Kiss My Cupcake(13)

“I wasn’t flirting with them.”

“Oh my God! Yes you most certainly were with the smiles and the banter and the damn winking.”

“I don’t wink.”

“Oh yes you do.”

“I do not.”

I hold a hand up, unwilling to argue about this. “The winking isn’t the point. The point is that you’re a lying, conniving bastard and I’m on to you.”

I reach for the doorknob at the same time he does, so his fingers skim the back of my hand. I jolt from the contact, because it honestly feels a little like I’ve been electrocuted. Not in an I’m going to die kind of way, but more of an unexpected stimulating way. I’m not sure which is worse, actually.

He raises both hands in the air and adopts a contrite expression. “My intention wasn’t to steal your customers, Alice.”

“It’s Blaire, not Alice!” Of course he’s still making fun of me. “As if I’m going to believe that after you leave fake poop in front of my back door and all the anger management, get Zen with yourself flyers! Not to mention what you did to my poor unicorn martini glass!”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on, I was playing around and you have to admit the unicorn glass looks way cooler now.”

“It’s an abomination! And of course it’s funny to you since you’re the one doing the pranking!”

His expression sobers. “Look, it’s too bad you took it the wrong way, but you came in here that first day guns blazing and I figured it might lighten you up. Obviously I was way wrong about that. As for the grand opening, I just thought it would be better for both of us if they happened on the same day, more like a two-for-one kind of deal, you know?”

“You mean you thought it would be better for you since I’d already done the work to bring people to the area. If you really thought it would be better for both of us you should’ve approached me, but you didn’t.”

He crosses his arms. “Well maybe I would have if you’d been more approachable.”

I prop a fist on my hip. “And you think playing pranks on me would accomplish that.”

“Okay. So I should’ve told you my plan—”

I cut him off, triumphant that he’s finally admitted he’s wrong. “Of course you’ll admit it was a mistake now, when the damage is already done.”

His eyes go wide, as if he’s trying to look innocent. “I can see how this might look to you, but I really wasn’t trying to steal your customers. Besides, it’s not like people can survive on cupcakes and alcohol indefinitely—”

He did not just say that. “Do not try and justify your actions to me.” I point a finger at his face. “I see right through you. Just remember, Ronan, you threw the first axe.”

“What? I didn’t throw anything.”

“It’s an expression.” I roll my eyes. “I’m being cheeky. You threw the first stone, took the first shot. It’s on.” And with that I yank open the door. “You may have started the war, but I’ll be the one taking you down, one sweet treat at a time.” I wink and sashay through the bar, slipping my hand into my apron. I pull out a handful of my own coupons and toss them on tables, inviting customers to stop by before they head home so they can bring their loved ones something delightful to sink their teeth into.





chapter four





I’m Number One


Blaire



Things heat up with my neighbor post–grand opening. A little not-quite-friendly competition, so to speak. Things like, when Ronan has a special, I try to make mine better. On Friday night I hand out two-for-one cocktail coupons to combat his half-price draft beer and house wine. Everyone knows that house wine is the cheap crappy stuff.

So what if the two-for-one martinis aren’t made with the premium vodka? They’re also full of things like crème de cacao and other sweet, minty, chocolaty, or fruity booze and juice, so it hides the taste and does the trick.

Twentysomething-year-old guys might not mind cheap draft beer, but most women in their late twenties would much rather sip a pretty martini over a cheap glass of wine any day of the week. How do I know this? I polled my followers, of course.

And don’t think Ronan is an innocent. His prankster ways continue—this week I stepped in what I believed was poop—again—but it just happened to be poop-shaped Play-Doh. It also contained sparkles, which I got on my hands and which subsequently were all over everything I own for the next three days.

In addition to the fake sparkle poop, Ronan has taken to dropping off a daily coupon for me, except they’re modified to whatever it is he’s been serving to customers that day. He always includes some kind of tongue-in-cheek comment about what he regards as my less-than-friendly personality. I am friendly. Just not with him. Today’s coupon was for half-priced salt-and-vinegar fish and chips and some honey lager—which I hate to admit sounds kind of yummy. He scrawled a note on the back about drawing more flies with honey than vinegar.



Two weeks in, and things are going well on the business end. Better than well, actually. We’re busy throughout the day, we have orders for pickup and takeout all the time, the cupcakes are flying off the shelves and people love our daily cupcake cocktail themes. My social media feeds are full of tags and picture perfect photos of B&B, of groups of friends gathered together in the café, and of delighted smiles and rave reviews.