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I chuckle.
“New York socialite brides are hell to work for.”
She nods.
“But it gets worse. I had one woman who had a Cirque du Soleil themed wedding. Who has a circus themed wedding? Anyway, she wanted her cake suspended from the ceiling on a trapeze. There were forty foot ceilings in the ballroom, and the carpentry staff made it happen. I made the garish cake she requested but the kicker is…”
“She tried to cut the cake while it was still on the trapeze,” I finish for her.
“Yes! How did you know?”
I laugh. Whitney’s going to get a kick out of this one.
“Because I was there. I was a guest at that wedding. Actually, I was a plus one. A friend from college asked me to go with her because the bride was an old family friend of hers. Camilla, my date, had just gotten out of a relationship and her childhood rivalry with the bride wouldn’t allow her to go alone, so I was her plus one. If it makes you feel any better, no one at the wedding was surprised when that cake toppled during the cutting. Trust me, everyone knew it was the bride’s fault, and not yours.”
Whitney shakes her head, marveling at the craziness.
“That cake was actually my last one there. The bride blamed me for it and my boss screamed at me in front of her! I had warned her not to cut it like that. Carpentry rigged a pulley to bring it down to the table when it was time, but she just wouldn’t listen. I went home and cried for about an hour and then decided to quit and open SugarTime. I’d had it.”
Our stomachs growl simultaneously, and suddenly, I realize that we’ve been talking for over an hour. The sun has set, and the balmy evening breeze ruffles my hair a bit. In fact, we were both so engrossed in conversation that we forgot all about our cheese and fruit.
I smile and stretch, marveling at how time flies when I’m with Whitney.
“I think it’s time I make dinner. Keep me company in the kitchen while I cook?” I ask reaching for her hand to help her up.
She beams.
“Of course. The kitchen is my favorite room in the house!”
13
Whitney
Peter is so easy to talk to and I can’t believe the lengths he went to for this evening. The dress makes me feel glamorous and sexy. The picnic is so romantic, and I can’t believe he brought real grass all the way up to the penthouse. And now he’s cooking dinner for me, so I feel spoiled.
“I’ve never had anyone cook dinner for me. Because I went to culinary school, every guy I’ve ever dated expected me to cook. They’d always use the excuse that their cooking could never match up to mine. This one guy I dated wouldn’t even microwave popcorn.”
He grins.
“Lame. I’m a popcorn snob myself. I wouldn’t want someone else handling it. Did I show you the popcorn machine in the screening room, by the way?”
“No! Do you have a candy counter and soda fountain as well?”
He chuckle.
“No, but maybe I should. But as for the unsophisticated slugs you may have dated in the past, they were probably just intimidated by you, sweetheart.”
I pull a funny face.
“By me? Doubtful.”
“Why is that doubtful? What did they do for a living?”
I sigh.
“I’ve only dated three guys for any length of time. One was a line cook, one worked in engineering at the hotel, and the third was in between jobs.”
He looks at me pointedly.
“Exactly, sweetheart. You made these guys take stock of their life choices. Whitney, none of them were models of success, and you really are an amazing woman. Opening a bakery in New York City takes a lot of courage. The food and beverage industry is incredibly competitive here, and entrepreneurship is never easy.”
I nod slowly.
“I guess I didn’t really think about how competitive things are in the city. I should have because I may not make it if this quarantine goes on too long. I financed new equipment right before the shut down based on restaurant accounts I had. I’ve been using the money you gave me to pay the loan on those pieces, and to help take care of my employees. I’m grateful, but honestly, I’m behind on rent and utilities. The landlord has been nice about it so far but I’m sure he has bills to pay too.”
I hate admitting this to Peter, but I don’t want him to have unreal expectations of who I am and what I have going on. He thinks a lot of good things about me, but I’m just me. A regular girl, despite what I’ve accomplished. The scent of rosemary and seared beef fills the air. Peter turns his back to grab plates for the mouth-watering dinner he has prepared and seems deep in thought. He pauses for a moment, and then turns back to me, his expression casual.
