Prologue: Ember

Jackson Cane tastes like red-hot cinnamon, salt water, and sin.

When he concentrates, his long fingers twist in the back of his dark hair, right at the base of his neck, and he tugs.

Tugs…

Tugs…

I like to weave my fingers between his and pull.

Then ocean-blue eyes blink up to mine, sending electricity humming in my veins. He smiles. I smile, and it isn’t long before our lips touch. I straddle his lap as I open my mouth, and his delicious tongue finds mine, heating every part of my body.

Our kisses are languid and deep, chasing and tasting.

We sizzle like fireworks on a hot summer night.

Eventually, with a heavy sigh, I pull away, but hours later my mouth is still burning. I taste him everywhere I go.

Lying in my bed in the dark room, my heart aches, heavy and painful in my chest. Every breath is a burden. I blink slowly at the ceiling and slide my tongue against the backs of my teeth thinking about hot cinnamon, tangy salt, caramel and sugar, sunshine, and the best summer of my life.

The instant I hear it, I’m on my feet, tiptoeing to my open window. The low growl of an engine tells me he’s there in the darkness, out on the street in the shadows just past the streetlight.

The late summer humidity hangs heavy in the air. Cicadas scree from the limbs of the mighty oak tree beside the house. Their damp wings make them too heavy to fly, and the sadness in my chest is replaced with breathless anticipation.

I’m panting. I’ve never felt this way for anyone, and I’m desperate to hold onto it. Somehow I know I’ll never feel this way for anyone ever again.

Quiet as a mouse I scamper to my door and listen. The only sound is the hum of Momma’s oscillating fan pushing the warm air around her room. I can’t hear her breathing. I can’t hear anything… except the noise of Jackson’s engine on the street below, waiting.

Red-hot cinnamon.

Salt water.

Sin.

Pressure tingles around the edges of my skull, and a bead of sweat tickles down the side of my neck, dropping past my shoulder, slipping between my breasts.

I’m at the window slowly lifting the glass, and I don’t care if she hears me. I dive through the space, out onto the cedar shake roof in my bare feet. I’ll get a splinter if I’m not careful…

So many reasons to be careful…

I ignore them all.

I’m going to him like a siren’s call in the ocean, like the mermaid story in reverse. I’m the hypnotized sailor. He’s the promise of so many wicked pleasures.

Reaching for the tree limb, I swing my body across the narrow gap two stories high, gliding down the trunk as the skirt of my dress rises to my hips. My bike sits where I left it at the side of the house, and I carefully pull it away, holding it as I tiptoe down the gravel driveway to the street.

I can’t take a chance on anyone seeing us together and telling my mother. Instead, I dash across the street between the thick beams of his headlights. He flickers them to let me know he sees me, and I plunge into the dark woods, pedaling fast.

Tires crunch on gravel, and I shoot down the pine needle path leading away from this place, through the tall, skinny trees, all the way out to the barren jetty of sand stretching under the moonlit sky filled with stars, surrounded by the clear blue waters of the ocean.

It’s our place.

The place where we’re the only two people on Earth.

In the summertime, the visitors to our sleepy little town use it to spend the day sunbathing and playing on the wide stretch of undeveloped sand. Now, on the edge of fall, with all the children back in school and Jackson leaving for college tomorrow, we have it to ourselves.

His engine roars on the road above, and I stand in the pedals to push harder, fueled by the burning desire twisting in my lower pelvis. I want to be with him now. I don’t want to waste a moment.

I go even faster as the trail slopes downhill. A narrow wooden bridge thump… thump… thumps with the pressure of my tires distressing the aging slats.

The instant the trees part, I toss my bike aside and run out of the darkness onto the glowing white sand. The sizzle of waves crashing on the shore fills the night, and the black ripples are tipped with silver light.

Jackson stands in his canvas shorts, his hands in his pockets, and a thin white tee rippling across his back in the slight breeze.

I’m breathing hard when I finally reach him, and he turns. White teeth in a full-moon night, deep dimples in both cheeks, he smiles down at me, and I feel so small. A lock of too-long dark hair falls over his blue eyes, and my breath catches. He’s so beautiful.

I swallow the knot in my throat as I gaze at him. What star crossed what planet in what solar system and said I could have him, even if it’s only for a little while?

