Free The Cake Therapist by Judith Fertig Page A

wedding cake tastings.”
    “This was the last thing I had to do today so, yeah, sitting down for a little bit actually sounds good,” she said with a tired smile.
    I put the tiny dome cake in our signature pale turquoise box, and we walked next door and into the warmth of my parlor. I bent down to light the gas fireplace and settled Val on the settee, where Jett’s folded blanket still rested from the night before.
    When I brought in the tray with the French press coffeepot, the thin china cups, and the dome cake on a small glass cake pedestal, she visibly relaxed.
    “It’s so nice just to be waited on a little bit, you know?”
    I knew.
    I passed her a slice of the tiny dome cake, an ombre of dark coral mousse, lighter coral cake, and pale pink glaze.
    I poured her coffee and waited while she ate every bite.
    She put her plate and coffee back on the tea table in front of us and leaned back into the cushions. “This is perfect,” she sighed.
    Maybe everything was going to be all right.
    •   •   •
    That night Gavin, Roshonda, Mary Ann, and I were all crammed in a booth at the House of Chili. Everyone who lived in the Queen City area had to get a chili fix at least once a week, and this was our local parlor. But I knew, from serving this tangy, fine-textured, cinnamon-spiced concoction at football parties in New York, that Queen City chili was an acquired taste.
    “Here’s to the institution of marriage, God bless it,” Roshonda said. The other two looked at me, then back at her as if she had said something off-color. “Nah, you got that all wrong. I’m proposing a toast.” She raised her glass of diet cola. “Here’s to the bridal district that keeps us in business. Here’s to my clients who want me to plan their extravagant weddings. Here’s to Neely’s wedding cake customers. And if those newlyweds figure it all out,” said Roshonda with a throaty chuckle, “Mary Ann eventually gets a new crop of preschoolers.”
    “And what do I get?” Gavin asked, faking a pouty expression.
    “More design business from the rest of us,” I said.
    “Hear, hear.” We all clinked glasses.
    “And another toast to Neely’s big day,” Mary Ann added and we clinked again.
    “What have I missed?” Gavin asked from across the table, tearing open a small bag of oyster crackers. “Hey, I designed your bakery and do your marketing. I’m supposed to know this stuff.”
    “It just happened late this afternoon,” I explained. “Matters of Taste catering has decided to put Rainbow Cake on retainer for all their society functions.”
    “Woo-hoo!” Gavin raised his glass of iced tea and we clinked yet again. I noticed his gaze stray to the door. “And look who’s here,” he said quietly, and looked meaningfully at me.
    The old wooden booth was high-sided, so I couldn’t see who it was until he was standing in front of our table and practically blocking all the light.
    “Big Ben.” Gavin started to get out of the booth and offered a handshake.
    “Nichols,” Ben said, shaking Gavin’s hand and firmly putting his other on Gavin’s shoulder. “Don’t get up. Good to see everybody.” Ben nodded to us all, his eyes lingering on me.
    Ben Tranter. Everyone called him Big Ben for obvious reasons.
    The two of us had known each other since grade school. We had been in college prep classes together, but had hung out with friends who liked to have fun rather than study on weekends. Shortly before high school graduation, our constant good-natured sparring had turned flirtatious. We were both planning to attend Queen City University in the fall, so it seemed only natural—like banking a healthy fire—when my feelings for Ben suddenly felt like romance. But I hardly ever got to see him. Ben was always at football practice or meetings or labs or drills. And I had a job as a waitress in the evenings. He had to be up early. I needed to stay up late. He dated around and I just worked, studied, went to class, and