Kiss My Cupcake(22)

I leave the cupcake shop feeling a lot like I lost that round. I even forgot to pass her a coupon for free beer and fried pickles.

Lars has moved on from flirting with the group of women so he can serve other customers. I round the bar and flip the box open, intent on eating another one of the cupcakes. I shake my head when I see the rest of them. Each one has a message written on tiny sugary cookies: EAT ME, BITE ME, SUCK IT and there’s one rogue Death by Chocolate cupcake, complete with skull and crossbones.

Huh, looks like Alice has a sense of humor after all.





chapter six





So Hilarious


Blaire



My customer poll shows me that poetry slams are not quite as popular as I thought. So my plan to open our events with one is vetoed by Daphne and Paul in favor of Comedy Night.

It took all of two days, a few social media posts and two hours of auditions to secure our night of entertainment—I will say that there are a lot of people out there who think they’re funny but are not. We’re paying our entertainment in free cupcakes and booze, and even with the entry fee, which I was originally on the fence about, the café is packed. We have a fabulous selection of drinks, cakes, and savory treats. And Daphne has offered to make a few video clips of the entertainment to post on YouTube, which is amazing since I’ll be too busy mixing cocktails to handle something like that.

I fully believe nothing can ruin this night. That belief is na?ve and likely shortsighted.

However, since the EAT ME cupcake incident, there’s been a shift with Ronan. One I’m not sure how to take. Yes, I still think he’s an asshole. Yes, I’m still wary. Yes, we still stand outside on Friday afternoons and toss coupons at customers, trying to get them to spend their money on our wares. But he’s addicted to my cupcakes. He comes in here every single night to get a hit of my special treats, and he can’t even hide his excitement or his enjoyment.

Normally I charge him, but that night I was feeling extra generous because he’s inadvertently sparked my cupcake creativity. I knew I had a winner on my hands, and that his reaction would inspire customers to buy what he was getting off on.

Every time he puts on a performance, I usually sell out of whatever’s left in specialty cupcakes, so the initial out of pocket was totally worth it. Is it annoying that he constantly leaves me coupons for wings and asks me if I’m ready for a “big girl drink”? Sure, but toying with him is as much fun as watching him scarf down my cupcakes while grudgingly moaning his delight.

He hasn’t made his daily stop yet, although generally he comes in later, within a couple hours of closing and after his dinner rush. I give my head a shake, because fixating on when Ronan stops in for cupcakes is unhelpful when I should be focused on my event.

Twenty minutes later, the opening act hits our small makeshift stage. Chairs and tables have been rearranged so everyone has a great view. At first I’m worried, because the guy is clearly nervous, but as the jokes start flowing and the crowd begins to chuckle and then laugh boisterously, he gains confidence. He finishes to a huge round of applause, and the bar is flooded with orders between the acts. Three comedians are scheduled tonight, which is perfect. It means rounds of drinks, appetizers, snacks, and desserts come in waves, which we’re prepared for.

Everything is going as smooth as buttercream frosting until the final comedian sets up. It’s almost nine and the sound of bass and feedback filters through the wall I share with Ronan’s bar, making the floors vibrate.

As the final act begins, she’s rudely interrupted by the sudden, very loud banging of…drums? It’s followed by equally loud guitar riffs, and a growly voice belting out lyrics, which eclipse the comedian entirely for a few seconds.

It stops as abruptly as it begins and the performer makes a joke, setting off a round of nervous chuckling. Unfortunately, not thirty seconds later it happens again. “Dammit.” I drop a stack of plates into the bus bin. The clatter would be loud if the noise coming from next door didn’t drown it out, along with Karen the Comedian. She tries speaking louder, but it doesn’t help. “I’m going over there.”

Daphne, who’s been filming and taking photos, makes a face. “Maybe I should go.”

I give her the hairy eyeball. “So you can drool all over Ronan and forget to ask him to tone it the hell down?”

She arches a brow. Whatever. It’s the truth, even if me calling her out on it in a less than pleasant manner is probably unwarranted. But this is my first event, and he’s ruining it with whatever he has going on over there. People always remember what happened at the beginning or the end of an event the best. So my customers are going to remember the fun start to their evening and how it was ruined because a loud band drowned out the last damn act.

I rush over to Ronan’s bar in time for the really loud music to start. Pounding bass, drums, and excessively aggressive guitar riffs blare through the sound system. The place is packed, bodies crowding the small stage positioned to the right. No wonder it’s so loud in my café—the band is pretty much playing right against our adjoining wall. I notice that it’s the young bartender up onstage. I think his name is Larry or something. He starts scream-singing. It’s pretty unpleasant, not that I think scream-singing is ever really all that appealing.

I scan the dimly lit bar, searching for Ronan in a sea of black rim glasses-wearing twentysomethings. I finally spot him, in all his plaid glory, behind the bar, pouring pints. It takes me forever to squeeze my way through the crowd, but when I get to the bar the lineup is three deep. I try to edge my way between waiting customers, but it proves impossible.