A well-dressed woman approached the counter. “I want to order a custom cake,” she said. “I’m in a hurry.”
“No problem,” Claire told her as she moved to the counter off to the side. She pulled out the special order book and took a sheet. “What are you looking for?”
“The Keyes cake,” the woman said. “But with custard filling, not chocolate.”
Claire smiled. “I’m sorry but we don’t make changes on the Keyes cake. We have other chocolate cakes we can customize any way you like, but the Keyes cake recipe is a tradition we don’t mess with.”
“Excuse me, but I’m the customer. Your job is to give me exactly what I want. I’ve told you what I want, now do it.”
Claire allowed herself a moment of visualizing the hostile customer covered in frosting and being attacked by flying sprinkles, then she smiled again.
“There are a few things in life that shouldn’t be changed. You wouldn’t want the Mona Lisa to suddenly become a nurse or have someone put a hula skirt on the Statue of Liberty.”
“You can’t possibly be comparing your ridiculous cake with either of those.”
“Have you had the Keyes cake before?”
The woman sniffed. “It’s just a cake.”
“I’ll take that as a no. It’s beyond wonderful. Trust me. My family spent sixty years getting that cake recipe right. So which would you rather have? An honest-to-goodness legend, or one of our other cakes made to your exact specifications? Or you could get one of each and have a taste test. It might be fun for your guests.”
“I suppose that’s a possibility.”
“It would be a great ending for the evening.”
The woman hesitated, then ordered a regular chocolate cake, with the custard filling and the special Keyes chocolate cake. When she’d paid and left, Phil looked at her.
“She’s been here before, that woman. She’s not easy. You did good.”
Simple words, Claire thought, a sense of pride swelling inside of her. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t think you’d make it, but you didn’t give up. That’s something.”
Claire grinned. “You’ve made my week.”
It was only when she’d moved on to the next customer that she realized she’d never once thought about panicking. She’d done what needed to be done. It was a great feeling and one she wanted to have again.
“MAYBE,” NICOLE SAID, as she leaned back on Claire’s bed. “Are you really going to wear jeans on your date?”
Claire didn’t mention they had been Jesse’s idea. “I thought my other clothes were too dressy. These have a dark wash and I’m wearing them with high-heeled boots.”
“Very fashion forward,” Nicole said as she shoved another pillow behind her head. “But Wyatt knows you’re all Park Avenue. He’ll dress up and you’ll feel funny in jeans. What about those white wool slacks. Those are really nice.”
“He’s seen them.”
“With what?”
“A white sweater. Well, ivory. Technically the outfit is ivory.”
Nicole rolled her eyes. “Of course it is. Do you have a different sweater?”
Claire looked through her clothes and pulled out one that was a pale blue with threads of light silver shot through it. “I never wear this one,” she said, half to herself, “even though I really like it. Maybe with pearls.”
“Earrings maybe, but not a strand of pearls. That’s too old lady. The color will be great with your hair and your eyes.”
She held the sweater up to herself and looked in the mirror. Honestly she didn’t see any difference, but she was willing to be wrong.
“Okay. I’ll wear this sweater with the ivory slacks. I have pretty silver heels and a great bag.”
Nicole wrinkled her nose. “That goes without saying. All your stuff is great. You must really like shopping.”
Claire wondered if they were about to get into dangerous territory. “Not really. Lisa buys stuff and I either keep it or not. I don’t really have time to go to stores.”
She braced herself for a sarcastic comment but Nicole only nodded. “From what she said, your days did seem full. Is that your real hair color?”
Claire fingered a strand. “I get highlights.”
“Maybe I should do that. My hair seems really dull and boring compared with your forty-seven colors.”
“It’s about five different highlights,” she admitted.
“It takes forever, but the different shades make it easier as it grows out. No obvious roots.”
“A plus when you’re traveling.”
Claire nodded slowly, looking for sarcasm in her sister’s comment, but not finding any. “It helps.”
Nicole stood. “I should let you get dressed. Wyatt will be here soon and I don’t want you to keep him waiting. Under the circumstances, it would be too weird for me to make polite conversation.”
Knowing she was probably asking for trouble, Claire said, “Thanks for all your help and advice.”
Nicole shrugged. “Just trying not to be the Bitch Queen of the Western World.”
“You’re doing a great job.”
“Gee, thanks.”
When Nicole had left, Claire plugged in her electric curlers. She wasn’t going for some fabulous style, just a little body in her hair. She curled it, applied light makeup, then dressed, fussed with her hair and shrieked when she glanced at her watch and saw Wyatt was due any second. As she opened her bedroom door, she heard Nicole yell, “Get your skinny ass down here. He’s pulling up and I will not act like your mother.”
“I’m ready,” Claire called back and hurried toward the front door.
“You’re on time,” Wyatt said by way of greeting. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Oh. Okay.” Were women usually late for dates?
Nicole hadn’t said anything. “Did you, ah, want to come in?” As she spoke, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Nicole shaking her head and motioning for them to leave. “Or we could just go. That might be better.”
“Sure.”
She grabbed her purse and went outside. Even with her wearing high heels, he was still a lot taller. And bigger. He was also dressed differently. A dress shirt and dark slacks replaced the jeans and plaid shirts he
