Sweet Cheeks(91)

All the while the tweets continue to flash.



@Hollywood732

@HayesWhitOffcl @SweetChks 6.9 billion. Is this a trick question?



“You’ve been awfully quiet back here.”

Ryder. I smile softly, knowing he’s bailing on his regular workload during the days to help out (meaning keeping a big brother eye on me) and then going home and catching up on his own responsibilities.

“Just messing with an idea,” I murmur as I step back and scrutinize my design.

“Hmm. So you being back in the kitchen . . . does that mean the new oven’s too hard to resist or you’ve talked to Hayes and have figured stuff out?” He narrows his eyes as he waits for an answer.

“He’s not giving me an option.” I shrug. I don’t fight the smile because I do feel better with the elephant’s foot of pressure removed from my chest.

“He’s not?” He raises his eyebrows and nods.

“Nope. And you didn’t even have to clock him this time around to knock some sense into him.”

“I was only trying to protect you.” His expression is guarded, unsure if I’m going to be mad at him for interfering all those years ago.

“I know.” I think of all the other things I could say to him: how I was a big girl and could make my own decisions. How he might have been the reason we never got back together. But I don’t say any of them. Maybe we wouldn’t have appreciated each other and the connection we rekindled if we hadn’t had other experiences to compare them to.

“What’s up with his tweet this morning?” It’s my turn to show shock, surprised he noticed. “Hey, I check your social media following. Visibility is a good thing—means possible sales—and you gained several thousand new followers this morning.”

Huh. Always looking out for me. And always business-savvy.

“I don’t know. He’s trying to win me over.”

“I think he already has.”

I start to say maybe, but stop when I see his head angle to the side as he notices the fondant tops in front of me.

Nerves jitter within as I step back and try to look at the cupcakes through his eyes. The first one looks like it has a needle sewing together the fondant with the words “Oats to sow” in cursive above it. The one beside it looks like shattered glass with the words “One to throw” in block letters across the top. The next pair is the same color scheme, just a darker tint. The first cupcake has no design and says “One to smash” with its partner saying “He can kiss my ass” and a pair of lips outlining the lettering.

“These are awesome. Who are these for?”

“Me.”

“You?” He looks confused. “I thought things were getting better.”

I laugh and nod. Then I proceed to tell him about Hayes and his grudge cupcakes. How cathartic it felt smashing them and the fun we had with it. And then how when Hayes told me the other day if he didn’t win me over with his charm, his last resort was another grudge-cupcake match.

“So . . .” I shrug, “. . . he got me thinking about grudge cupcakes. And if people would actually buy them for their friends when they break up. So I make one to eat and one to smash; in a container it’s a 50/50 split with cute slogans. It’s the perfect therapy: chocolate and aggression.”

When he doesn’t smile at my quip but rather just holds a finger against his pursed lips as he thinks it over, I suddenly feel ridiculous thinking this could work or have customer appeal.

“It was just an idea. It would probably never—”

“Would they be normal-sized? Smaller since you’re smashing them? Give me specifics.”

“You and your specifics,” I mumble with a roll of my eyes but feel a little more at ease knowing he hasn’t immediately rejected the idea. “I haven’t gotten that far yet. I suppose we could make the ones to smash smaller but then we get into needing custom inserts for the boxes and the trade-off in cost. I haven’t thought that far, Ryder. I’m working on the creative side for now. You know what? Never mind.”

“I think it’s brilliant, Saylor.” He does?

“You do?”

“Completely.”

I stare at him. Wide-eyed. Shocked. Feeling accomplished. “Wow.”

“Now we need to figure how to go about marketing it so we can get the word out.”

Our eyes hold and I’ve never been more thankful to have him as a brother than I am right now. He’s always been protective of me but after our parents died, he stepped up to the plate more than I’d ever imagined he could. It was us against the world. He’s stuck by my side and been my number-one supporter throughout all the ups and downs, sorrows and joys.

Sure I’d had Mitch to pull me from my grief, but it was Ryder who was my rock.

Still is.

A small part of me knows my parents are smiling down on us right now and that gives me hope that things might finally be turning around.




My screen lights up.

The distractions continue.

I’m so engrossed in perfecting little details on the cupcakes that it takes me a bit longer to check my phone. And when I do, I have to scrape a splatter of frosting from the glass to read the tweet.

And I finally have an answer.