Kiss My Cupcake(33)

He fishes his wallet out of his back pocket and glances at the menu board where the price list is posted. He peels off four twenties.

“What are you doing?”

“Well you couldn’t sell those today, could you?”

“Not covered in glitter, no.”

“So I’m paying for them because even though they’re bathed in glitter they smell fantastic and I bet you would’ve sold them if they hadn’t been ruined.”

“You really don’t have to do that.” But I could use the eighty bucks right now, which is sort of depressing. He obviously feels bad if he’s willing to fork over the money I lost as a result of his prank.

“Yes I do. I honestly didn’t mean to make such a mess of your day, or cost you potential revenue.” He pushes the money toward me and picks up one of the glitter-covered cakes. He proceeds to shake it off, and then he tries to brush off the rest of the glitter, which means he ends up getting it all over his hands.

“You’re not going to eat that, are you?”

He gives me a look. “And let it go to waste?”

“It’s not even decorated.” Wow, he must really feel bad.

“Sure it is, with glitter.”

“Glitter isn’t really digestible, or particularly safe to eat. Might be advisable to leave the top if you’re going to give that a whirl.”

He reluctantly pries the top off, then takes a huge bite and chews exaggeratedly. His expression is priceless and he makes a lot of noises, some of delight and some of surprise. “It’s a little—”

“Gritty?”

He nods and raises his hand in front of his mouth. “But still delicious.”

It’s hard not to laugh. “I do have one left over that’s mangled but isn’t covered in glitter.”

“Really?”

“You can have it on one condition.”

“Sure. Anything.”

“You help me de-glitter my counter space.” It’s clear that he really didn’t mean to cause me problems today, but it doesn’t mean I’m not going to make him suffer at least a little for it.

I hand him a damp cloth and he goes to work wiping down all the surfaces that still hold traces of glitter. The best part is that no matter how careful he tries to be, sparkles get stuck to his face. I guarantee he’ll be glittering all night long, like a disco ball.



On Wednesday morning I’ve just arrived at B&B when Ronan comes busting out the back door. He looks frazzled and exhausted. His hair is also an unusual mess. It’s actually quite sexy, to be honest. Like he rolled out of bed and came straight here. His clothes are even rumpled. “Hey. Hi. I’m so glad you’re here.”

This is a new greeting. “Um, it’s nice to see you, too?”

“Can I ask you a huge favor? Please?”

“Ahhh. Now the friendliness makes more sense. What do you need?”

“I’m supposed to get a whole load of Thanksgiving supplies delivered this morning, but the guy is running late and I have to take my grandfather up to my brother’s. I’m supposed to leave”—he checks his watch—“ten minutes ago. And Gramps hates being late for stuff and I have to drive four hours there and back. I tried to call Lars, but I doubt he’ll get the message until it’s way too late.”

I hold up a hand. “I can sign for the order.”

“It all needs to go in the fridge.”

“I can make sure that happens.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He drops a key to The Knight Cap in my hand and pulls me in for a shockingly tight hug. “Thank you so much, Blaire. I really owe you big time. I always enjoy seeing you, even when you’re tearing me a new one. I gotta run. Thank you. A million times over.” And he’s off.

“You’re welcome,” I mutter and head back to B&B to start on the icing for today’s cupcakes.

Forty-five minutes later the delivery truck shows up. I’m in the middle of a particularly tricky caramel filling and Paul is on his way out so he accepts the delivery—which I ask him to sign for—and makes sure it’s safely in the fridge before he takes off.





chapter nine





Not the Payback I was Looking For


Blaire



Even though B&B isn’t open on Thanksgiving, I still head into the shop first thing in the morning. I need to frost the cupcakes for my family’s dinner and all my supplies are there. Plus I want to drop off yesterday’s unsold goods at the local soup kitchen, along with any other treats that won’t be fresh by tomorrow. Usually one of their staff comes to pick them up, but they couldn’t make it yesterday and I figured it was easier for me to do the dropping off on the way out of town.

I’m surprised to see Ronan in the back alley outside The Knight Cap. He usually isn’t in until sometime after ten, and it’s barely eight thirty. He’s pacing as he talks on the phone, his tone clipped and annoyed. He’s not wearing his usual plaid-and-jeans uniform, either. Today he’s in a pair of gray sweats and a hoodie, his hair is a mess, again, and he has a serious five-o’clock shadow going on. He’s wearing his glasses, like he rolled out of bed and came straight here. Amazingly, he still manages to look delicious.