ten

Jack and Graham had sketched out and discarded so many options for the cupcake designs that by the time the test run actually rolled around, Jack couldn’t remember what they’d finally decided to go with. When she flipped on the lights in the kitchen the following week, her legs went weak. Jack had to hold onto the edge of the worktable to keep herself upright.

Graham had pulled out all the stops.

The cupcakes covered the worktable. Instead of six distinct designs, they were arranged as one cohesive image. Bike spokes and chains blurred along the bottom with thin circles of tires and legs of hunched-over riders. Storefronts and Darlington oaks had been done in more subtle colors and styles, as if fading into the background behind the whiz of motion from the bicycles. Blues and purples and grays swirled on top to form the night sky with a van Gogh–style full moon—complete with concentric circles in yellow and white rippling away from it.

It was almost impossible to tell where one cupcake ended and the next began. No individual one held a complete scene. Separately they would resemble puzzle pieces with disjointed images and colors that only made sense when pieced together.

She stood, heart thudding a frantic pace in her chest, studying the minute details of the design. It was ten times more artistic than anything she’d seen from Graham before. But working with Harper over the past few weeks had paid off. The icing strokes appeared messy, but had a studied, deliberate feel. Colors were used both strategically and haphazardly to create a whimsical yet lifelike interpretation.

Though it violated the specific instruction from the client, it was the most beautiful thing to ever come out of Crumbs. And Jack dared anyone to say otherwise.

She was in the office uploading the thirty or so photos she’d taken to her computer when Graham tromped through the back door. She jolted when he tugged on her ponytail.

“What’d you do with the cupcakes?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“The cupcakes? You know, small, tan-colored puffs. We sell them here.”

“They’re right where you left them,” she said. “And they’re stunning, Graham. I didn’t know you could do that to them.”

He stared at her as if a second head had sprouted on her neck without her noticing. His eyebrows arched in perfect half circles. “No, they’re not. The only thing there is one of Harper’s paintings.”

“Stop messing with me. It’s not a painting. And it’s not Harper’s.”

“Not your sister’s my ass. It looks like everything I’ve ever seen her do. Don’t get me wrong, it’s pretty fantastic, but it’s in my way.”

The anxiety returned, hitting her full force. She sucked in one breath before her lungs seized. The pain of air clogging in her chest roared in her head like static. Jack reached out and grabbed a handful of his shirt. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. Please, God, tell me she didn’t.”

Recognition bloomed on his face as he looked from the cupcakes to Jack and back again. “I think she did,” he said. He looked sick. His eyes were wide, his mouth cracked to let air through.

Neither said anything as the seconds ticked by. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Jack couldn’t look at the cupcakes without wanting to shove them all off the table into the garbage. It would be professional suicide to show a client something they could not deliver.

“I have to call Melanie and tell her we need to reschedule. We can’t show her these,” she said. Her voice was rough, shaky. She swallowed hard a few times to ease the throbbing ache in her throat and blinked back tears that burned her eyes.

“But you loved them a few minutes ago.”

“That’s when I thought you’d done it. It’s one thing for you to make a design change, but it’s a whole other story when someone else messes with what the customer is expecting. How am I supposed to explain this?”

“Calm down, Jack. What we’re giving the customer is ten times better than anything I could come up with. It was way out of line, but what Harper did is amazing. There’s no denying that. As for Melanie, we’ll just tell her that it’ll add even more clout to the whole event if they could promote that a celebrated local artist created the design. She’ll love it.”

“That’s not the point. Harper needs to—”

Graham put a restraining hand on her arm. “No, right now, that is the point. Making sure the customer is beyond thrilled is all you need to think about. We can’t change it. And even if we could fix it, I wouldn’t. We’ll deal with your sister later.”

She stalked around the kitchen. Her arms were so tense, she started to lose feeling in them. She uncrossed them and clenched and unclenched her fists. Her hands tingled as blood started to circulate again.

At least Harper had had enough sense to make the collage moveable. She had constructed it on a large piece of paint-splattered plywood.

