Chapter 3

I didn't knock.

My mother's recipe book lay open on Lucas's desk. His hand rested across the page where she had written the honey-sponge ratios in her cramped, precise script.

"Give it back," I said.

Lucas closed the cover beneath his palm. "Saturday's cake comes out of this."

"My mother wrote it."

"And this kitchen has been using it for six years. You told everyone to stop working. I'm not letting you take the only copy out the door while five brides are waiting."

"You had a copy made."

"No. You never let anyone copy the whole book."

"Because it wasn't yours."

Before the argument could go further, a knock at the office door broke the silence. Renee and her fiancé, Ben, stood in the hallway. Renee held a color swatch against the light, her face focused.

"Sorry," Renee said, her smile faltering as she saw us. "We're here for the tasting. The Future cake? B. & R.?"

Lucas shifted in an instant. He led them toward the round tasting table in the showroom. I followed, watching as they sat. Three small slices waited beneath glass covers.

The middle one was pale vanilla with champagne frosting—a flavor I had never approved. A pearl of champagne frosting had begun to soften against the cut edge.

Renee studied the slice. "I saw Sophia's reel," she said. "But I have to be honest—I'm a little confused. When we booked, Lucas said the flavor hadn't been decided yet. He said you two were supposed to finish it after your own wedding tasting. Now Sophia's reel says it was always champagne."

"The concept needed a finished flavor before Saturday," Lucas said smoothly.

"So you invented one and gave Sophia the story," I said, stepping forward.

Renee looked from me to Lucas. She frowned, then her eyes widened as she looked closer at my face.

"Wait," she said, squinting. "You stayed after closing three years ago because the gold leaf on my daughter's birthday cake kept lifting. You were there until midnight. My daughter still talks about that cake."

"I remember," I said.

"So you are the one who makes the samples work," Renee said, her tone shifting from polite to skeptical. She looked at the champagne-frosted slice, then back at me. "If I tell the venue and my family that you made it, will you still make the cake?"

"Not while Lucas keeps selling the collection under Sophia's name."

"I can't fix the other four weddings, Erin," Renee said, her voice dropping.

"I know."

"Then can you make mine?"

I could have said yes. But Lucas stood three feet away. Whatever came after that word, he would hear only the yes. He would take it as a surrender, proof that my moral lines could always be negotiated down to a private credit line while his name stayed on the marquee.

I looked at Ben, her fiancé. He looked at Renee, then at the clock on the wall.

"We can serve sheet cake," Ben said quietly. "It won't ruin the wedding, Renee."

"The venue only allows vendors from its approved list," Renee said, her voice tight. "If we switch, we lose the dessert deposit and pay an outside-vendor fee we can't cover. We don't have the room for a mistake this close to the wedding."

She turned to Lucas. "I need the cake I paid for. Whatever happened between you two, please don't make it happen at my wedding."

Then she looked at me. "I's sorry those can both be true," she said.

After they left, Lucas stacked the tasting plates and wiped the crumbs into a neat line. "Renee didn't choose me," Lucas said. "She chose her wedding date."

He carried the plates toward the kitchen. "If you won't make the cake, Mara will."