“Another drink, Jazz?” Imogene asked.
Jazz shook her head. “I’m good. The food was delicious.”
Imogene smiled. “I’m so glad you liked it. Brooklyn?”
“I’m stuffed,” I admitted. “Let’s start talking about your wedding.”
Imogene nodded. “I’d never ask you to recreate someone else’s vision, so I think we need to start from scratch.”
“Tell me the theme and mood of the wedding.”
“Rose gold and cherry blossoms,” she said. She pulled out her phone and showed us pictures of the china and decor she had picked out.
“That’s beautiful,” Jazz breathed.
Imogene nodded. “I think so. We’re expecting five hundred guests, and they’re staying in town from Friday to Sunday. Most will be at hotels in the area, but the VIPs will stay here.”
“Five hundred people?” Jazz repeated.
Imogene blinked. “My mother wanted seven hundred and fifty guests, but I said no.”
“Right,” Jazz said. “Sure.”
“Friday night we have a sit-down rehearsal dinner, and then the wedding on Saturday, and then a Sunday brunch.” She looked at me expectantly.
“We can handle it,” I assured her, roughly trying to calculate the extra people I would have to hire to ensure we got it all done.
Imogene’s shoulders relaxed in a near-universal sign of relief.
“And just off the top of my head,” I said. “For the rehearsal dinner, I’m thinking crème brûlée cheesecake.”
“Done and done,” Imogene agreed.
I nodded. “And for the Sunday brunch, we’ll want to go light. Maybe something a bit different…a little variety. A lemon pudding pound cake, a banana caramel pudding, and a s’mores pudding.”
Imogene’s eyes glazed over. “Those sound delicious.”
I pulled out my sketchbook and flipped open to a blank page. “This is just a rough idea of what I’m thinking about for the cake. The decor is so elegant, I think that keeping the cake simple yet classy is the way to do it. Don’t want to compete and wind up clashing.” I dug through my purse for a pencil and then began to sketch, not bothered by the watchful pairs of eyes. A few minutes later, I turned the sketchbook to Imogene.
“You think an embossed cake is simple?” she asked. “It’s genius.”
“I’ll use real cherry blossom as accents on the cake,” I added.
“Yes, approved, completely.” Imogene relaxed. “Wow, for the first time in three days, I can take a deep breath and not feel like I have to pop anti-anxiety medication.”
“I’m glad we can do this for you,” I said, meaning it. “One question for you…”
“Shoot.”
“Why are you handling all of this? Isn’t this the job of your wedding planner? I mean, no offense, but normally people with your kind of money have a wedding planner,” I said.
She smiled. “I used to be a wedding planner, and I knew no one would be able to plan my own wedding better than me. Ergo…”
“Ergo, you’re a control freak,” Jazz said with amusement. “Just like Brooklyn.”
“Hey,” I mock-whined.
Jazz raised her brows. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” I snorted. “Okay.”
“It’s why we get along so well.” Imogene winked. “Okay, okay. Now that that’s all sorted, I want to hear about you.”
“Me?” I asked. “What about me?”
“You’re pregnant.”
“I am,” I said with a grin.
“Well, what’s the nursery look like? Are you going to find out the sex? Are you—”
“Okay, slow your roll.” I laughed.
“Her life is kinda nuts,” Jazz said.
Imogene poured herself another mimosa. “Okay, now you have to spill the beans. On everything!”
“Well, I don’t know how she did it, but that woman now knows everything about me,” I said to Jazz when we finally climbed into my car.
“She’s like a psychologist combined with a hair stylist. She has a way of making you talk,” Jazz said.
“Do you think it was a bad idea getting that personal? She’s a client, after all.” I started the car and then drove down the driveway, away from the house.
“Nah, she’s good people.” Jazz settled back in her seat for the forty-five-minute drive back to Waco. “Okay, now that we’re alone, I feel like it’s only safe to tell you that I’m panicking a little at the scale of this thing.”
“I’ve got it,” I assured her. “I worked for a large, opulent hotel. Remember? All we need is a little help, which we’re going to hire out.”
“But our kitchen—”
“Is big enough to bake in stages,” I said.
“Five. Hundred. Guests.”
“No big deal. And remember, our storefront is closed, so we have the space for racks. We can stage everything we cook in the front of the bakery and transport everything using the van and our cars.”
“Three weeks. The timing has to be perfect. Everything has to stay fresh and—”
“Jazz, we’ve already planned the menu. She’s not a bridezilla. We’ve got this.”
“You’re so calm, I don’t even—you’re right. We’ve got this.”
“Once more, with feeling,” I said with a huge grin. “Imogene’s wedding is going to solve all of our problems. It will get our name out there. It will give us enough money to breathe.”
And hopefully keep Kurt Antol at bay. He wouldn’t be able to manipulate me into selling the building if I had enough money to pay off the loan against it.
Jazz pulled out her phone. “Well, it has begun, my friend. It has begun.”
“What has?”
“Imogene tagged the bakery on Instagram. Prepare for success, Brooklyn.”
A sigh of relief escaped me. “I can’t wait.”
After dropping Jazz off, I drove home. Slash’s bike wasn’t out front, so I knew he was out and about. I texted him to let him know I was back.
I walked into the house and noticed the lack of personal touches, and I was already thinking of the rental as temporary.
“Fuck,” I muttered when I realized I wanted a house with Slash that was truly ours. A house where we could paint the walls whatever colors we wanted, design a nursery, a big kitchen three times the space of what I had now. Something we could be proud of that we didn’t rent and didn’t have to move out of.
Maybe the idea of a big house wasn’t such a terrible idea. Filled with kids, laughter, and love.
There would be plenty of time for all that later. For now I needed to focus on work. I set my purse down and kicked off my shoes. I put on the tea kettle to boil and then I opened my laptop.
