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“Thanks.” He turned and winked at her. “For the record, those socks totally work for you.”
She blushed but didn’t have time to respond before he strode to her aunt. She watched him go, taking a second to enjoy the view. He might be a sacrificial lamb headed to the slaughter, but at least he was a sexy sacrificial lamb. Maybe Aunt Judy would go light on him.
She joined Eliza at the display table. Eliza had already stacked all four cake tiers with the help of one of the other workers. Skye had made enough cakes to know exactly how to waterfall the flowers down the tiers. The larger flowers had to go first, then the smaller buds and leaves. She pushed a straw into the top tier, then added some gum paste.
“Who’s the hottie?” Eliza whispered, handing her a flower.
“Mail courier, I think.” Skye used tweezers to thread the rose stem into the straw.
They repeated this process multiple times. All the while, Skye kept an ear on the conversation going on between her aunt and Superman.
The man handed her aunt the large envelope, explaining that it was from an attorney in Bisbee, Arizona.
Judy set the vase on a table and tore open the letter, then pulled out a sheet of paper. As she read, her lips narrowed into a thin line, her grip on the paper turning white with pressure.
“Well, that’s not a good sign,” Skye mumbled. What was this guy doing? He was going to ruin all her plans. Whatever the paper said, it obviously made Judy mad. And Skye needed her aunt in a good mood if she was going to make a grab for Grams’s recipe journals.
The top tier was nearly finished, with the larger flowers cascading
down the side. No one would ever guess she’d had to throw this together last minute. Which was good, because the souring expression on her aunt’s face told her that she’d need all of her expert cake-making skills—along with any other skills—to keep her aunt happy tonight.
“Is this a threat? Are you kidding me?” Judy shrieked. Her aunt’s voice reverberated through the room. She spun on the Clark Kent look-alike, who stepped back in alarm. “They’re the ones that stole from me! If anyone is going to threaten legal action, it’s me!”
Skye froze, the tube of gum paste in her hand. She wasn’t the only one. Everyone in the room went still until Judy shot one of the servers a dirty look and the bustle picked up again.
The man straightened. “You have no legal claim to the necklace.”
Eliza shot a glance at Skye, her brows raised. “Necklace?”
“Don’t ask.” Skye rolled her eyes, then turned her attention back to the cake. She couldn’t waste time on a crime that happened a hundred years ago when there was so much flower work to get done right now. She just hoped her aunt would pull out of this tantrum quickly.
Skye began pasting several leaves around the roses on the top tier when her aunt’s voice grew loud again. “That necklace was a gift from my grandfather to my grandmother. I have no idea how those Wyles got their grubby little hands on it, but—”
“Now just calm down,” Clark Kent said. “I’m sure there’s been a misunderstanding.”
The top tier was done, and Skye moved on to the next one. She’d heard her aunt moan about that necklace several times since Grams died. Skye had no idea how her aunt came to learn about the necklace—Grams never once mentioned it before she passed away—or why Judy cared so much about something that had been stolen three generations ago. Of course, it was worth a truck load of cash, and her aunt had the senses of a bloodhound when it came to sniffing out money. Somehow, Judy had tracked the stolen necklace back to Bisbee.
Skye looked up from the cake.
Aunty Judy’s face was a vivid red. “Tell those Wyle boys that this isn’t going to stop me from getting that necklace back. Now get out!” She snatched the dented vase from the table and chucked it.
Unfortunately, it flew right toward Skye.
She ducked just before the vase whirred past and ricocheted off the wall.
It landed with a muted thunk, splattering Skye with frosting. A collective gasp sounded from the workers.
Skye closed her eyes, hoping what happened really didn’t. Please don’t be bad. Please don’t be bad. She straightened, peeking through barely parted lids.
Her eyes shot open. No! She blinked, then blinked again, keeping the angry tears from coming.
The top tier was a heap of mashed cake, sugar flowers, and frosting. The vase was now half buried in the second tier. The cake was completely ruined.
No. No. No. Skye couldn’t stop the tears any longer. Out of all the places her aunt could’ve thrown the stupid vase, it had to be at the cake? Why? Skye should’ve taken the vase in the head. A concussion would’ve been better than to see all her work wasted, on this of all days.
She looked up through exhausted, watery eyes. Clark Kent, along with everyone else in the room, stared at her in shock.
And in that instant, the day she’d dreamed about for two years turned into a nightmare.
