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“Mmm, thith ith good,” I try to say as I chew.
It is too. As were the seven other cake samples we tried.
Still, I’m not one iota closer to a decision.
I inform the employee helping us, an older woman named Betty, that though the red velvet is quite tasty it’s not the one.
Reaching for a napkin, I then ask, “Can we take a short break? I think I need more water also. And a minute too, for my taste buds to recalibrate.”
Betty, smiling sweetly, says, “Yes, of course, honey.”
Standing, she wipes her hands on the front of her frilly pink apron, and says, “I’ll have more ice water sent out right away. And I have another cake flavor for you to try. I just need to grab a sample from the back. It’s brand new. Our head baker created it just recently.” Excitedly, she adds, “You never know, it could be the one.”
“What flavor is it?” I ask, truly curious.
“Oh, it’s a heavenly concoction of a myriad of chocolates—milk chocolate, dark chocolate. All with a deep, dark fudge filling. We call it Chocolate Resolve.”
Lainey and I look at each other and burst into peals of laughter.
Betty appears bewildered, so Lainey explains, “Sorry. It’s just that name. My sister could really use some ‘resolve’ lately.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” I quip. “In more ways than one.”
“Amen to that,” Lainey concurs.
Betty glances nervously from my sister to me, clearly still having no clue what in the hell we’re going on about.
“Uh, okay then,” she says, spinning around. “I’ll be right back.”
Lainey and I are then left alone.
Meeting my gaze meaningfully, Lainey says, “Hey, I know we were joking around, but maybe this Chocolate Resolve really
will be the one.”
“Yeah,” I sigh, hoping but not counting on it. “Maybe it will.”
I know it’s not just the cake that Lainey is referring to. She’s hoping maybe Chocolate Resolve will bring me one step closer to finding a solution to my problem with Brent.
As of right now, I’m out of answers.
I have no idea how to reach my fiancé.
So maybe it will come down to something as crazy as a bite of cake with “resolve” in the name to inspire me?
Hey, nuttier things have happened.
I’m thinking all this when a bakery worker, a young kid of about nineteen, comes out from the back carrying a fresh pitcher of ice water.
He refills our empty cups, then leaves.
I only have time to take a small sip of water before Betty returns, toting a decadent-looking chocolate cake.
“Ooh, that looks really good,” I remark.
Leaning in to my sister, I add, “Maybe this one will get my brain working.”
“It may,” she agrees. “In any case, it sure looks delicious.”
