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I run to the faucet to fill a coffee cup with water. While he’s desperately downing his first cup, I provide a second. It’s only when his dry heaves stop and he’s rid his mouth of every atom of cupcake that he gives me a look of abject apology and says, “I think I might have mentioned I didn’t like sweets.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Noble
After all our hard work, I was willing to try the cupcakes. I assumed the sweets I ate that were cooked by the military would be nothing like the delicious treats Jenna baked. They smelled so good and were beautifully decorated. How was I to know they would taste as heinous as the liberation cake I tried shortly after we were freed?
“They look beautiful, though,” I say, trying to spare her feelings.
“Yeah, and if cupcakes were judged by their beauty, these would win the prize.” Her tone is doleful. I’ve hurt her feelings.
“I’ll have thirds.” Barton doesn’t wait for permission as he reaches for the one Jenna calls Chocolate Caramel Bliss.
Watson must be ravenous, because the two males are practically duking it out over the last of those.
“Seriously, Jenna,” Watson says though his mouth is crammed with food. “These could win prizes.”
“Hmph.” She’s spearing me with such disdain. If her eyes were laser beams, my hide would be charred.
“It makes sense, though,” Barton says with a shrug. “Most animals don’t like sweets.”
After all three of us whip our heads in his direction, none of us can control our irritated eye-rolls. I didn’t even know my body was capable of producing that gesture until he made his statement.
“I know it’s not politically correct, and I hate to agree with him, but he’s right,” Watson chimes in as he uses his finger to swipe the last dollop of icing off the box top Jenna carried the cupcakes on.
She huffs and shakes her head. “Why would they choose me to come here? Why would they want a bakery when splicers don’t eat sweets?”
“Optics.” Watson’s tongue is dark brown from the Chocolate Caramel Bliss frosting. “I think they wanted Main Street to be like in the movies with a bookstore, bakery, coffee shop, and ice creamery. You know, to get tourist traffic once they tell the world about the splicers.”
Jenna quits moving. For a moment, a casual observer would think she was one of those store mannequins. Then she rubs her palm over her mouth, squints her eyes, and finally nods.
“Name your favorite flavors.” She orders as she looks at me, waiting for me to answer her demand.
“None of them have fun names like Midnight Blackberry Velvet,” I hedge.
“Name them.”
“Meat, fish, chicken.” I said this softly, knowing it would irritate her.
Instead, her face brightens as she retrieves her pad from the other room. She sits down and, without any eye contact, urges, “More.”
“Steak, ribeye, sirloin, roast, ham.”
“Bacon!” Watson pipes up.
“Bacon. How could I forget that? Liver, salmon, hamburger.”
“Got it.”
She’s nodding, clearly still thinking. I imagine she’s sorting ideas in her mind.
“I’m still going to serve all the sweet treats I’ve been perfecting, but I was brought here to help the splicers, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
She stands and paces in large swaths.
“I’m not only going to perfect my human recipes and make the best damn cupcakes this side of the Mississippi, but I’m going to make treats for you splicers. I’ll have some tasting parties, but I’m already imagining pâté-filled cornbread, hamburger bombs with minced onion and relish piped on top, and salmon-spread gateau.”
She’s furiously making notes, cocking her head to pause, then gets back to her notepad.
