“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my entire life!” Angie said. “The cake is just…exquisite.”
I beamed. “I’m so glad you like it.”
“Like it? I love it.” She quickly embraced me. “It’s perfect, Brooklyn. Thank you.”
I wasn’t going to lie—I was pretty impressed with myself. I’d gone all out, deciding that Angie and Horace deserved the best cake that I could make. Three days after meeting them, I had a masterpiece.
It was a six-tier black matte wedding cake with gold leaf and black and gold sugar skulls up the side. The cake topper was made of two sugar skeletons, one in a top hat and the other in a white lace dress.
“It’s like the Corpse Bride had a cake baby with Beetlejuice,” someone said.
I turned away from the dessert table and met a pair of brown eyes and a smile full of trouble. “I was going for gothic chic.”
“You were successful.” The guy wore a white button-down shirt, a black tie and a coat, but it didn’t detract from his broad shoulders. “Hi. I’m Roman.”
He held out his hand for me to take.
“Brooklyn.”
“Nice to meet you, Brooklyn.”
“Are you hitting on the baking goddess?” a young woman asked as she walked toward the dessert table.
Roman’s brown eyes twinkled, and he smiled slightly. “Yeah, I was trying to. But you interrupted, you little rug rat.”
He reached out to grab the young woman around the shoulders and pulled her into his body.
She laughed. “Please don’t mess up my hair. It took forever for me to get it this way.”
“Brooklyn, meet my sister, Brielle. She has no filter and is generally a pain in the ass.”
I grinned. “Ah, then I’m going to get along great with her.”
Brielle laughed. “I like you. Jazz was right, wasn’t she?”
Roman smiled. “Yeah, she was right. Where is Jazz, anyway?”
“She went into the house to make a phone call.” Brielle shrugged out from underneath Roman’s arm. “When can I have a piece of the cake?”
“When Mom and Dad cut it,” Roman said.
“They won’t notice a skull missing, will they?” Brielle asked, her blue eyes shining with the quintessential younger-sister plea.
“The skulls aren’t edible,” Roman said. “They’re just for decoration.”
“You’re a baker now, are you?” I asked, putting my hands to my hips.
Roman raised his brows. “They’re edible?”
I nodded. “Made of sugar.”
Brielle reached out to grab one and Roman smacked her hand. “What are you? Five?”
She scrunched her nose.
“I saw that,” another man stated as he approached. He looked very similar to Roman, but instead of brown eyes, they were blue like Brielle’s. He tugged on one of Brielle’s red curls. “Are you misbehaving, urchin?”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.
“Fine, I’ll call you troublemaker instead.”
“That’s better.” She sighed. “Brooklyn, this is Virgil, my brother.”
“Older brother,” Virgil said with a wink.
“Nice to meet you.” My head was spinning from all the introductions. Jazz and I had set up an hour before the party guests had begun to arrive, and from the moment they started showing up I’d been bombarded with questions and conversation. But Jazz had been right. It was excellent word of mouth, and I was having fun.
The heat lamps around the perimeter of the huge white tent provided enough warmth to take the chill out of the late winter air. Guests floated along, holding cocktails and taking food from passing servers.
“Where’s Homer?” Brielle asked, looking around, a mar frowning her face.
“Probably skipping rocks in the pond,” Roman quipped.
“Our other brother,” Virgil explained. “He’s not as charming as me. Or as nice.”
“Stoic is a better word for Homer,” Roman said.
“You mean grumpy,” Brielle said with a shrug. “I’ll go find him.” She left the sanctuary of the tent and headed off in the direction of the two-story house.
Angie and Horace might’ve come from a meager background, but it was clear they’d built something beautiful together. A life. A family. Now they were celebrating a monumental anniversary.
For some reason I was about to become incredibly weepy, even though I wasn’t at all sentimental.
“You look like you need a drink,” Virgil said.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“You sure?” he asked.
I nodded.
“All right, then.” He looked at Roman. “We better find Mom and Dad. They’ll want to do speeches soon.”
“I need a bourbon if I have to speak publicly.”
Virgil slapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit.”
“Bye, Brooklyn,” Roman said with a wave.
The two brothers wandered off toward the bar, which was on the other side of the tent.
“What did I miss?” Jazz asked, sidling up next to me.
I looked at her. She was straightening the collar of her white button-down, and then she brushed a hand over her dark hair. We’d both dressed like cater waiters even though we weren’t.
“I just met three of the four Jackson siblings.”
“Oh, wait until you meet Homer.”
“Homer? How did you—”
Jazz’s face suddenly flushed with color, and she cleared her throat. “So, you met Brielle?”
“Yeah.” I cocked my head to the side and stared at her. “You look—are you okay?”
“What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” She pasted a smile on her face. “Are people obsessing over the cake?”
“They are. One of Angie’s friends has even asked if I do baby showers. Her daughter is pregnant.”
“What did you say?”
“I said yes, of course.” I shook my head. “I’d be a real idiot to turn down work that is landing in my lap, right?”
“Right. We’re going to have to figure out a better way to transport cakes than in your rinky-dink car,” she said.
“No wonder you and Brielle are tight.”
“We both say whatever’s on our minds?”
“Yup.”