With Jack on one side and Graham on the other, they started the trek to the freezer. Their steps were cautious, steady. They maneuvered through the door like slugs, sliding across the floor a fraction of a millimeter at a time. Once they cleared it, they only had another yard to go. As soon as the first corner of the board could be slipped onto the shelf, they repositioned themselves to handle the shift in weight.

She wiped her sweaty palms on the thighs of her jeans. He huffed out a breath. In the cold air, the exhaled breath hung in the air between them as a translucent white cloud before dispersing.

“There’s a reason we make cupcakes and not real cakes,” he said.

“I like cupcakes,” she said.

“They’re easily portable,” he clarified. “Can you imagine going through that every time we had an order? At least then I might finally get your wimpy little arms into shape.”

Jack knew he was trying to diffuse her anger, but it didn’t stop her from taking the bait. “My arms are not wimpy.”

Graham reached out and encircled her left bicep with one hand. His middle finger and thumb had less than a half inch between them from tip to tip.

His grip was light on her skin, but she couldn’t move. Her heart raced from the electricity in the simple contact. She wondered what, if anything, he felt. When she met his eyes, the playfulness was gone.

They stood less than a foot from each other, neither leaning in or pulling away, and simply stared. She concentrated on each breath. In, out, in out. The tart scent of lime hanging in the air made her mouth water. If he didn’t move soon she was going to do something she’d regret.

As if he’d read her mind, his fingers released their hold, and he stepped back.

She tried to feel relieved, but the disappointment built in her chest until she was forced to expel it in one long, hot breath.

“Steamy,” Harper said from across the room. She fanned herself as Graham followed Jack out of the cooler and shut the door behind them.

Jack hadn’t heard her come down. Her head was still a little foggy. It took a moment for the anger to push through. “What in the hell went through your mind, Harper?” she shouted. When her sister smirked, she said, “I’m serious. Did you just see them there and think ‘Oh, I know how to screw with Jaclyn today. This’ll really get her’? We could lose the entire job—thousands of dollars between the trial and the real event—if Melanie’s not happy.”

“Did you see them? She’ll be delirious.”

The stubborn defiance in Harper’s tone drummed in her head. Jack alternated between wanting to throw something and trying not to cry. She took a deep breath to force herself to calm, at least a little. “That is so not the point. You can’t just come in here and start messing with my business because you feel like it.”

“I wanted to help. I thought I could make them better. What she wanted was so boring and drab. She would’ve been disappointed. Now she won’t be,” Harper shot back.

“I’m not having this argument with you. You were in the wrong, no matter the outcome. End of story.” Jack picked up dirty pans and piping bags and dropped them in the sink with a crashing thud.

Graham walked in and, ignoring them, went to inspect his pans. He turned on the tap, letting the steaming water fill the basin with a soft, gurgling rush.

“You thought my cupcakes were good, didn’t you Graham?” Harper implored.

“They’re amazing.”

“Told you,” she said to Jack.

The tone was so childish Jack was surprised Harper didn’t stick her tongue out. If she had, Jack would have been tempted to yank it out. “Are you seriously taking her side?” she asked Graham.

“We’re all on the same side, Jack. You know she did an amazing job. The way she did it maybe wasn’t the best, but I could never do anything like that. And if you want the shop to move to the next level, we’re going to need something like that.”

Jack turned to him, but the words piled up so fast in her head, she couldn’t decide what to say to him. In the end, she just looked away. The sidewalks teemed with people carrying canvas shopping bags and walking dogs no larger than rats.

He touched her back, but she shrugged him off.

Gripping her sister’s arm, she maneuvered Harper out front and toward the stairs. Pushing her from behind, Jack forced her up and through the apartment door. They broke free from the narrow confines of the staircase like water being expelled from a geyser.

Once inside the cluttered room, there was little space to walk. Even less to sit. Canvases laid siege to the floor, covered the kitchen counter, and propped against the walls in varying stages of completion. Some bore the replications of the whimsical handpainted llama statues that littered downtown. Others captured the essence of the city through buildings and architectural landmarks.