“You made good time tonight.” His voice vibrates the warm air between us.

I force a laugh, moving to him until my hands are around his waist. My forehead rests on his chest, and I inhale deeply. He’s leather and soap and a deeper, spicier scent that’s pure Jackson Cane.

He feels so good in my arms.

His mouth presses against my head, and I lift my chin, reaching for his face. He leans down and claims my mouth, warm lips pushing mine open. I kiss him eagerly, curling my tongue with his, threading my fingers into the soft, dark hair falling around his cheeks, tugging.

An aching moan rises in my chest as he lifts me off my feet. Chasing his kisses, my mouth burns with cinnamon, my core tingles with need. He carries me to our place, a little shelter near the water’s edge where an enormous log is slowly turning to driftwood. We lower to the sand, me on my back, him on his knees looking down at me.

My dark hair is all around us, my skirt is up around my waist. My panties are far away on my bedroom floor. A soft hiss comes from his lips, and he slides a finger down my center. My eyes flutter shut.

“Jackson…” I whisper. I love you I love you I love you…

He leans down to taste me, his tongue lightly tracing the line between my thighs, and my back arches off the soft sand. My body takes flight on the motion of his mouth, kissing me so deeply, tracing a pattern over my most sensitive parts.

The first time he did this to me, I didn’t understand. I’d been embarrassed by how fast my body responded, the way I shook, how wet it was between my legs when the shudders subsided.

Then I was afraid of how I tasted. I was afraid it was dirty and wrong like my momma would say. Sin…

Then he kissed me, and my mouth filled with a delicate, clean ocean flavor, like the air after a storm. It was our first time, and when he pushed inside me, my mind came apart. My soul shifted, and I was forever changed.

I was forever his.

The flutters begin in the arches of my feet, and he kisses his way up my stomach.

“Jackson… Jackson…” I can’t stop chanting his name as I thread my fingers in his soft hair.

At last his mouth covers mine. At last we’re one.

“Ember…” His mouth breaks away with a groan, and I lean up to run my tongue along the ridges of his neck. Salt water…

I lick his Adam’s apple up to his square jaw.

Rough stubble scratches my tongue.

My legs are around his waist and we’re working together, chasing that glorious release. He stretches me and fills me, massages me so deeply, I feel it the moment I start to break apart.

“Oh!” My fingers tighten on his back as every muscle in my body clenches…

Tighter…

Tighter…

Then Yes!

Glitter gun showers of pleasure flooding my insides.

“Yes,” he groans, and I feel him finish deep inside of me.

Our bodies unite, but at the same time we’re flying apart as waves of ecstasy fill our veins. It’s magical like the ocean, silvery water tipped in moonlight.

We kiss softly now, rich and gentle, over and over. His tongue touches my upper lip, and he pulls the bottom one between his teeth. Red-hot cinnamon…

We’re breathing hard, and he slides a hand under my ass, turning us without ever losing contact, so I’m sitting in a straddle across his lap.

My dress is around my waist, and moonlight touches the tips of my breasts. We hold each other, skin against skin.

A hot tear spills down my cheek.

I’m not full-on crying. I’ll save the ugly tears for tomorrow when he’s gone. Instead, I find his blue eyes.

Dark brows quirk together, and he kisses my nose. “You’re crying?”

My voice cracks with a whisper. “Aren’t you sad?”

“I’m only going to college, Em. I’m not going to war.”

“But we won’t see each other for months.”

I don’t say what’s truly scaring me. I don’t voice the fear that I, a mere high schooler, couldn’t possibly hold onto him.

He’s traveling far away to where the girls are more mature, more experienced, more sophisticated.

“You’re right,” he nods. “It’s going to suck. Especially when I want to kiss you.”

He pulls me flush against his chest and groans deeply. Strong arms circle my shoulders, and I cling to him.

“But it’s not something to cry about,” he argues. “You’re my girl, Em. That’s never going to change.”

My eyes squeeze shut, and I inhale his scent, doing my best to hold it in my memory, trying to absorb every part of him.

There’s no way in hell I could even begin to argue. I am his, and he’s… my everything. Jackson Cane is every first I’ve ever had. My first real kiss, my first real boyfriend, the first time I had sex… made love…

“Hey.” He pulls back, blue eyes full of concern. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Blinking quickly, I try to find my bearings. “What?” I don’t know why he looks so worried.

