One

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Tia

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"It's all about the tongue. First, the curious lick. Next, the bold, dreamy lap all around the edge, sliding slowly toward the center. Then you dip in with the tip of your tongue, just to whet your taste buds before you open wide and engulf the luxurious sweetness, using your teeth a little if you're feeling daring until your palate screams for more. If you want to eat your way through all the scrumptious layers to get to the bottom of it, it's really all about tongue technique."

I admire the confection in my palm with its luscious high buttercream swirl, hiding delicate tiers of chocolate ganache, discs of salted caramel sandwiched between layers of the fluffiest cake known to humankind. Just all-around plain naughty indulgences to tease the buds right through to the last bite. Definitely my most sinful cupcake creation to date, with every mouthful a new experience, which is why I call it Wicked Delight.

I place the cupcake into a gold box with a transparent lid, my thumb sliding proudly over my logo on the side of the box—Tia's Cupcake Confessions—before I hand it over the counter to the nice man in the suit, offering him a satisfied smile as I do.

"I'll... take a... hundred more of these, please," he says, swallowing hard.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, sir. We only have," I use my finger and, murmuring softly, count the number of couture cupcakes on the tray in the display case before me. "We only have twenty-two left, I'm afraid."

"I'll take it. I'll take them all," the out-of-towner says, sweat beading on his forehead, and it isn't even that hot today.

"I'll take over from here, Ms. Langley."

My very bossy assistant, Kamilia Johnston, gently pushes me out of the way before she turns to the customer. "Will that be all for you, sir?"

I can't wipe the smile off my face even as Kamilia packs up the remaining cupcakes in a large box, runs his credit card through the machine, then ushers him out of the bakery.

"What?" I ask innocently in reply to her raised eyebrows, silently asking me, "What the heck was that?"

"It's called hand-selling, Kamilia, look it up," I say smugly.

My entire existence is to keep Tia's Cupcake Confessions in the black. That's the deal I made with my father, or else I'll have to face the alternative, which is a big fat no thank you on my part. I'd sell cupcakes on my knees before that happens.

"More like hand-sexing," Kamilia says, hands on her hips. "You certainly had the man eating out of your hand."

"Oh, that's not true. I was merely showing him how to eat my designer cupcake."

"Yeah, that man thought he would be eating your designer cupcake as well."

"Kamilia," I say, pretending to be outrageously offended. Kamilia and I work very well together. I met the mother of three a year ago when I opened up my bakery, and it was love at first sight.

I love to bake, and she loves to clean up. It's the perfect mutually beneficial relationship I've ever been in. Not to say I've been in any other relationships before. My love life is sparse, well, nonexistent to be clear, which is just the way I like it. Romance and marriage can happily skip me completely. It's just going to be me and my cupcakes for life.

"Still," I add, shrugging my shoulder. "Sex sells sugar, you know. Also, how many cupcakes did you sell today, Ms. Johnston?"

"A dozen with my dignity, I'll have you know," Kamilia says lightheartedly, but our attention turns toward the entrance as the old-fashioned bell on the door chimes.

"Mr. Almaty?" A sinking feeling of dread settles in the pit of my stomach at the sight of my landlord.

The normal cheeriness on his face, together with his enthusiastic demeanor, is gone. Now his kind eyes are sunken with worry, his cheeks hollow, and his shoulders slouched. He seems to have aged ten years overnight.

This is bad. Very, very bad.

"I'm so sorry, Tia. I have no other choice..." Mr. Almaty says as he slides down into one of the cast-iron chairs, his elbows on the matching table, his head in his hands.

As with Kamilia, I've known Mr. Almaty for just over a year now. He leased me the bakery on sight, without checking my credentials, telling me he had good instincts and I was going to be a success.

Except a big, bad boogeyman reared its ugly head in the vicinity of Darling Rose, a tiny little town with a population under five thousand and a forty-minute drive from the big city. And now this ugly boogeyman might win.

I round the counter and sit on the chair opposite Mr. Almaty. Kamilia follows behind me.