Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake (A Brush with Love, #2)(40)
“The colors combine for your magenta emission, indicating you are high-energy and innovative in taking physical substances and stretching them to new forms.”
“No shit?” Lizzie said, leaning back in her chair. “That’s so cool. What color is yours?”
Bernadette tilted her head to the side, studying Lizzie for a moment before saying, “Indigo. Shall we proceed with the interview?”
Lizzie nodded, making a mental note to research the hell out of auras when she got home.
Bernadette asked Lizzie a few standard questions about availability and experience, and Lizzie went into her strengths, discussing her skills with innovative frostings and clever takes on traditional pastry shapes and designs.
The interview was going surprisingly well. Lizzie tended to overshare or say something profane or obnoxious when she got excited talking, which she always did when it came to baking, but she and Bernadette found an easy flow. The truth was, it was the one thing in the world Lizzie really believed she was good at. She ditched hobbies at an extraordinary speed, throwing herself into them like a maniac of enjoyment and burning out of interest just as fast if she wasn’t instantly an expert at it.
Something about baking—the measuring, mixing, experimenting—allowed her energy to hyper-focus on the task and provided an outlet for her hands to work and shape and play for hours of enjoyment.
Lizzie described her most recent large undertaking—a “cake” for a beach-themed wedding that was more like an art installation. The display covered a large table made to look like the shore, sugary sand and small cakes decorated so realistically like shells and driftwood that some guests were nervous to try them.
Bernadette paused the conversation, letting the silence grow as she eyed Lizzie like she was deciding how much she could trust her. Lizzie blinked back.
“If I hypothetically told you I ran a discreet business on the side, what would you say?” Bernadette finally said, steepling her fingers in front of her.
Lizzie’s eyes flicked around the shop, trying to look thoughtful when she was really just confused about whatever the hell the eccentric old woman was talking about. Her eyes landed on a plate of brownies sitting on the counter.
“Oh.” Lizzie nodded wisely. “Pot. I’m cool with it, Bernadette. I’m no narc,” she said, shooting her a wink.
“What? No,” Bernadette said, shaking her head. “I’m not selling weed brownies. It’s something else.”
“What?” Lizzie asked, leaning closer, a fun thrill of suspense chasing down her spine.
“I … hypothetically, might sell”—Bernadette looked over both shoulders despite her and Lizzie being the only ones in the shop—“erotic pastries under the table.”
Lizzie was silent for a solid minute, letting that phrase loop around in her mind, before she erupted in laughter. “I—hypothetically—could never think of a job I was better suited for. So you sell … what? Penis cakes?”
Bernadette looked offended. “It’s not just cock and balls, my dear. These are artistic pieces made with the highest degree of craftsmanship. And the phallic form is so overdone. I specialize in yonic work.”
Lizzie gave Bernadette a clueless look.
“Vulvas,” she said with a wave of her hand.
Lizzie’s eyebrows shot up, her lips pursing in interest. “I’m listening.”
“Vulvas, breasts, buttocks … all represented in the baked form. Is this work you’d be comfortable doing?”
“Comfortable? Oh, Bernadette, I’ve been whipping up sexually suggestive croissants and tarts for years. I don’t think there’s a job I could be more comfortable doing.”
“Mind you, these are for our private orders. We have to project a more … conventional front for our day-to-day customers.”
Lizzie looked around the empty shop, wondering how many of those she would actually be dealing with. “I understand, but maybe if you forced more people to eat pussy-shaped croustades, they’d be less hesitant to eat pussy in other scenarios.”
Bernadette’s eyes went wide, then she pursed her lips, looking off like she was contemplating the truth in that.
“Who’s your main, uh, clientele?”
Bernadette looked a bit sheepish for a second. “Primarily my wife and I’s friends and any word of mouth they generate. I’m starting to get more requests than I can track alone, but not enough to base the business off it.”
“Would you like to base the business off it?”
Bernadette thought for a moment. “I’d like to sell my products to anyone interested without having my whole shop shut down by angry prudes,” she said at last, giving a brisk nod.
Lizzie couldn’t help but smile. “Maybe I could help you?”
“How so?” Bernadette asked, tilting her head as she studied Lizzie.
“I don’t know, get some hype on Instagram? TikTok? Make a website? I think if we work on a set menu, things that are clever without being gratuitous, we could maybe generate a pretty solid client base. Especially in this area,” Lizzie said, referring to Fishtown’s more eccentric tastes. “We could start with online orders, and if they’re popular, we can slowly incorporate them into the shop? Not to take away from your, uh, other offerings.” Lizzie glanced at the desolate pastry display. Bernadette’s eyes lingered there too. “This could be amazing. Celebrate the human body, be creative and fun with it … or it could be a disaster. Who knows. But I’m willing to do whatever you need of me.”