The colors were blindingly bright and vibrated with life. They mimicked the tones Harper had used on the cupcakes. The greens, blues, purples, and oranges of the oil colors and acrylics were emphasized by scratchy pen and ink outlines in neons, reds, yellows, and rich blacks.

One painting in particular caught Jack’s attention. The storefront of Crumbs was unmistakable. Harper had duplicated the logo on the awning with a precision Jack had never seen before in her sister’s work. The bricks were uneven, sloppy even, but looked all the more realistic because of the imperfection. Graham’s bike was parked out front. As she reached for it, her sister snatched it away.

“When did you get so damn nosey?” Harper asked. She set the canvas facedown on a pile far enough away that Jack couldn’t get to it.

“Since you quit telling me things.”

“I’ve never told you things.”

“You used to. Back before you knew what sarcasm or hair dye were.”

“What, like in utero?”

“Why do you hate me?” Jack asked. She sat stiffly on the hand-me-down couch while Harper lowered to the bed.

“Why do you hate me?” Harper countered.

Her flippant attitude and bored stare were better suited for a sixteen-year-old than a woman on the verge of thirty. And that was the root of the problem. Harper had never wanted to grow up. To take life seriously.

“I may not understand you, but I could never hate you, Harper. You’re my sister.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it. Always telling me what I’m doing wrong, what I could’ve done better, faster, bigger, brighter. Nothing’s ever good enough for you.”

“I only do it because—”

“Don’t say because you love me.” Harper held up a hand in protest. “That’s too Lifetime movie, even for you.”

“Fine,” Jack huffed. The smell of turpentine and paint was suffocating. Her head pulsed. She massaged her temples with one hand.

“Why can’t you ever be happy with me as I am?” Harper asked after a moment.

“You have all this potential just sitting in there, screaming to get out. And you just ignore it. I could never understand that.”

“What’s not to understand? Hutton’s the popular one, you’re the go-getter with a freakin’ magical ability. I couldn’t compete, so I quit trying and did what I was good at.” She wasn’t mad. If anything, she sounded bored. Like she’d been having the conversation in her head for years.

Jack sat up when her sister slouched farther into the voluminous pillows and covers on the bed. After a moment, she was completely hidden from view except for one phantom leg dangling off the side. It swung limply. Jack stood to ensure she had Harper’s attention.

“Not trying is not something you want to be good at,” Jack scolded.

“I meant my art,” Harper groaned from underneath a puff of white. “That’s what I’m good at. But it doesn’t surprise me that you wouldn’t even recognize that. Hell, you’ve never even been to one of my shows.” A flicker of hurt leeched out with the cynicism. It was a slow drip that left alone could fill the room and drown them both.

She opened her mouth to respond, and not knowing what to say, closed it again without uttering a sound. Staring at her sister, she wondered how it was her fault. Coming up with nothing, Jack finally managed, “I would have come, if you’d ever told me when they were.” She watched the lump on the bed that was her sister. It remained lifeless. Not even a twinge of movement.

Jack thought she heard her name as the door closed. She didn’t look back.

Downstairs the air was thick, suffocating. She pushed through it one sluggish step at a time.

Graham looked up when she walked into the kitchen. His hair fell into his eyes. He swiped at it with the back of his hand and smeared red icing across his forehead.

She suppressed the urge to wipe it away.

“I need you to watch the front for a while,” she said.

“You okay?” Graham held her in place with a hand on her arm. His touch was hot and sticky.

She shook him off. “I’ll see you later.”

She grabbed her purse from the office on her way out. The door slammed with a clang behind her. The dark clouds that had been threatening all morning ripped open, dumping mutinous drops from the sky. The cold rain splattered against her face and soaked her shirt as she ran to the car. Goose bumps erupted on her arms and legs.

Cranking on the heater, she let the car idle while she pulled herself together. It had been bad enough that Harper refused to take responsibility for her screw-up. But for Graham not to back her up on it—that was a first. They were partners. They were supposed to trust each other and make decisions together.

