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“That’s sweet,” I said, meaning it, despite the bud of jealousy blooming in my chest.
“It’s why we’re having an anniversary party,” she explained. “When we got married we didn’t have a lot of money and we couldn’t afford the kind of party we wanted.”
“You,” Horace interrupted with a smile. “The kind of partyyouwanted.”
She patted his arm. “Fine. I’ll admit it. I wanted a big party, but we couldn’t afford it. But now we can, and I want to celebrate.”
“What kind of cake did you have in mind?” I asked.
“Something decadent, but also something unique,” Angie said.
“Chocolate,” Horace added.
I jotted some notes down. “What kind of party is this going to be?”
“What do you mean?” Angie asked.
“Like, are we doing black tie? Casual? What kind of food? Motif, colors, that kind of thing.”
“Oh.” Angie nibbled her bright red lip. “It’s formal, I guess. But not uptight formal, if that makes sense. We’re doing it outside under a big white tent, with heat lamps to keep everyone warm, but there’s no sit-down dinner. Passed trays of finger foods, but we wanted to go heavy on the dessert and have an awesome cake. And we want it to be different.”
“Different,” I repeated.
She nodded. “We’re not exactly traditional.”
“So, you don’t want a four-tiered wedding cake with thick white icing and pink icing roses?” I asked, unable to stop my smile.
“God, that sounds horrible,” Horace stated.
“Well, I concur,” I admitted. “What colors did you have in mind?”
“Black and gold,” Angie said. “Told you. Not traditional.”
“Look, Jazz vouched for you,” Horace said. “I trust her judgment; therefore I trust you. Give Angie whatever she wants. I’m along for the ride.”
I smiled. “You’re a good man, Horace.”
“Nah, I’m just the husband, and I want to get out of this alive.”
Chapter6
“I’ve never seenanything more beautiful in my entire life!” Angie said. “The cake is just…exquisite.”
I beamed. “I’m so glad you like it.”
“Like it?I love it.” She quickly embraced me. “It’s perfect, Brooklyn. Thank you.”
I wasn’t going to lie—I was pretty impressed with myself. I’d gone all out, deciding that Angie and Horace deserved the best cake that I could make. Three days after meeting them, I had a masterpiece.
It was a six-tier black matte wedding cake with gold leaf and black and gold sugar skulls up the side. The cake topper was made of two sugar skeletons, one in a top hat and the other in a white lace dress.
“It’s like the Corpse Bride had a cake baby with Beetlejuice,” someone said.
I turned away from the dessert table and met a pair of brown eyes and a smile full of trouble. “I was going for gothic chic.”
“You were successful.” The guy wore a white button-down shirt, a black tie and a coat, but it didn’t detract from his broad shoulders. “Hi. I’m Roman.”
He held out his hand for me to take.
