Page 88 of Passing Ships
One of the middle tiers has slid halfway off the other one, smudging the buttercream. The white shells are scattered across the seat, and the delicate gold coral is cracked.
Fuck.
“No, no, no,” she mutters, reaching for the shells.
I look over at her, feeling the panic rising in my chest. “What do we do? How do we fix this?”
She bites her lip, assessing the damage. “Okay. Okay. We can still save this. It’s not a total disaster.”
I raise a brow.
“Are you kidding?” I gesture at the mess. “We’re screwed.”
Amiya
The smell of burnt sugar still lingers in the air, hanging heavy like guilt, as Lennon and I stand in the center of the bakery. The ruined cake lies in shambles on the counter, mocking us.
The door to the back of the bakery swings open, and Jessica steps out. She looks frazzled, her graying hair sticking out in every direction, but her expression softens when she sees us standing there. There’s a brief moment of silence as she takes in the wreckage, and then she sighs.
“What happened?” she asks.
“Mother Nature sucker punched us,” Lennon replies.
Jessica bites her lip as she inspects the damage.
“Well, the bottom tier is fine, and I can make fresh buttercream and maybe save the top tier, but the second and third are total losses, as is most of the coral,” she says.
“We have to fix it,” I say. “The wedding is tomorrow.”
Jessica’s eyes come to mine. “Fix it? There’s no fixing it.”
“But we have to,” I stress.
“The best I can do is reduce it to two tiers, one large and one small, dump the coral, add some more isomalt to make it look like the top tier is floating in water, and add a few more shells I made for another cake. They aren’t oysters, but I’m sure I can make a decent design, mixing them,” she offers.
I shake my head. “No. We can’t show up with half of Avie’s wedding cake with a bunch of mismatched decorations. We’ll pay you double or triple, but we need a whole cake,” I screech.
Her eyes come to me. “I don’t know what you expect me to do. It’s past closing. My staff has left for the night. It’s just not possible.”
“Amiya,” Lennon calls as he grasps my arm.
“No. I’m not leaving here without that cake,” I say as I jerk free.
“You heard what she said. It’s not possible. I’ll explain what happened to Sebastian and Avie and tell them it’s my fault.”
My eyes snap to him. “I’ve watched enough episodes of The Great British Baking Show to know that it’s possible to bake a whole-ass wedding cake and decorate it in six hours,” I say.
“It’s eight at night,” he points out.
“So we can have another cake by two in the morning,” I say, looking back at Jessica. “Name your price.”
She shakes her head.
“Please,” I plead.
She sighs. “I’ll need help.”
“Right here,” I say, pointing at Lennon and myself.