What does it say about our relationship if we see this so differently?

When her hands shook on the wheel, she tightened her grip. She pushed it out of her mind and concentrated on the swish, swish of the windshield wipers. When the question tried to peck its way in, she cranked up the music.

By the time she reached her parents’ house, she could no longer hear the rain pelting the windshield. It was a miserable drizzle that tickled her face as she jogged up the walk. She wiped off the thin layer of wet with the back of her hand.

“Mama?” she called out after letting herself in. She followed the muffled response to the kitchen. “What’re you doing?”

Charlotte was wrist-deep in a mixing bowl. She looked up, surprised. “I’m testing out a new dressing recipe for Aria. She had a couple and wasn’t sure which was better so I offered to give them a try. What are you doing?”

“Trying not to kill your youngest child.” She moved beside her mom and offered her hands to the cause. The cold mass of crumbs and raw eggs squished between her fingers, oozed and stuck to her hands like damp dirt. She suppressed a shiver.

“Whatever she did, I’m sure it’s not worth becoming a felon over.”

“All right, ‘kill’ is a strong word. Maybe just maim her then. Or seriously disfigure,” she conceded. Her mom rolled her eyes. “She decorated all of the Twilight cupcakes.”

“I take it that she didn’t ask permission first?”

“Of course not. She’s Harper.”

Jack squeezed the stuffing mixture into a tight wad then broke it all up again with sharp jabs of her fingers. She shifted the bowl away a few inches to keep from kneading it too much in her frustration and drying it out.

“I’m sorry, honey. You know she wouldn’t have ruined them on purpose,” Charlotte said.

“That’s part of the problem—she didn’t ruin them. She actually did an amazing job. But she shouldn’t have done it without asking. And when I tried to tell her that, Graham took her side. Tried to tell me I was overreacting. He acted like I should be thanking her for going behind my back and making decisions about my business.”

“Oh,” her mom said. The word was heavy, deliberate. It stretched between them like warm taffy.

“What ‘oh’?”

“Are you sure you aren’t here so you don’t maim or disfigure Graham?”

Jack went to the sink and let the water run hot before scrubbing the caked-on crumbs from her hands. She concentrated on the bubbly lather. It smelled crisp, refreshing. Just cleanser and antibacterial agents, not the fruity or herbal soaps that lined the grocery store aisles.

“I just don’t get it, Mama. Why isn’t he mad at her?”

“Jaclyn, honey, I’ve only seen that boy get angry once in the years and years that I’ve known him. It’s just not in him.”

Jack had known him just as long as her mom and couldn’t remember seeing him more than slightly upset. And even then, that was only a handful of times. “What was he mad about?” she asked.

“Oh, who knows. He and your brother got into it one afternoon. They were yelling like all get-out and throwing punches, rolling on the ground in the yard like a couple of five-year-olds. When I went out to break them up, Graham apologized to me and got in his car without a word to Hutton. I didn’t see him around again for a few months. But when he came back they were fine again.” Charlotte waved it away with a swipe of her hand.

Turning her attention back to her daughter she said, “Don’t be too hard on him. Your sister either, for that matter. You and Graham need to figure out what’s going to be best for Crumbs. If Harper’s a part of that, wonderful. If not, then set the ground rules and be firm with her. If Graham doesn’t back you up, send him to me. I’ll set him straight. For now, try to let it go. Don’t let it ruin your day.”

“I don’t think I’m quite there yet.”

“That’s all right. I could use the extra hands to make the other two recipes. And I’m sure Aria would love your opinion. Now, let’s pop this one in the oven and get started on the next.”

“Thanks.” Jack pressed a kiss to her mom’s cheek.

***

“Let’s get this over with,” Jack said. She didn’t look at Graham; instead, she kept her eyes focused on Melanie as she strutted up the sidewalk and into the shop. A warm rush of cotton candy followed her inside and made Jack’s jaw hurt with the sweetness.

