Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sound of the alarm on my cell phone going off jerks me out of the battle I face every night—sleep. I scrub my hands down my face as I swing my legs into a sitting position, my hair falling haphazardly in front of my face.

I can’t swallow due to the dryness in my throat. My memory lingers on the images from my dream of falling into the gravel at UConn. I’ve lived with its repercussions—finding out about my brain tumor—for more years than I care to remember. Still, despite my problems sleeping, I hardly ever dream about the past. I live by a personal mantra that has served me well over the years: Live for today, for tomorrow may never come.

I have to get a move on. The cake I need to finish decorating today won’t get completed any faster, and I have a hard stop at 4:00 p.m. Tonight, one of the connections I’ve made by bringing people joy through my baking will be giving my family a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

I can’t freaking wait. My siblings have no idea what they’re in for.

I push off the couch that I fell asleep on last night in my master bedroom and flick off the lights that I leave on in my bedroom at night to protect me from the darkness. The early-morning sun warming my skin tells me without looking at my weather app that it’s going to be a scorcher today.

I always dress for comfort in a loose tank top and baggy jeans since I wear a chef’s coat on top of my clothes in the kitchen of Amaryllis Events, my family’s wedding- and event-planning business. Other than quickly braiding my hair, there’s no need to bother with anything else. Also, Em, one of my three older sisters who’s a fashion designer, is pulling out all the stops, dressing us before we go out tonight.

Our night out is going to be incredible. I shake my head as I slip into a pair of bright pink Chucks. My sisters and brother have no idea what’s really in store.

As I make my way into Collyer, I munch on the banana I grabbed on my way out the door. It’s early on a Friday, and I know my kitchen is going to be utter chaos. I have my standard weekend supply delivery coming in. Hopefully, my assistant got the text I sent her letting her know I need the center island clear to finish up the cake for the Martin wedding. I have about eight hours to brush on the edible rose-gold leaf before Phil decorates the top with greenery and transports it to the family’s home. This will give me just enough time to get ready for tonight with my sisters.

I pull into the parking lot of Amaryllis Events and see Ali’s convertible, Em’s Rover, and Cassidy’s new Porsche Panamera—a birthday gift from her husband, Caleb. I smile remembering how we all taunted him when he handed her the keys to the car that was as much for him as it was for her. Caleb didn’t argue. Instead, he laughed and said their twins would grow up understanding they were a Porsche family.

A Porsche family. The wealth we’ve accumulated is a far cry from the poverty each of us grew up with. That was before we adopted each other and became a family. A family forged from the deepest horrors anyone should ever have to live through. A family that found itself in the dark but lives in the light. A family made of strength and pride.

My fingers glide over my tank top where my amaryllis tattoo rests close to my heart. As I walk around the delivery truck, I see another familiar vehicle. My back, where another tattoo rests, snaps ramrod straight.

What the hell is Colby doing here?

It’s bad enough I suffer the nights Colby haunts my sleep. Ever since he left the Army and accepted a job with Hudson Investigations, he’s made himself right at home with my family again.

He better not make himself at home in my kitchen. Especially not today.

My good mood soured, I stomp around to the back entrance that leads to my sacred domain. Despite Colby’s presence crushing my spirits, I still get breathless every time I walk into the space dominated by spotless stainless steel and top-of-the-line walk-in refrigerators, freezers, and ovens. All told, the equipment in this kitchen cost more than my college tuition. Sometimes, when I’m by myself, I give in to the urge to spin around and dance in the kitchen, unable to hold in my emotions. I forget about the things weighing down my mind and just revel in all that is ours. Mine.

The equipment in this room helps bend things to my will, mold into the shapes I want them to. Every dish meets my critical standards or suffers getting ejected. Typically, into Phil’s stomach.

When I walk into the kitchen, it’s like walking into a farmer’s market. There are crates of eggs covering an entire worktable. Gallons of fresh milk are lined up in crates near my walk-in refrigerator. Sacks of flour are stacked so high, I can barely see over them. Jesus, this must be twice the regular order. I sigh, realizing I don’t have anywhere to decorate the cake.

Tina, the stay-at-home mom of two who comes in to help out twice a week, gapes at me helplessly from where she’s signing a clipboard. “Cori, I had no idea what to do!”

Determined, I rein in my displeasure knowing there was a massive error somewhere. And believe me, I’ll find it. I sigh again. “Then let’s get it put away before I kill whoever made this mistake.” Since we decided to streamline ordering to go through Ali, we’ve cut costs significantly. But I know what I told Ali I needed for cakes earlier in the week. It was half of what’s in my kitchen right now.

That means either the supplier screwed up or someone in the family did.

Every second counts right now, and I’m losing precious time as I help Tina when I should already be delicately brushing sheets of foil onto smooth fondant.

Thirty minutes later, I’ve left Tina in a better state, but I’m marching up the grand front staircase, murder aforethought. I’ve already talked directly with the food supplier who assures me the order was correct. So that means only one thing. Based on what I just put away, I’ve been overbooked once again after being promised a light week.