“You are my girl, right?”

My chin jerks forward, and I have to cover my mouth. “You have to ask?”

Warm hands cup my cheeks, and he trails his thumbs lightly along my cheekbones. “So beautiful,” he murmurs. “My Ember Rose.”

His eyes move around my face, along my hair, down the side of my jaw like a caress.

“I’ll never forget this.” I’m ashamed at how desperate my voice sounds. “I mean… I just…” I’m such a baby.

He blinks a few times, and a smile curls his lips. With a nod, he pulls me against his chest, strong arms surrounding me. We stay that way a long time, listening to the crashing of the surf, the beat of our hearts. The seagulls cry, and the moon climbs higher. It’s all so perfect, but it’s all at an end.

Finally, with a sigh, he lifts me, helping me stand. We hold hands as he takes me into the gentle waves to clean up. I slowly restore my dress.

I feel so stupid. College girls don’t need to be cared for like babies. They don’t whine and cry about being left behind. They blow kisses and wink over their sunglasses. They sway their hips and turn the tables on saying goodbye.

My best friend Tabby is already one of those girls, and she’s my age.

I’ll never be one of those girls.

“Don’t cry, Ember Rose,” he says in a low whisper. “I never want to see you cry.”

I hold him a while longer, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. His hands slide up and down my back in a soothing motion.

After a while, they slide down my forearms to lace with my fingers. He steps back and leads me the way we came, stopping at the edge of the woods where I left my bike.

“Get on home before your momma wakes up.”

That sexy smile curls his lips. He shoves his hair behind his ears, and I step forward again, clutching the front of his shirt before I press my lips one last time to his.

Red-hot cinnamon.

Sparkling blue sin.

Salt rocks breaking my heart.

* * *

Chapter 1: Jack

“Last one in has to ride home naked!” Tiffany hurls her silky red dress over her head and runs through the trees headed for the lake.

The wheels on my black Audi R8 have barely stopped moving. I haven’t even killed the engine. An empty wine bottle clatters against an empty tequila bottle rolling around on the floorboards, and I briefly think I should toss them in a nearby trashcan.

Propping my elbow on the steering wheel, I scrub the back of my neck with my fingers. My hair is so short now, it’s the best I can do.

I haven’t had a drink in almost an hour. I’d finished a bottle of scotch in my office, standing in front of my floor to ceiling glass windows looking down on the city, disbelief vibrating in my chest.

My career…

My reputation…

It’s over.

All of it.

File after file, telling me my win, my multi-million dollar defense… all of it is based on lies.

“Fuck!” I shout, slamming my palm against the wheel.

The buzzing in my head is gone along with the numbness in my chest, and all the shock and pain and pure, unadulterated outrage rush back like a wall of water before a hurricane.

A hurricane that will send everything I’ve worked for these last ten years crashing down around me.

Pulling the handle on the door, I push it open and step out into the darkness. The ground is covered in moldering leaves, and it smells like faintly mildewed canvas, damp lichens, and dirt.

“Jackson! What are you doing?” Tiffany shrieks between splashes out in the black water of the lake.

Exactly. “What the fuck am I doing here?”

My chest is tight, and each inhale is like claws ripping my lungs from the inside.

It took an hour to drive from my Eighth Avenue high-rise corner office building to this lonely, two-lane highway leading to the lake. Somewhere along the way, I realized I didn’t know what the fuck Tiffany was talking about or why she was even in my car. She followed me down the elevator, into the parking garage, laughing and pouring another shot of tequila on the way.

I’ve got the fucking receptionist with me.

I need to get her back to the city.

Digging in the pocket of my blazer, I pull out my phone and stare at the face. My lock screen is a photo of crystal blue waters, and for a moment, my thoughts blur. I left my home near the ocean with big dreams.

Half of them came true.

I finished undergrad at the top of my class, went to law school on a free-ride, headed straight into a Top Five firm when I graduated, and now I’m one of the highest-paid litigators handling mostly corporate corruption with the occasional car crash thrown in for variety.

My face is in every “Top Thirty under Thirty” feature in the city and online. My phone never stops ringing.

My fucking dad is so fucking proud.

I’ve done it all.

And I’m all alone.

“I’ve got to get out of here.” Dropping my chin, I rub my eyes.