Melanie scanned the display case and counter. Her smile faltered, just a hint of a pout that made her red lips look even fuller. “I’m not too early, am I?”

“No, not at all,” Jack said. “We’ve got it set up in the kitchen. C’mon back.” She led the way and concentrated on the tap, tap, tap of Melanie’s heels on the wood. Her heartbeat pulsed in her throat.

Melanie seemed out of place in a navy suit, diamonds and three-inch heels surrounded by the rumbling machines. Her reflection sparkled off the shiny surfaces and bounced around the room. Her shriek of excitement could’ve been heard three blocks away.

Jack sent a mental apology to her neighbors. She caught the words stunning and overwhelmed before her mind refocused, struggled to make sense of the unintelligible words bubbling from Melanie.

Melanie leaned over the cupcakes, inspecting them one at a time. “I just don’t know how you did it. I mean, even looking at them, I can barely tell where one ends and the next one starts.”

“I’m glad you like them,” Jack managed. Relief washed through her, making her muscles soft and pliable. With one hand on the counter, she kept herself from swaying.

“We had a local artist come up with the final design,” Graham added. He stood opposite Jack, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “I know it’s not what you asked for, but—”

“The only ‘but’ I have is that I’m not paying more than what you quoted me just because you commissioned an artist and made something entirely more spectacular than I ever dreamed.”

“We wouldn’t expect you to,” Jack said.

“Fantastic. Do you think I could take them with me?” Her voice was as smooth as vanilla buttercream.

Jack stared at the mass of cupcakes as if she could will them into the box en masse. They didn’t budge. “Give us just a few minutes and we’ll have them boxed up. And I have some pictures I can e-mail you if you need to show the whole collage to anyone.”

“Perfect.” Melanie waited, tapping her heel against the floor.

Attempting to re-create the image in a confined space was harder than Jack expected. The icing from one cupcake clung to the one next to it, pulling the intricate images apart. Bicycle spokes ripped apart, buildings crashed. With the amount of detail her sister had put into the design, she wouldn’t have been surprised if the bikers started spouting blood from their tortured appendages.

“Doing that with your foot there,” Harper said to Melanie as she entered the kitchen, “won’t actually make them go any faster, you know.”

The tapping abated within seconds. “I’m just in a hurry,” Melanie said.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have ordered—”

“Harper!” Jack cut in, her tone sharp and quick like a whip. “You do not want to finish that sentence.”

She had managed to keep her anger in check and not charge up the stairs to strangle her sister as soon as she walked into the shop that morning. As Harper taunted Melanie, she began to rethink her decision. She flexed her hands and wiggled her fingers to keep them from shaking as she transferred the cupcakes from the tray into a teal cake box.

“I’m kinda sure I do. I worked hard on those and now they look like crap all broken up and torn apart. Please tell me you won’t do that to the real ones. ’Cause I won’t allow it.”

“You’re the artist?” Melanie asked. When Harper nodded, she continued, “Oh, you are incredibly talented. I promise I won’t ruin them. I’ll get a flatbed truck or a group of burly men to carry them on a big piece of wood down to the event. Whatever it takes to ensure their safe arrival. They’re too fabulous to risk anything happening to them.”

“Works for me,” she said, appeased, and went back up front.

“Thanks, Jack,” Melanie said and gave her a one-arm hug. “If they go over as well as I think they will, we may just have to make this a Twilight tradition.”

Jack stepped back, hoping Melanie couldn’t feel the anger pulsing off of her. “That would be great,” she said with enthusiasm she didn’t feel. “Graham and I’ll help you carry these out.”

The weight of the cupcakes tested the bottom of the box as she carried it outside. The street smelled vaguely of bleach. Wrinkling her nose, she set it in the back of the SUV parked illegally in front of the shop. When she turned to head back for the next one, she smacked into Graham. He was solid, unmovable.

He reached out to her with one hand while the other held his box steady. He rubbed his thumb along her bicep then shifted, trapping Jack between him and the car. “Take a break, Jack. I’ve got these.”

