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“This is a lot of fucking cake,” I shot right back.
He snorted out a laugh and went to the counter where I could see a Keurig resting.
“Want some coffee?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Not unless you have decaf,” I replied hopefully.
He looked at me over his shoulder.
“No,” he said. “Sure don’t have that rot.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Trust me, I would much rather be drinking the real stuff,” I admitted as I started mixing the batter by hand.
“Why do you say it like that?” he asked curiously, hitting the brew button on the coffee pot and turning to rest his narrow hips against the counter.
I nearly groaned at the smell of the coffee.
I hadn’t gotten any today—decaf or no decaf. A, I couldn’t afford it, and B, I’d packed my coffee maker up last night as I’d packed.
“Because my doctor suggested, at a very young age, that I limit my intake of caffeine,” I said. “I’m only allotted a certain amount a day. I’d rather drink the decaf and have chocolate rather than drinking the coffee and getting no dessert.”
“Your doctor suggested it?” He tilted his head. “Do you have something wrong with you?”
“No,” I paused. “Not really. More like I could have something wrong with me if I wasn’t careful.” I tapped my chest right where my heart would be. “I have an irregular heartbeat. The more caffeine I drink, the worse it acts up. Nothing too serious, but something my doctor wants me to be cautious of.”
He grunted out a wordless understanding.
“How long will that cake take to bake?” he asked as I started to pour the batter into the trays.
“This one?” I paused. “About forty minutes or so.”
“You say this one…”
I winked at him.
“That’s because this is only the top layer of the bride’s cake. I still have to make the other four layers, as well as the groom’s cake, which is only one layer, but about twice as big as everything else.” I paused.
He took a seat at the opposite end of the counter from me, propped his chin in his hand, and stared at me as he silently drank coffee.
We worked in companionable silence for about ten minutes while I whipped up the other cakes. I was on the batter of the third layer when he said, “You dripped some of that batter on your chest.”
I looked down, and sure enough, there was a splatter of batter right between my boobs.
I cursed myself for wearing this particular tank top.
I’d originally meant to wear something less revealing, but then I’d decided last night to forgo doing laundry in lieu of watching two moreHow To Get Away With Murderepisodes, and when I’d woken up this morning, all I’d have left was the one I currently had on.
It was technically one that I’d had since high school.
A black halter top with black lace piping around the edges, it’d been cute as hell once upon a time. Now it was a little too small seeing as I’d grown boobs since I’d worn it last—growing boobs was par for the course when you gained weight. Apparently, when I gained weight, it went first to my tits, and then to my ass.
I’d yet to see the extra pounds anywhere but those two places, and honestly, I wasn’t really sure that I should even complain about it.
It was a good weight to add on seeing as I now had boobs to fill out my halter tops.
