Page 7 of Love Unscripted
I’d rather wrestle angry badgers than leave Trina hanging, even though she’s desperate to make my life miserable. I won’t give her any ammunition for another article.
***
ISTROLL INTO THE BAKERYhalf an hour later. One whiff of the sugary confections and my stomach roars to life. I pat it while easing around the tables. Trina sits by herself at a round table in the middle of the room. She looks amazing in a business suit but her tapping foot ruins the calm façade.
People holding cameras stand at various points around the store. The cameras move from Trina to me and back to Trina as they work to take in the whole scene.
Trina eyes them every now and then, and her lips flatten into a thin line. It’s too bad. Trina has a great smile, and this tension isn’t giving her the chance to show off her true self. Wait. Where did that come from? Trina is the one who ruined my reputation with her inflammatory article. Shedoeshave a nice smile, though. Not that I’m going to let myself notice.
“You’re late,” Trina hisses from one side of her mouth. She angles her head away from the cameras. “They kept calling you.”
I ease into the seat and nudge the fork and plate around on the table, glancing everywhere but at her. The bakery is an explosion of pink. Pink tables. Pink shelves. It’s like a giant bottle of Pepto Bismol exploded in here. A grin breaks free. I smother it with one hand and clear my throat. “I was at practice. Didn’t know I’d have to meet you.”
She arches a brow and drums her fingertips on the table.
I start to reach over and take her hand. Nope. Need to stuff that need to comfort back where it belongs. I cannot afford for it to take over, even if I do want to impress Trina with my good nature. My stomach grumbles a protest.
A woman wearing a pink apron and carrying a pink cake stand heads our way. She beams a bright smile andsets the cake stand downwith a flourish. “Before you taste, what’s your first impression of the cake?”
“It’s tiny,” I blurt out. I pick up my fork and poke the delicate slice. “That’s all we get?” Makes me wonder what they’d charge for a whole cake.
“Liam.” Trina shakes her head, but a tiny flicker of amusement dances in her eyes. Her thin-lipped expression flees long enough to prove she’s prettier than I remember. “It’s a cake tasting. Our shelves contain the life-size versions.”
I glance over my shoulder to where Trina indicates. Varying cake sizes crowd an entire wall.
A cameraman shifts his weight in my peripheral vision.
Trina’s frown snaps back into place.
My annoyance combines with hunger, and I pull the tiny slice closer. With a swift and decisive stroke, I cut it in half and offer the larger sliver to Trina.
She cups her chin in her palm and starts to relax, only to straighten her spine and roll her shoulders back. Her gaze darts around the room as though searching for an escape.
“Here.” I lift the fork toward her. “Tell me your first impression.”
She takes the bite, watching me the whole time. Her eye contact is somehow sultry and does something to me, and I don’t like the sudden softening in my gut.
I swallow my piece without bothering to chew. It’s a bit bitter, and the crumbly texture is off-putting. It’s grainy and rough.
Trina tips her head to the side. “Not bad. I’m not a fan of the lemon. Something a little sweeter?”
“I agree.” I wipe my mouth with a napkin and settle the fork on the edge of my plate.
The baker gathers up the cake plate and rushes away.
I try to keep from watching Trina, but her constant movement fascinates me. She looks everywhere but at me, almost like she can’t stand the sight of me.
“What’s your favorite cake flavor?” I sip from my water glass and swish the liquid around to get rid of the grainy bits stuck between my teeth.
Trina crosses her legs, her casual slacks a contrast to my gym shorts and t-shirt. She tucks her hands into her lap, assessing me from head to toe with a cool expression. When she answers, her tone is polite and impersonal. “I’d do mini chocolate lava cakes. They’re messy but delicious.” Her shoulders curl forward as she sighs. “But since this wedding will be aired on national television, I’d choose something classy. A vanilla pound cake with raspberry truffle cream between the layers. A white frosting. No fondant. And a classy cake topper. Maybe something in gold or silver.”
The baker returns. This time she has an assortment of plates carried by three assistants. They set the plates on the table. Tiny note cards indicate each cake’s flavor and whether it can be used in a multi-tiered cake.
Trina selects one called “chocolate dream” and places it in front of me. “Tell me what you think of that.” The challenge in her eye prompts me to eat the entire slice in one bite.
I roll it around and savor the explosion of flavor. “Not bad. Tastes like chocolate but with a delicate undertone.” I scrape my tongue over my teeth. “It’s almost fruity.”
The baker claps. “It’s strawberry.”