The shush of feet running through the leaves is punctuated with high giggles breaking the silence. My eyes have adjusted to the semi-darkness, and I see Tiffany coming back, completely naked, blonde hair glistening with water, tits bouncing with every step.

“What are you doing back here?” Her voice is thick, and she curves into my chest, holding my neck and trying to kiss me.

She’s slippery and loose. Her kiss is easy to dodge, but not her wet body pressing against my dress shirt.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” My jaw tightens, and I lift my chin away from her face.

“God, you’re so hard,” she giggles. My brow furrows. I’m not the least bit aroused. “Like a wall of granite.”

“Look, Tiff, I’m calling you a Lyft.” I’m back to tapping my phone. “What’s your address?”

“What?” she whisper-shrieks. “Wait a second—”

“Never mind.” I bring up the firm directory, and she’s gone from my chest. It takes me a second to realize she’s dropped to her knees in front of me and her hands are on my belt.

“Stop…” I tap the buttons on the app faster, using my free hand to sweep her away from my fly.

“Stop, stop…” She laughs, her voice high and teasing. “What guy doesn’t want a blow job?”

“Stop!” I’ve managed to book her a ride, but she’s got my pants open and is handling my dick.

“Fuck me,” she moans. I look down, and she looks up. The whites of her eyes are visible, and her mouth is a delighted O. “The rumors are true!”

“Get up.” Shoving my phone in my pocket, I grasp under her arms, pulling her to her feet.

“Oh, Jackson!” She pokes her lips out, face pouty. “Let me ride your big… huge… cock!”

“Where’s your dress?”

Moving fast, I refasten my pants with one hand. I’m still holding her by the upper arm, keeping her with me as I circle, looking for where I saw red silk fly over her head.

“There it is.” I take her to where the dress is laying discarded on the path.

“You’re always alone,” she sulks, stomping beside me as I lead her to the car and hold her against it. I brace her with one leg so she can’t wiggle away, while I fumble with the fabric, searching for the neck hole.

“Are you gay?” Her voice sounds like every drunk college girl I ever turned away.

“No,” I answer flatly.

“When’s the last time you got laid?”

Her blonde hair catches in the fabric, and I untwist it, pulling the material down her sticky body as best as I can.

“I get laid,” I growl, considering it has been a while.

I’ve been so focused on my work, this case… Now the last thing on my mind is fucking some drunk girl. First, her consent is dubious. Second, she’s our receptionist and could yell sexual harassment or worse.

“I’m not dipping my pen in the company ink.”

“I’ll quit my job!” she cries, still holding onto me. “Just kiss me once.”

“Where is that fucking Lyft?” I reach into my jacket again. “He’s here!”

Sure enough, high beams cut through the woods, curving around the black trees. I start up the lane in the direction of the road.

“My shoes!” she shrieks, trying to run back the way she came. “They’re Louboutins!”

My grip tightens on her arm, until I’m practically carrying her to the waiting car. “I’ll ship them to you at the office.”

“You’re not coming back to work? What are you going to do?”

Hesitating a moment, I realize it’s a good question. I know what I want to do—what’s nudging at my brain. What I’ve wanted to do for so long…

I’m tired and my thoughts are twisted and cloudy, but I know what I want more than anything. “I have a meeting to attend.”

“Now?”

“Right now.”

The Lyft pulls away, taking Tiffany back home. I head straight to my car, pulling out my phone as I walk. My disbelief is gone, my head is clear, and I have to face this.

* * *

“Jackson.” Brice Wagner’s low voice is laced with condescension as he ushers me into his enormous wood-paneled study. “What brings you all the way out here at this hour?”

It took me two hours to drive to my elder partner’s ocean front estate north of the city. From the smell of his breath, he’s been working on his own scotch, luxuriating in the close of our case, no doubt.

Thinking how much we could have lost…

How much I saved.

How much he covered up.

“I was doing some housekeeping before I shut down tonight.”

“You young bucks.” He slaps my back, barking out a laugh as he rounds his desk. “After today’s win, at your age, I’d be out on the town, a bottle in each hand and a blonde on each arm.”

“No doubt,” I say, placing a hand on the stiff leather wingback across the massive mahogany desk from my partner. “I had something like that in mind.”

It’s true. I’d been finishing up, pulling all the files together ahead of what I hoped would be a long weekend.

