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He set the paper bag on the counter so he could reach into his pocket and pull out a few bills, which he then dropped into the tip jar.
“That smile of yours,” I said to her as I approached the counter. “How much of it is genuine and how much of it is caffeine induced?”
“About fifty-fifty,” she admitted. She cocked her head to the side. “Brooklyn said you were coming by this morning. But why are you—Jesus, you’re wearing thoseheels! Aren’t your feet killing you? And that leather skirt… I’d ask to borrow it, but I’d swim in it.”
“Is that your way of saying I look nice this morning?” I teased.
“Nice,” she agreed. “And ready for world domination.”
“Ah, just the aesthetic I was going for.”
“What do you want this morning? Caramel, mocha, hazelnut?”
“Yes. With a ton of whipped cream and an extra shot of espresso, please.”
“That kind of morning?”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “That kind of weekend.”
She frowned. “What happened?”
“Are the girls in back?”
“Brooklyn is in the kitchen making quiche. Brielle is in there too, icing a wedding cake. I’m making you a surprise concoction and then I’ll bring it to you. Do not tell them anything until I’m there to hear it. I need this story from start to finish.”
“Okay, General.”
“If you’re calling me a title, can you call me Admiral? They have better outfits.”
I headed into the back kitchen. It smelled like sugar and eggs. Brooklyn was standing at the large island, chopping tomatoes. A carton of 48 eggs rested next to her. A huge metal bowl with a large handle was off to the side, ready to be placed underneath a professional mixer.
Brielle’s blue eyes were intently focused on a six-tiered wedding cake at another station. A piece of red hair escaped from behind her ear and fell forward. With a grumble, she blew it out of her face.
“Hey, girl,” Brooklyn greeted, quickly glancing up at me before diving back into cutting veggies. Her fair cheeks were flushed from the heat of the kitchen.
“Hey.” I grabbed a stool and moved it into the corner so I wouldn’t be in the way.
Brielle set down the pastry bag full of white frosting and wiped her hands on her apron. “I kind of hate you a little bit.”
“Me? Why?” I asked with a laugh.
“Because you look likethat.”
“Like what?” I demanded.
“Like a vixen on steroids.”
“Uh, thanks?”
“You do look quite…” Brooklyn paused as she surveyed me. “Unusually put together.”
“I was supposed to have a meeting with Waverly’s principal. Hold on, though, I’m not allowed to say anything until Jazz is back here.”
“Is this an exciting story?” Brooklyn asked. “Please let this be exciting. I need some excitement in my life. Slash has entered overprotective mode.”
“He just loves you,” I pointed out.
“Yes, yes he does.” She grinned. “But he texts constantly, asks about swollen ankles, and demands to know if I’ve had enough water. He’s worse than my OB.”
