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“You had that cake finished two days ago.” Eliza chopped the herbs a little more aggressively than necessary. “If the clients are going to make last-minute demands, they get what they get.”
Skye wanted to agree, but she needed this wedding to go off without a hitch. There were still a few things she wanted to discuss with her aunt, and it would be far easier if Judy was in a good mood. “The real tragedy is that I couldn’t save any of the sugar flowers. And I had to re-fondant the entire thing.”
Skye flexed her fingers. Her hands ached from rolling out the sugar paste and making rose petals for dozens of new flowers throughout the night. But this was her final wedding. Her last day. She could do anything for one day—at least that’s what she told herself with every Red Bull she’d inhaled last night.
“It’s going to take me forever to get those roses right.” Eliza moved from parsley to basil.
Skye shot her a small smile, pushing down her guilt. Why did it feel like she was feeding Eliza to the wolves? Well, one wolf, really. But maybe Judy would go easier on the new chef. Maybe her treatment of Skye had been singular. As her niece, Skye definitely had a unique piece of her aunt’s heart. The cold, withered piece that liked to yell a lot.
“Don’t worry, you’ll catch on quick.” Skye carried the tray of pale pink roses over to the cart with the cake tiers. The smell of herbs clashed against the scent of chocolate cake, but Skye didn’t care. The basil and buttercream could bicker with each other all they wanted. It was the smell of freedom.
Despite her apron, frosting covered her t-shirt and jeans. Her clothes always got dirty when she took charge of the cake, which she did every time because she happened to be awesome at wedding cakes. For the hundredth time, she checked her watch. “We’ll have to take the cake to the dining hall and set the flowers there.”
Eliza shot her an assuring look over the cutting board. “If it doesn’t get done, you’ll just have to explain to Judy that she didn’t give you enough time.”
“Right.” No way would Skye’s aunt see it that way. But Skye didn’t have the energy to point that out. She shifted the cake tiers to make room on the cart for the roses. “After today, I’m never making a sugar flower again.”
That was entirely untrue, of course. When she opened her own catering company, she’d make whatever the customer wanted. But at least she could then decide for herself if she wanted to sacrifice a night’s sleep for a last-minute request.
Skye walked back across the kitchen and picked up another tray of sugar roses, thinking of the recipes her grandmother had collected in her travels. Recipes she cooked for Skye as a child. Skye’s plan was still murky on how to get those amazing recipes from her aunt. Technically, Grams’s will stated that her personal possessions went to both Skye and Judy. And since Judy never cooked and didn’t care one bit for the cookbooks, it should’ve been easy for Skye to get them. But it was not easy. B
ecause the thing her aunt did care about was having what someone else wanted. And Skye hadn’t yet figured out how to ask for the recipe books without actually appearing like she wanted them. Which was why she needed Judy to be in a good mood tonight. This was Skye’s best shot at getting the recipes.
Eliza pulled the chicken breasts from the fridge. “Well, Judy and I are going to have words if she ever throws something like this at me when I take over.”
Skye was about to wish Eliza luck when the front doorbell chimed. Skye ignored it and grabbed her water bottle from the counter to take a drink. One of the other staffers could get it. She needed to focus on the cake.
The doorbell rang a second time.
Skye sighed. “Maybe it’s the florist.” She set her water bottle down, then turned to Eliza and motioned to the cart. “Do me a favor and take this into the dining hall?”
“No problem.”
Skye pulled off her hairnet and kicked off her shoes. Aunt Judy would murder her if she scuffed up the newly polished marble floor. She padded out of the kitchen and rubbed the ache in her lower back. She was exhausted and behind schedule. Having to answer the door didn’t help. Judy already treated her like a personal maid and chef, now she was supposed to be the butler too?
The long hall was already lined with garland for the wedding, and the minty eucalyptus scent filled the air.
Every time Skye walked down the hallway, she felt a pinch in her heart, but today the feeling was particularly acute since she was leaving. It was once part of the path from her old bedroom upstairs to Grams’s sitting room next to the dining hall. But not anymore. Though Skye and her aunt had equal claim to the personal items, the house went to Judy. When she took over, she renovated the old mansion and kicked Skye to the curb, or as her aunt explained, “Pushed the chick from the nest so it could fly.”
Judy had gutted the house. The master bedroom had turned into a bridal suite, a commercial kitchen was installed, and the library was knocked out to make room for a large dining hall. Fortunately, the imported black-and-white checked marble tile was spared, and it now glistened. The transformation was thorough. Skye’s childhood home, built by her grandfather, was now the hottest reception center in El Paso.
As a child, Skye was the official sock-skating champion of this hallway. True, there weren’t any other kids in the competition, but she could out-slide even the longest-legged adult. Whether out of sentimentality or exhaustion, Skye pushed herself off and slid down the hallway. When she came to a stop she looked back and grinned. Yeah, she totally had it. Maybe there were a few things she’d miss after today.
The bell rang for the third time. Then a fourth.
“Hold your horses, I’m coming!” Skye called out. She arrived in the front entry. “I have plenty of other things to do besides—” She swung open the door and froze.
A man stood on the porch holding a large manilla envelope. He was tall and broad, with dark wavy hair, a square jaw, and the most gorgeous blue eyes she’d ever seen.
“Wow.”
Okay, wow probably wasn’t the first thing she should’ve said. But it wasn’t every day that Clark Kent delivered the mail. He wore jeans and a white dress shirt that accentuated the muscles in his shoulders and biceps.
Skye folded her arms over her apron, suddenly remembering the white frosting currently smeared all over her clothes. “Can I help you?”
The incognito superhero raised his brows in surprise. “Are you Judy Stanton?”
“I’m her niece. Is that for her?” Skye reached for the envelope.