Until I opened the office intranet we shared on the case.

Until I discovered the hidden folder labeled “Disposed documents.”

The folder password protected with a dead child’s name.

“Well?” He pours a crystal tumbler of amber liquid and holds it out to me. “What stopped you?”

I take the crystal and tilt it side to side, studying the trail of the liquid as it moves. The room smells of antique furniture and oiled leather. It’s moneyed and ancient, and knowing what I know now, it’s all the rotten stench of corruption.

A strange calm filters through my chest as I say my next words. “I had in mind a long weekend, possibly a week off. We put in a lot of hours on this one.”

“You’re right.” He rocks back in his desk chair and props a foot on the corner. I watch as he pulls out a fat cigar and clips the end. He doesn’t offer me one, not that I’d take it.

Eventually, the pungent scent of cigar smoke drifts across to me as I continue. “But the settlement agreement and release need to go out. I had to be sure Lori could find what she needed to get it done…”

“Okay.”

I’ve reached the end of my patience, so I say what I came here to say. I speak the heart of the prosecution’s case. “Johnny Mauck had been driving for thirty hours straight when he lost control of his rig and skidded across that median.”

Brice lowers his foot and turns slowly to face me. Anger fires red in his watery eyes, but it’s nothing compared to the fucking inferno in my chest.

“Stop right there.” His voice is a calm warning.

“Big Traxx paid for the amphetamines that kept him driving. You were at the scene. You knew it all along.” Every breath is hot. “I found the documents, the logs, the prescription… everything that should have been provided during litigation.”

“You found nothing.” He speaks the words slowly, ominously, dark eyes like stone.

My eyes are flint. “I found it all.”

We’re silent, sizing each other up. The brass clock on the mantle above the fireplace is the only noise, ticking louder than the beating of a drum. If I had any lingering doubts, any question of what I had to do on the long drive out here, his response put the final nail in that coffin.

Finally, he leans forward. His leather chair creaks under his weight. “So you’ve made your decision?”

The fist in my chest still hasn’t unclenched. Perhaps it never will. Either way, the answer is yes. “I’m not doing this anymore.”

He has the nerve to look smug. “Where will you go?”

“Back to the beginning.”

If I’ve lost everything, I might as well. I’ll walk away. All the way to the only place I’ve ever known happiness.

I’ll pick up the pieces and start over.

* * *

Chapter 2: Ember

It’s a penis.

I stand in front of the table looking down, and there is no mistaking what it is.

Hours of online courses, too many YouTube videos to count (so many YouTube videos), correspondence courses at the community college, and this is what it comes down to…

Penis cakes for money.

Tabby rocks forward on her stool, leaning on her elbows watching me carve the corners off the beige sheet cake. Her jet-black hair is smoothed into thick curls, and a red handkerchief is wrapped around her head. Severe bangs, arched brows, and velvet-red lips. My best friend is punk rock Bettie Page.

“How can you make these and be so unaffected?”

I continue carving two round balls at the bottom of the long, almond-colored shaft. “It’s cake.”

“Still… you haven’t been with a guy in what? Five years?”

“Don’t go there.”

“I’m just saying. That’s one well-constructed penis.”

“Again, it’s cake.”

“I wish Liam was black.” Instantly her green eyes go round, and she leans closer, whispering, “Is that racist?”

“Depends on what you say next. Why?”

She falls back on the stool, her eyes fluttering shut. “Because your Devil’s food cake with the coconut pecan buttercream icing and dark chocolate ganache is better than sex.”

“Then you’re not doing it right.”

“You’re not doing it at all!”

Cutting my eyes at her, I set the sharp knife aside.

She sniffs. “Well, you’re not.”

Choosing to ignore her jab, I return to her original statement, reaching for the bowl of vanilla pastry cream. “Liam is white. His penis has to match him.” Pausing in my filling, I study the bisected cake in front of me. “I was planning to use all this cream for the inside, but maybe I should save some for the tip…”

“Oh my god,” Tabby snorts. “Mousey little Donna White has totally knocked my socks off. This is the tackiest order in the history of Ember Rose Cakes!”

I arch an eyebrow at her. “Donna didn’t order it.”

Red-velvet lips part, and Tabby’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “Who did?”

“Help me.”

