relieved at the response, Minna said, “I know you will,” then changed the subject.
After assuring her that she’d come up with something fun for shower favors, Vivian waved her friend out of the bakery. As soon as Minna was gone, she grabbed her iPad and opened up her website.
Maybe she needed to do more advertising? Vivian slid through the samples, her smile growing as she looked at each one. Granted, there were more sketches than actual photos. Mostly because she hadn’t scored a lot of orders yet and she couldn’t justify making a slew of baked goods just to take photos. But picture or sketch, they all looked great.
If she did say so herself.
The infamous penis cake, perfectly proportioned—to an eight-foot-tall man, granted—with a glistening flesh-colored modeling-chocolate covering and any variety of fillings.
Bikini cupcakes, each breast covered in sassy polka dots with just a hint of cherry-gel nipples peeking through the lace.
Three-dimensional bodies—both male, female and a few with both—made not from Rice Krispies Treats like some bakers used, but delicious cake through and through.
She should be a huge success.
The only problem was that she worked at her parents’ bakery and they weren’t a fan of her dreams. Which wouldn’t be a big deal except this was their store, as they’d snippily pointed out just last week. And apparently paying for the ingredients she used didn’t make up for using their space with her crazy ideas and wicked creations.
Vivian sniffed her disdain, but since she hadn’t found any way around that particular issue yet, she had to admit it did play into Lola questioning the seriousness of her commitment. According to her, Vivian should walk away from the family business and focus on her own. Dreams required risk, chapter twelve. Safety nets only slowed progress.
“Shouldn’t you be working?”
Breath knotted in her chest, Vivian spun around, almost falling on her butt thanks to her four-inch heels and slim pencil skirt.
“Mike,” she said, one hand pressed against her chest to keep her heart from leaping out. “What’re you doing here?”
Having obviously used his key to the back door, her brother stood in the pass-through between the storefront and the kitchen, frowning. Older by three years and their parent’s perfect child, Mike strode behind the counter to look over her shoulder.
“Why are you messing around with that stuff again? More of your dirty cakes and crazy ideas? C’mon, Viv, give it up and focus on the work you’re paid for,” he nagged in that big-brotherly tone that made his disdain for any other work she did clear.
Fingering the fifty in the pocket of her ruffled apron, Vivian debated waving it under his nose. But she knew it was pointless. Like their parents, Mike considered Vivian’s side job to be a silly little hobby, something they hoped she’d give up soon. Preferably before too many people learned of it and made the connection between Little Creek Bakery and its three generations of boring baked goods and The Sweet Spot, with its naughty selection of edible treats.
“Shouldn’t you be dressed like an uptight banker?” she asked, giving his casual jeans and button-down shirt a smirk.
“Shouldn’t you be dressed more, I don’t know, like someone who works in a bakery instead of a forties movie star?”
“You think I’m pretty enough to be a movie star?” Vivian teased, adding a sassy smile to her hair toss because she knew it’d bug him. The only thing more irritating than her brother’s criticism of her side business was his critique of her vintage style.
“I think you’re too much a handful as it is for me to answer a question like that.” As he spoke, Mike went through the bakery case, filling a standard pink cardboard box with a selection of choice cookies, brownies and muffins.
“What are you doing here? I’m pretty sure our parents left me in charge of the bakery while they’re on yet another vacation.” Vivian glanced at the clock to make sure she hadn’t lost time somewhere. “And since I am, shouldn’t you be bossing your tellers around at the bank instead of bugging me?”
“Shouldn’t you be closing out the cash register and prepping for tonight’s baking instead of playing on your computer?”
“Playing?” Vivian made a show of tapping one crimson fingernail on her iPad, opened it to her website and flipped through a few more cake images. “The register is already closed out, so whatever you’re taking there will have to be paid with exact change.”
“Cute,” he said, closing the box. “Here,” he said, waving a piece of paper. “I brought you a special order. Desserts for the class-reunion welcome reception.”
Vivian looked at the order and congratulated herself for holding back a sigh. Booooring, she thought, running one long nail down the list.
Simple vanilla cookies. Plain frosted cupcakes. Six-dozen standard petit fours. Yawn, yawn, yawn. And one three-tier cake in the high school colors, complete with a sugar photo of the school mascot, a roaring panther.
“You know, I could make the entire cake in the image of the panther,” she suggested. “Dress him up just like the mascot, complete with a Pikes Peak High pennant.”
“Stick with the sugar photo.” He started writing up a list of what he’d boxed, then pulled out his wallet. “I’ll pick it all up on Sunday afternoon, save you the delivery.”
“Sunday? You’re only giving me three days warning? I have other orders, Mike. A Saturday wedding, four birthday cakes and a croquembouche for Mrs. Fiore’s daughter’s shower. With the parents gone, I’m the only baker here.”
“You can handle it. Bring in more counter help if you have to,” he said with a shrug, handing her a ten and four ones.
“What? You’re not helping? I have to make this entire boring, cookie-cutter order by myself?” She glanced over it again. There wasn’t a sparkle of edible glitter or even a shiny cherry anywhere to be found.
“Use your imagination,” Mike said, giving her an encouraging look. “Pretend it’s fun.”
Vivian knew there was no doubt they were related. The Harris genes bred too strong, with their flaxen hair—although Vivian’s was a shoulder-length sweep fashioned in the classic forties style. Their huge brown eyes—but Vivian made sure hers looked even larger with heavy black liner that accented her lush lashes. And their tall, broad-shouldered build—Vivian’s being a lot more feminine than her former-football-playing brother and complete with generous curves.
But she’d long ago accepted that they were only similar in looks.
“You’re in charge of the bakery, you figure it out. I’ll be busy celebrating having all my pals home.”
All his pals?
A thrill of delight shot through her.
“The Bennett brothers are coming home?”
“Yep, Xander and Zane should be here—” Mike looked at his watch and grinned “—within the hour.”
“Both
