Kiss My Cupcake(59)

Ronan wipes his hands on his apron—he’s wearing one with the B&B logo; actually, it’s mine because it has the cupcake with the crown decoration—and wraps his hands around my arms. “Take a deep breath, Blaire. You look like you’re on the verge of panic, and there is absolutely nothing to be worried about.”

Over the past few weeks I’ve grown accustomed to Ronan’s touch. The way he casually slings his arm over my shoulder. The frequent occasions where he picks me up and moves me out of the way when I’m ranting about something and he wants to multitask. And although I’m accustomed to it, I’m definitely not immune. I clear my throat before I speak; otherwise I’m liable to sound all breathy. “It’s barely eight in the morning. How are you here and did you even sleep last night?” His hands slide down my arms and I fight a shiver.

He shrugs, looking sheepish. “I got a few hours. I plan to sleep all day tomorrow. I borrowed Daphne’s key. I figured you might need some help this morning since you likely went to bed around the same time as me.”

“Oh, well that’s incredibly sweet of you. I’m going to sleep all the sleeps tomorrow, too. It’s going to be magic.” I fight a yawn.

His eyes widen comically. “Oh no! Don’t do that! They’re contagious.” We both cup our hands over our mouths and yawn at the same time. My eyes water. Lord, I’m going to be exhausted tomorrow.

A loud clank and hiss comes from behind him and we both startle.

“What the heck?” I grab on to his arm and hide behind him as he spins around.

I peek over his shoulder and get a glimpse of the cappuccino maker, which is currently steaming in places it shouldn’t be.

“Oh shit, that doesn’t look right.” His expression reflects his horror.

“That’s because it’s not.” I move around him, pulling the plug before it blows.

Ronan helps me clean up the mess. It turns out one of the seals has broken, so we’re down a freaking cappuccino maker. I call around frantically, looking to see if someone can come in and fix it today. While we can usually get by with one machine, it’s going to be busy tonight.

I manage to find someone who can come in this afternoon, but of course it’s going to cost me a freaking arm and a leg. Ronan apologizes profusely, obviously feeling bad about it. I assure him it wasn’t his fault, and that it’s just crap timing.

The morning flies by; people working half-days stop in to grab a quick bite, orders are picked up for events, and by the time two rolls around we’re almost completely sold out, which is great because it means little in the way of cleanup before we set up for tonight.

The cappuccino maker is fixed, thankfully, before three in the afternoon, and a test run indicates that it’s back in working order.

By three thirty B&B is ready for the evening, tables set up to display tiers of dessert cupcakes, glittery decorations everywhere, a perfect complement to the beer and champagne theme. Everything is gold and black and sparkly and beautiful.

I stand in the middle of the shop with my hands on my hips. “I think it looks perfect. What do you think?”

“Definitely perfect.” Ronan is still wearing a Buttercream and Booze apron, but his focus isn’t on the decorations.

“You’re not even looking.” I motion to the shop.

“I don’t need to. I helped put them up, so I already know how they look.”

“But it’s everything put together. That’s what makes it perfect.”

“And you’re the cherry on top. Or maybe you should be one of those little Eat Me candies instead. Those are delicious. You got any lying around?”

“You realize that made no sense at all, right?”

“Sure it did. This place looks perfect and not just because the decorations are on point, but because you’re in the middle of it, looking radiant and proud as hell, as you should be. Now where are those Eat Me candies?”

“There aren’t any Eat Me candies.”

“Well, that’s a disappointment. I guess I’ll have to settle for a leftover cupcake.” He plucks one from a box—that’s all there is left—peels off the wrapper and devours it in two bites, groaning his enjoyment.

When he’s done, we head over to The Knight Cap and enlist the help of his staff to decorate. Much to Ronan’s dismay, I hang mistletoe above the bar and over the tables.

“Aren’t we a little late for this?”

“It’s never too late for mistletoe.”

“Like people don’t already have an excuse to make out on New Year’s; now you’re adding this?” He motions to the pretty sprig tied with a red, gold, and black plaid ribbon hanging from one of the lights above the bar—which I’m standing on top of, while wearing a pair of the steel-toed boots reserved for the axe throwers.

On account of tonight’s festivities and the very high likelihood that many if not most of the patrons will be “super wasted,” as Lars put it, the axes have all been locked away. Standing tables have been set up and stools line the walls so there’s more room for mingling and dancing.

“Oh, come on, don’t be a Scrooge. These should have been up all month!”

“I’m just saying, Lars doesn’t need an excuse to make out with the customers.”