Her sister walked behind the counter and waved a hand at her to get her moving. After a few seconds, Jack decided outside was safer until Melanie left. She lingered on the sidewalk and watched the frayed edges of the awning over the door flap and gyrate in the breeze. Long tendrils of thread twisted together into a matted mass.

Melanie was laughing when she followed Graham out with the last box. “Your sister’s a little persnickety, huh?”

Clenching her jaw, Jack said, “A bit.” She kept her tone light, sweet, but the words left a bitter taste in her mouth. She tried to smile when Melanie waved out the driver’s-side window.

Jack waited until the car rounded the corner and disappeared from sight before yanking open the door and nailing Harper to the floor with one hard look. “If you ever talk to one of my customers like that again, I won’t hesitate to toss you out on your ass. Got it?”

“That’s a funny way to say ‘thank you,’” Harper shot back.

She balled her fists, dug her nails into the soft skin of her palms. “I’m serious. The fact that Melanie’s happy just means that you got damn lucky. But we’re not okay, Harper. Not by a long shot.”

Harper moved toward her. The paper on the clipboard rustled with the movement. “Jaclyn, I—”

“I think you’ve done enough for one day.”

***

The shop shivered when Harper stormed out. Though the air was warm by the ovens, the temperature dropped a few degrees when Jack entered the kitchen. Graham waited to see if she was ready to talk to him yet, but when she went to the clipboards and started reviewing orders for the third time that day, he turned back to the batch of icing he’d just mixed and started filling piping bags.

But the frustration of fighting with her grated on him like coarse-grade sandpaper. His good mood flaked off and piled at his feet.

He watched her from across the room, trying to gauge how mad she was. She’d been rubbing her temples on and off all day when she thought he wasn’t looking. “Go home, Jaclyn. I can handle it for the afternoon,” he said.

“I’m fine.”

“I know you’re mad at me. But don’t let that keep you from taking care of yourself.” He handed her a bottle of Excedrin he’d fished out of a drawer in the office.

She unscrewed the lid and shook out two pills. She took them without water. “I don’t know whether to yell at you or thank you.”

“For what?”

“You didn’t let me trash the cupcakes and start over.”

“Couldn’t live with myself if I had. They were brilliant.” Her hand twitched. He moved before she could smack him. Her fingers grazed his arm. But she smiled, which was the first he’d seen since that morning. “I’m sorry I didn’t back you up.”

She turned and walked to the office. “Me, too,” she said, her voice soft and sad.

He stared at the door frame, but she didn’t come back out.

***

Graham always said biking was a great way to calm down. Jack decided to see if he was right. She dug the bike he had forced her to buy a few years earlier out of the garage. The tires were soft but would work. She wiped the seat off with the palm of her hand and sneezed at the dust cloud that puffed into the air.

Birds yelled at each other from the branches of the oak trees as she rolled into the street. Their arguing followed her from tree to tree until she turned onto Abbott Lane. Then all she could hear was the soft growl of the bike as she struggled to push the pedals around. Her calves burned with the effort.

Jack tried to clear her mind, but anytime her brain had a second to spare, it circled back to Harper’s gloating smile when Melanie told her she loved the cupcakes.

“Calming my ass,” she said, but she kept moving the sluggish bike forward. She concentrated on the scent of freshly mown grass and the peonies that bloomed in Mrs. Martin’s yard as she passed.

A landscaping crew unloaded a trailer a few houses down. Jerry Jenkins waved to her. He was short and squishy—not fat exactly, but not toned like he’d been in high school when he played football with her brother. His dark hair was smothered by a backward ball cap.

Jack applied the rusty brakes and stuttered to a stop a few feet away from him. She braced her feet on the ground to keep upright.

“Hey, Jerry. How was your anniversary?”

Jerry leaned on the tailgate of the truck. “What’s that?”

“Tabitha came in last week and got a couple peanut butter cupcakes. I thought she said y’all were celebrating your anniversary.”