My smile slipped as Jazz’s spine snapped straight. Her gaze locked on something past me. I turned and saw a tall man with blond hair. He towered over everyone, and he didn’t blend in at all. A fierce scowl painted his face, even as he stopped at Angie’s side. She smiled up at him and hugged him. He looked like he merely tolerated her touch.
“Who’s that?” I asked in confusion.
“That’s Homer,” Jazz said slowly.
I studied Homer, who appeared completely uncomfortable around his family. Brielle bounded to him and wrapped her arms around him. He stiffened but didn’t pull away.
“What’s his deal?” I asked.
She didn’t pretend like she didn’t understand my question. “He’s always been like that. Even years ago when I met him. That’s just how he is. Quiet. Separated from the rest of us.” She paused. “He’s an insanely talented tattoo artist though.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh my God. You don’t know who they are.”
“Who, who are?”
“The Jacksons. Homer, Virgil, and Roman all own Three Kings.”
I raised my brows. “That tattoo parlor in Waco? Seriously?”
“Seriously. Horace started it, but he retired several years ago. Now he owns an auto garage, but that’s mostly so he can tinker with engines. The three brothers run the tattoo shop. It’s the best in all of Waco. Maybe even the whole state of Texas.”
“You didn’t think to tell me that when I met with Horace and Angie? Tattoo artists are some of the most talented people on the planet. What if I’d done something lame with the cake?”
“I didn’t think it was important. Besides, you made them a masterpiece and you did it with your gut instinct.” She sighed.
“What’s the sigh for?” I demanded.
Someone clinked a knife against a champagne flute, signaling everyone to be quiet.
She pressed a finger to her lips. “The speeches are starting.”
It was a little past ten when the party began to wind down. The bar was still open, but the bartenders were discreetly cleaning and packing up. The food trays had stopped being passed around hours ago. Guests started to leave, taking home leftover slices of wedding cake.
“There’s no way we can eat it all!” Angie exclaimed when people tried to refuse. “I’ll be eating this cake for breakfast for the entire week!”
Horace wrapped an arm around his wife, who was swaying.
“Sorry, I’ve had a lot of champagne.” She grinned up at him.
The gaze he gave her was full of love and amusement. “Never apologize.”
She collapsed against him.
“That’s the ball game,” Virgil said. “It’s time to put Mom to bed.”
“You kids make sure everything gets taken care of, yeah?” Horace asked.
“I will,” Roman announced.
“Ah, ever the responsible eldest child,” Virgil quipped.
I snorted out a laugh. “And judging by your carefree attitude, I assume you’re somewhere lower on the sibling totem pole.”
“Roman is the oldest, followed by Homer, then me, then Brielle,” he explained.
Homer had disappeared sometime after the speeches. Brielle had spent most of her time on the dance floor. Virgil and Roman had mingled with guests, talking and laughing.
“Come on,” Horace said. “Let’s get you up to the house.”
“Mmhmm.” Angie snuggled against her husband, her eyes closing.
“Brooklyn,” Horace said. “Thank you.”
I beamed. “My pleasure.”
Horace and Angie drifted away from the party, out of sight.
“Excuse me a minute,” Roman said and walked across the floor to the bartenders.
Jazz was in the middle of the dance floor with Brielle, and the two of them were laughing like lunatics. I didn’t have the heart to ask her to stop and help me clean up when all it really entailed was putting slices of cake into aluminum travel containers.
“So, you’re off the clock. Can I get you a drink?” Virgil asked.
“An ice water would be awesome,” I admitted.
“Say no more.” He grinned and went in the direction of the bar.
An Irish jig filtered through the speakers. Brielle took off her heels and tossed them aside and said something to Jazz who adamantly shook her head. Brielle was emphatic and grabbed Jazz’s arm, all but dragging her farther onto the dance floor.
With a sigh, Jazz tilted her head and relented. A moment later, the two of them were Irish step dancing in tandem. I paused what I was doing to watch them.
Virgil returned with my cup of water which he handed to me. “Oh man, not this again.”
“Huh?”
Virgil rolled his eyes. “When they were kids, they were obsessed with Michael Flatley and Irish step dancing. Brielle begged Mom and Dad for lessons. She was relentless. The hours of practicing. The sound of Irish music blaring through the house.” He mock shuddered and then grinned. “She’s pretty good though, right?”
“Jazz is good too,” I pointed out.
“Yeah. Brielle taught her. Jazz couldn’t—” He abruptly stopped talking and glanced at me.
“Couldn’t afford it,” I finished for him. “I know. I know about her situation.”
Virgil relaxed. “Prideful, that one.”
“Stubborn, too.”
“I like that about her.”
I smiled. “Me too.”
Roman returned to the dessert table with a white envelope in hand. He gave it to me. “I hope you don’t mind that it’s in cash.”
“Not at all,” I assured him. “Thanks.” I stuck the envelope into the leather pouch around my waist.
“You don’t want to count it?” he asked in amusement.
“Nah. Jazz vouched for me with your parents. I’m going to assume it goes the other way.”
The Irish song came to an end, and Jazz and Brielle bounded off the dance floor toward me. Jazz grabbed the glass of ice water resting on the table and gulped it.
“Hey,” I said with a laugh. “That was mine.”
She lowered the empty cup. “Sorry, I was thirsty.”
“From busting an Irish move?” I teased. “You guys are really good.”
“She’s better at it than I am. I’ll help you clean up,” Jazz said. “And then we can get out of here.”