She lifts the opposite end of the top layer, and together we slowly place it over the cream-filled bottom.

The little bell over the door rings, and I step back, crossing my arms, admiring the lifelike almond-sponge penis cake with vanilla cream filling. “She doesn’t like fondant, so I’m thinking I’ll cover it in beige marzipan—”

“You’re working late tonight, Ember.” My mother’s stern voice echoes through the large, empty store (a.k.a., my future bakery-slash-home).

With a hiss, Tabby spins beside me, blocking the cake with her body. I freeze, my heart thudding frantically in my chest. Oh, shit.

“Uh…” Tabby walks fast to meet my mother halfway between the front door and the large table at the back wall where I do my decorating. “We got a last-minute cake order for Donna’s shower.”

I frantically look for anything to cover the oversized male member—as if that could possibly save us from the shit-storm about to erupt.

“That’s nice.” Condescension is thick in her voice. “Donna’s mother has been a faithful member of the church since you were little girls. I’m sure she’ll appreciate your talent…”

My mother stops, and a knot lodges in my throat. Seconds like hours tick past as she steps around my best friend, arms crossed, frowning down at the phallus. Thank God I haven’t added the extra cream to the tip yet.

“What is this?” Her voice is hard, disgusted.

“Just what the doctor ordered!” Tabby calls out. “A little taste of what’s to come!”

It’s no use. My mother is impervious to humor.

“God gives you a talent, Emberly Rose, and this is how you thank him? By making porn?”

My mind drifts to a list of questions, the way it always does when her lectures start: Would God really be angry about a cake shaped like Donna’s future husband’s penis? Doesn’t God have bigger fish to fry? Does God even fry fish? Jesus ate fish…

“Are you listening to me, Emberly Rose?”

I blink back to attention. “It seemed like an interesting challenge.”

The sweetest little voice cuts through the tension in the air. “Mommy’s cake! Mommy’s cake!” Everything is forgotten as I dash forward, scooping my little girl into my arms.

“Coco bean!” I spin her around and kiss her velvety cheek. The entire world is suddenly brighter.

“The purple monster says tres!” she chants.

“Tres?” I pretend to be confused. “What is tres?”

“Three!” she cries holding up three small fingers.

“That’s right!” I hug her body snug against mine.

All the shame and fear are gone when I hold Coco, but she starts to wiggle. She wants to get down.

“I want cake! Mommy cake!”

My mother is quick to interrupt. “Colette, come to Grandmother.”

“Cake! Cake! Cake!” Her little eyes sparkle and two dimples punctuate her cheeks as she cheers for cake.

Happiness rises in my chest with every pump of her cute little fist over her head.

“How about this…” I go to her and kneel, putting my hands on her tiny waist. She puts her hands on the tops of my shoulders, her dark eyes suddenly serious. “I’ll make you a special cupcake with a purple monster and a big three on it.”

“I’m four now.”

“This isn’t a birthday cake.” I smooth my fingers in her hair, moving a cluster of silky brunette curls behind her ear. “It’s a special cake, and I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

“You won’t spend the night?”

My heart sinks with her question, but I can’t spend another night in my mother’s house. I just can’t.

“I have to fix this house for us. Remember? We’re going to live upstairs. And I’ll be over first thing tomorrow with your cupcake.”

I carry her to the door where my mother waits, disapproval lining her thin lips. “Church tomorrow. I expect you to be there.”

“I will.” I give Coco another hug, taking a deep inhale of her sweet little girl scent. “Go with Granny now.”

“Grandmother.” My mother corrects me. “Come, Colette.”

“Let’s go, Granny!” Coco wiggles out of my arms to the floor then hops out like a kangaroo.

Tabby snorts behind me, and my mother’s eyes narrow. “We’ll finish this tomorrow.”

With that she strides out, and I push the door closed behind them, resting my forehead against the glass.

“I swear, if that little girl were any less stubborn, I’d be worried about her,” Tabby says from behind me.

I watch them a few seconds longer—my mother trying unsuccessfully to hold Coco’s hand while they walk the four blocks to her house, the old house where I grew up.

“She’ll be okay a little while longer,” I say, feeling like my heart is hopping away from me, batting at her grandmother’s hand with every bounce.

“Old battle axe. I guess you survived living with her.”