It’s been like this since I appeared on the celebrity episode of Caketastic on the Food Network with Brendan Blake six months ago. While the notoriety is excellent for business, I feel like there’s no end in sight. I haven’t had a full day off in a long time, and I have no assistants in the kitchen. Sure, I have Tina a couple of mornings, and interns from the local culinary institute, but that’s not what people are paying for. They’re sinking thousands of dollars for a Corinna Freeman trademark cake.

If we keep this pace up, it’s going to kill me.

Not even caring who’s where, I yell, “Get your asses into the conference room, now!” Fuming as I storm down the hallway, I run into a chest I know doesn’t belong to any of my family members.

Of course—Colby. “Excuse me.” I step aside to move by him, but he moves in front of me.

“Good morning, Cori.” He smiles. God, why couldn’t his face match the asshole I know who lives inside?

“Colby.” I nod. That’s about all the politeness I can manage for the man who once said—

Nope. Not going there today.

I hate that Colby’s taken Charlie’s ticket for the Brendan Blake concert since Charlie has a summer bug. Lucky me. One of the most insane gifts I’ve ever managed to give our family and he’s going to be along for the ride. Pushing past him, I walk down the hall toward the conference room.

Behind me, I hear him mutter, “Sorry. Next time I’ll get out of your way.”

Just stay out of my life, Colby. Permanently. You managed to do it for over ten years after you said you felt bad for the sweet fat chick you could “handle”. It’s not like we had a real friendship despite what I may have thought back then.

If I was a storm before, I’m a full-blown hurricane now as I burst into the conference room.

“Shit, she’s on the warpath,” Holly mutters. The youngest of our adopted family holds her camera up to her expert eye, aiming its lens at each of my siblings. “Who pissed her off today of all days?”

“We all know my version of cooking involves takeout or begging for food from one of y’all, so I’m free and clear. Next?” Em pipes up.

All eyes focus on Phil. I tap my sneaker-clad foot while I wait for him to speak. He looks affronted. Finally, I snap, “Well?”

“Listen, missy, if you’re pissy, don’t take it out on me.” Phil huffs.

“Phillip, if I’m ‘pissy’, it’s because I just spent the last half hour sorting out a double delivery of kitchen supplies. Do you want to know what that tells me?” Without waiting for him to answer, I continue. “Someone up here fucked up, and we’re about to lose thousands of dollars’ worth of perishables, or I got overbooked. Again. Which means I can’t cut loose the way I want to tonight because I’ll be back in the kitchen baking tomorrow. You know, the first day I was supposed to have off in six damn months!”

Ali has turned and is glaring at Phil. “You said you cleared the schedule with Cori, Phil, before I had the clients sign the contracts.” Ali, our company lawyer, has ironclad contracts. Short of a death in the family, there’s no breaking them.

Phil’s imminent death is looking awfully tempting.

“Umm, I meant to, but then I got caught up in my floral order…” His voice trails off as Cassidy, our chief executive officer, stands up and slaps her hand down on the table.

“Enough.” Her usually calm mask is gone. “Phil, you will be here at—” Cassidy turns to me. “What time, Cori?”

“I don’t even know what the hell I’m baking. I haven’t even seen the schedule.” I’m seething.

Cassidy pulls her iPad out and scrolls through the online program. She focuses on the screen before she lets out a sigh. Handing me her tablet, she sighs. “I’m sorry, Corinna.”

I look at the list and gasp. There are cakes due every day, including tomorrow.

“I have a cake to decorate in rose-gold foil by four. I now have to bake a three-tier cake and prepare the lemon curd filling to go in it for tomorrow. On top of that, I’ll have to be back tomorrow morning to decorate it in buttercream roses for the Collyer Garden Club. An order—” I pause to scan the intake form. “—you accepted yesterday? Yesterday?” I turn to my sister. “There’s nothing Phil can do, and nothing I want him to help with.”

Phil flinches.

“Fine. Alison, modify payroll this week to remove Phil’s percentages of any of the profits from anything he scheduled where Corinna didn’t sign off explicitly accepting the work.” Cassidy’s voice is calm but firm.

“That’s not fair!” Phil jumps to his feet. “I secured that business for us.”

“If Corinna, or any of us, had done this to you, you’d be outraged. You wouldn’t have tolerated a day off in six weeks, let alone six months. Since you aren’t a master baker who won us the notoriety to actually make these bookings, tell me what you plan on doing to make this up to your sister?” She holds up a hand. “A sister I might add who is taking us to the Brendan Blake concert this evening. A sister who expected to be able to spend time with her friend after the show unencumbered.”

Phil opens his mouth and then snaps it shut.

I don’t have time for this. “Someone get me a copy of the updated schedule within the next fifteen minutes. I have to go see if my kitchen has been set to rights.” I stomp toward the door. “And I’m just saying this: no lunch in the kitchen today. Keep out if you know what’s good for you.”

I walk into the hallway to find Colby lingering outside. “Tough break, Cori.” His eyes are sympathetic.

I stop in my tracks. “Might want to be careful, Colby. Eavesdroppers typically don’t hear good things. In fact—” I lean closer as if I’m about to tell him a state secret. “—they tend to hear all kinds of nasty things their ‘friends’ say about them. Why, is that a cow I hear? Gotta go before all the curds are gone.” I head down the stairs back to set some order to the chaos of the kitchen.

And of my mind.