My email notifications had gone nuts.
Email after email poured in for catering jobs.
I called Jazz.
“Hello?”
“You know that scene in Bruce Almighty when he gets to be God, and he opens his Yahoo mail account and it’s just a deluge of emails? Yeah, that’s me right now,” I said without greeting. “That tag on social has started an onslaught of potential business.”
“Yeah, I’ve already gotten some private messages through our Instagram account. I told them to fill out the website form, but this is crazy.”
“We’re not going to be able to take all these,” I said. “Not with Imogene’s wedding and the scale of what’s required to make sure it goes off without a hitch.”
“No, we’re not. Are we even going to be able to sleep?” she asked.
“Sleep’s not even the issue. There’s only one of me, Jazz. I mean, you’re amazing, but we’re going to need to hire at least a couple of trained patisserie chefs.”
“So, we hire help a little sooner than we planned.”
I fell silent.
She sighed. “Tight on funds again?”
“Still. Tight on funds still. I hate this. I’m tired of playing catch up.”
So many businesses failed because they didn’t have the cash flow to grow. No matter how much I tried not to think about the future, it was always popping up in my present. I would have to go on maternity leave, and then what? Let the business I grew with Jazz fail because I wasn’t at the helm running the show? I realized I was going to have to hire someone to replace me, even in the interim. Someone who could do what I did without being watched or trained from scratch.
“I have an idea,” Jazz said.
“I’m not asking Slash. That’s too much.
“I wasn’t going to suggest that.”
“Oh, then what were you going to say?”
“We hire Brielle.”
“Brielle isn’t a patisserie chef,” I pointed out.
“No. She’s definitely not a patisserie chef. But we need help organizing and scheduling with all this new business. Brielle is great at that. She’s worked at her brothers’ tattoo shop scheduling their appointments. Not to mention, she’s got some money saved. She could be a cash investor, you know?”
“Is this how it’s done?” I asked. “We just keep flying on whims and hope for the best?”
“You got any better ideas?”
“No.”
“Besides, three is better than one. And isn’t it better to do business with friends—people you can trust?”
“Well, actually, no—”
“Don’t give me that. You need help. You’re not going to make this alone.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“It will prevent you from having to ask Slash, who we both know would give you the money.”
“I know he would. But he’s done so much already. This is my thing. Our thing.” I paused. “Okay, ask her.”
“Don’t need to.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s right here with me. Say hello, Brielle.”
“Hello, Brielle,” Brielle parroted.
“Sneaky, sneaky,” I said. “If you want in, you’re in. But we’re putting this all down on paper so it’s all clear and by the book. That way there’s no confusion and everyone stays friends.”
“This is your baby,” Brielle said. “I just want to be able to draw in frosting, help organize, and plug holes where you need it.”
“You sure you don’t want to take your money and go abroad?” I asked. “Some random hot Italian guy might be a lot more fun than working hard to keep a business going…”
“Nope. This sounds infinitely more exciting—and it means I can quit working at Three Kings with my brothers.”
“I guess I’m not the only one who wants to prove myself to the world, huh?” I asked with a chuckle. I got up and turned off the stove.
“I don’t have anything to prove to the world. I just have a few things to prove to the Jackson clan. They all keep trying to protect me and shelter me because I’m the baby. Fuck that. I’m in, Brooklyn. I’m so in.”
“Babe?”
With a yawn, I slowly opened my eyes.
“Shit, I woke you up,” he said, coming fully into the bedroom.
“It’s okay,” I said drowsily, stretching my arms over my head.
Slash sat on the edge of the bed and leaned down to brush his lips against mine. “How long have you been conked out?”
“What time is it?” I asked.
“A little after four.”
“About two hours,” I admitted.
“I texted and didn’t get a reply.”
“I was probably asleep.”
“Probably. How’d your thing go?”
“Fine.” I briefly told him about Imogene and the insane undertaking.
“That sounds like a whole fucking mess,” Slash groused. “Five hundred guests and a big…”
“Hoopla?” I supplied with a smile.
Slash’s hand rested on my belly. “Yeah. A hoopla if I ever heard one.”
“How cliché. A man who doesn’t believe in marriage,” I teased.
“I didn’t say anything about marriage,” he pointed out. “I take issue with a big fancy wedding.”
“Not the wedding type?” I asked, slowly sitting up.
“A small wedding might not be so bad. Just close friends—family. Something casual, with good food and loud music.”
I smiled at him and then leaned over and placed my head in the cradle where his neck met his shoulder. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound so bad. When the time is right.”
He let out a low chuckle as his hands skated up the back of my shirt. “You hungry? Boxer and Linden wanted to grab some food. How do you feel about fried chicken?”
“My mouth started watering the moment you said ‘fried’.”
“So that’s a yes.”
“Yes, that’s a yes.”
“I’ll text Boxer that we’re about to head out.”
I climbed out of bed and went to the dresser. I pulled out a pair of dark jeans and slid them on, only I wasn’t able to button them.
With a sigh, I turned.
Slash’s head was bent, and his fingers were flying across his phone screen. When he looked up, he stilled. “Problem?”
“You could say that.” I lifted my shirt to reveal the fact that I couldn’t fit into my pants.
“Come here,” he said softly, setting his phone aside.
I walked to him and when I was within reach, he wrapped his arms around me and pressed his head to my belly.
And suddenly, it didn’t matter that I couldn’t button my favorite pair of jeans. Because Slash found me beautiful. Because my body was changing from carrying our child.
I sank my fingers into his hair. “How do you make everything better with just your touch?”
He looked up at me and smiled. “I was gonna ask you the same thing.” Slash released me and reached for his phone. “Take off your pants. We’re going to be late.”