“She wasn’t like this before Minnie died.” My voice is quiet, repeating a memory.

“Says who.” It’s not a question. It’s a skeptical retort from my bestie.

“Aunt Agnes. She said my mother used to know how to have fun.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“To be honest, I’ve never believed it either.” I don’t even remember my older sister.

“You’re too independent for her. She can’t handle it. She almost lost her mind when you took up with Jackson Cane so young—”

Cutting my eyes, I stop that line of conversation. “We don’t talk about him.”

“We should.” Tabby studies my face. “He’s the only guy you were ever serious about.”

He said he’d come back, and he never did…

Exhaling deeply, I return to my phallic creation. “Ancient history. Now let’s finish this thing before it’s too late.”

I ditch the marzipan idea and opt instead for a skin-toned buttercream. Tabby starts cleaning up, and I’m almost finished frosting when the bell over the door rings again.

“What is this, Grand Central?” Tabby mutters.

“How’s it hanging, girls?”

“Jesus!” Tabby jerks around with a gasp, running to meet Betty Pepper, Oceanside Village’s busiest of the ancient busybodies.

“Hi, Miss B!” she calls too loudly, intercepting the old woman. “What brings you to the store this evening?”

Betty glances around. “You should have items to sell if it’s a store.”

“Soon, Miss B… Just you wait,” I call out. I’ve finished frosting the balls, and I reach for the bowl of dark chocolate shavings to sprinkle over them.

“How’s my order coming?” Betty asks, and I’m pretty sure Tabs swallows her gum.

“Just finishing now,” I call over my shoulder.

“Wait!” Tabby holds out her hand. “Hold the phone. Betty Pepper ordered that?”

The squat octogenarian pushes my rockabilly roommate aside and joins me at the massive, weathered-wood table where I work.

“Oh,” she gasps. “Emberly Rose!”

Tabby’s right behind her. “You ordered the penis cake?”

“Oh, yes!” BP clutches her chest.

“Well, don’t have a heart attack,” my friend snarks.

Stepping back, I survey the raunchy masterpiece. “I think it needs a vein.” I pinch a bit of fondant and roll it into a long, skinny column, laying it along the shaft.

Once it’s in place, I add the last bit of vanilla cream at the tip.

Miss Betty’s voice is thick with lust. “It’s so good!”

My friend arches a perfect, black eyebrow. “How long has it been since you’ve seen one of these?”

“Get a life, Tabitha Green. I see what I want on the Internet,” Betty says before turning to me. “I can’t believe you did this without a mold.”

“The frosting helps.” I walk to the wall of cabinets and take down my vanilla extract and a small paintbrush. “I thought about putting a square cake around the bottom and molding jeans with the fly down… Painting it blue, like it’s rising out of his pants?”

The old lady’s eyes widen. “You can do that?”

Using the paintbrush, I lightly dab the dark-brown vanilla around the ridges, giving the cake more dimension. “It would take a few hours.”

“Forget it, then. I need it for Donna’s shower now.” She carefully steps around me. “It’s absolutely thrilling! Hopefully it’ll loosen her up some.”

Tabs and I exchange a glance. “I’m glad you like it.”

“How much do I owe you?”

Tabby starts to speak, but I cut her off. “Two hundred.” I don’t miss my best friend’s glare, but I’m not going to charge an old lady full-price, even if she is annoying as hell half the time.

I also know the old biddies gossip about how much I charge for my cakes. They might call me a genius, but they won’t pay genius prices for something they think they can do at home.

“Two hundred dollars?” Her lust turns to shock.

“I’m sure you took up a collection,” Tabby snaps.

She still hasn’t gotten over Betty Pepper ratting her out for skinny-dipping in the Holiday Inn pool last year with Mayor Rhodes’s out of town nephew. It was a pretty tame stunt for Tabs… until we found out the kid was only seventeen.

In my friend’s defense, the boy had a tattoo, rode a Harley, and we all thought he was at least nineteen.

BP digs in her wallet and shows us a few twenties. “This is all I’ve got.”

“Make it a hundred and fifty, then,” I sigh.

“You can write a check,” Tabby adds, irritation in her tone.

The old lady is huffy, but she pulls out her checkbook and starts to write. I lift the foil-covered cardboard tray and place it in a waiting gift box on the opposite counter. Her next words stop my breath.

“Bucky can’t wait until your date next Friday.”

Tabby gives me a horrified, I smell sour-milk face, and I cringe. “Whaaat is this about?” she asks.

“Emberly is such a dear.” Betty pats my forearm. “Bucky said after that brat Cheryl Ann dumped him last week, you talked to him for an hour at the Tuna Tiki.”

“How could you stand it?” my roommate says. “And what were you doing at Tuna Tiki?”

“I wanted sushi,” I say.

Betty pushes on undeterred. “Then she agreed to have dinner with him.”

“You did not!” Tabby grabs my arm.

“It wasn’t… quite like that.” I step away, untying my apron and wiping my hands with it.

“He said you were. Are you not going to dinner with Bucky on Friday?” Betty cries.

“No. You are not going to dinner with Bucky on Friday,” Tabby says.

“Why would you say something like that, Tabitha? Just because my Bucky isn’t some pot-smoking, Harley Davidson riding—”

“I’ll have you know, Betty Pepper, I’ve only dated three guys who smoked pot—”

“You know what?” I shout before those two start throwing punches. “It’s just dinner. I’m glad to do it if it helps Bucky get over Cheryl… or whatever.”

“You are not glad to do it. Bucky Pepper is a—Ouch!”

I release her flesh from my sly pinch and pull the pin out of my dark hair, letting it fall down my back. “Thank you so much, Miss Betty.”

“It’s too bad you won’t be joining us for cake.” The old lady prances to the door, and I lean against the counter. The bell tinkles, and she’s gone.

Tabby turns, arms crossed to glare at me. “What. The fuck. Bucky Pepper smells like formaldehyde!”

“He’s a taxidermist.”

“He’s the shape of a coke bottle, and he’ll probably give you a stuffed squirrel!”

I can’t help a laugh. “It’s better than herpes.”

“Jesus, don’t even joke about sleeping with him.” Tabby does a full-body shiver. “His breath is like… like…”

I think a minute then it hits me. “Deviled eggs.” Nodding, I collect my ingredients and carry them to the shelves, where I arrange them neatly in order. “I just realized it smells like deviled eggs.”

“Good lord, Ember.” My friend lowers her gaze. “I cannot in good faith let you go out with that… that…”

Reaching out, I squeeze her arm. “So I go out with Bucky the stinky taxidermist. He gives me stuffed road-kill. It’s one night.”

“I heard he tried to grab Cheryl Ann’s cooch on their very first date. That’s why she ditched him. She should’ve slapped him into next week.” Tabby puts a hand on her hip and does her best Jane Russell glare. “What will you do if Bucky tries to grab you?”

“I’ll throw ice water in his face and go home.” Stepping forward I kiss her cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

“There’s no shame in pretending you don’t hear him knocking.”

“Goodnight, Tabs.”

She grumbles as she leaves, and I walk slowly to the back of the old store where stairs lead to my loft apartment above. After my aunt died, she left this old five and dime store to me. Tabby helped me sell or trash all the shelves and retail furnishings, and I’ve been scrubbing and painting ever since.

Weathered wood painted white makes up the walls of shelves where I keep my meager baking ingredients. Two vintage chandeliers, fake branches, and driftwood arranged in vases are the start of my interior design. One day I imagine having a garland of multi-colored spring roses like Peggy Porschen’s at the entrance.

“One day,” I say softly, dreaming of the lavish London bakery and the lady who owns it.

The only piece of furniture I’ve been able to buy is the heavy wooden table where I do all my mixing, kneading, arranging, decorating…

I kept my aunt’s register and checkout counter for front reception. Slowly, slowly I’m saving up to add a refrigerated case. Last month, I was finally able to buy a second oven so I can cook two cakes at once.

“Just keep swimming.” I push open the heavy door leading to the upstairs where Coco and I will live.

When Mr. Lockwood developed that old stretch of sand, all the tourists moved away from our little village down to the beachfront property. I hope my cakes lure them back here—at least to shop—and if they do, I’ll be a small-town hero pulling tourist dollars back into Our Town.

I walk over to my small table and pick up the photo of me on the beach, looking up, holding my little girl. “That’s the plan, Coco Bean,” I whisper.

I’ll have my daughter and my cake shop, and that’s all I need. One foot in front of the other, and before I know it, my dreams coming true.

* * *