“I’m allergic to peanut butter.” He shielded his eyes from the sun, which had pushed its way through spotty clouds and peeked over the tops of the houses. “Are you sure it was Tabby?”

Jack stared at the grass stains on his pants. The green and brown splotches clustered at his knees and crawled down his calves. “No,” she lied. “Maybe I’m remembering it wrong. I’m probably mixing her up with someone else.”

“You don’t have to do that, Jaclyn. Lie for her, I mean.” His voice was soft, sincere, but the undercurrent of disappointment washed away any pretenses.

“Jerry, I—”

He flipped his hat around so it shielded his eyes and walked away.

“Shit,” she said under her breath. She started pedaling again but looked over her shoulder.

Jerry wielded the trimmer in a lazy back-and-forth sweeping. He’d pulled his sunglasses down so she couldn’t see his eyes.

***

The music was loud enough to make his muscles vibrate. Tapping his foot to the frantic bass line, Graham filled the mini-cupcake tins. The ice cream scoop slopped excess batter on the rim. After wiping it away with his thumb, he downsized to a melon baller. The metallic scraping of the scoop on the edge of the mixing bowl made the hairs on his arms stand on end.

He turned when the back door banged shut.

“She gone?” Harper asked.

“All clear,” he said.

“She didn’t booby-trap my apartment door or anything, did she? ’Cause I wouldn’t put it past her in the mood she’s in.”

He stiffened. “Stop it, Harp. You don’t get to be snarky about Jack. Not after what you did.” His voice was low, gritty.

She shrugged off her hoodie and balled it in her fist. “What the hell, Graham? You said you loved it.”

He continued to drop dollops of batter into pans. “I know I stuck up for you but don’t think that makes it okay. If I could do what you did to those cupcakes, you’d be gone. But since I can’t, and I’m levelheaded enough to see the value you could bring, I’ll keep trying to convince your sister it’s a smart idea to keep you around.”

“Thanks,” she said. She grabbed one of the cupcakes cooling on the rack, ripped a hunk off, and popped it in her mouth. She sighed. “God, you are a genius baker.”

“Harper.” He waited for her to look at him. “You need to make things right with Jack.”

“She’ll get over it.”

“She will. That doesn’t change the fact that she deserves better from you.” He looked up at the light tapping on glass. “Expecting someone?”

“No,” she said, but her eyes had gone wide, nervous. She peered around the doorjamb, laughed, and headed up front.

Graham followed her to find a young guy peering through the front door.

In scraggly jeans and a faded tee, he didn’t look much older than twenty. The guy waved at Harper to unlock the door.

“This one’s got the hots for Jack,” she whispered and let him in. “You’re a little late today, Prince Charming. Your princess has already been rescued.”

He looked around, nodded to Graham, and said, “Huh?”

Graham crossed his arms over his chest. “Jaclyn’s already left for the day.”

“Damn. I was hoping to catch her for dinner. Think you could give me her number?”

His casual, hopeful tone jabbed at Graham. “We can’t give out personal information. Company policy.” He shrugged as if to say he’d help if he could.

“I take it you’re the baker?” The question was a mix of curiosity and defensiveness.

Graham got the feeling he was being sized up. He looked to Harper for some kind of explanation, and got one of her grins in return.

He introduced himself but didn’t offer his hand.

“Pete,” the guy said with a jerk of his head.

The motion was so frat boy that Graham almost laughed. The cocky attitude probably worked on some girls, but Jack was smarter than that. Wasn’t she? The answer came to him in a mental flash of her ex-boyfriends—outgoing, preppy and, yes, cocky. He hadn’t liked any of them, including one who had been one of his closest friends in high school.

This guy’s exactly the type she’d go for. Even if he does look like a teenager.

“You’re probably better trying again tomorrow,” Graham said, deciding he’d work all day if he had to, to see how Jack reacted to Pete.

“Or you could just give me her number.”

Harper put a hand on Graham’s arm. “Okay, boys, no need to get into a pissing match when she’s not even here to see it.”

“Good point,” Pete said. He winked at Harper. Then he handed her a scrap of paper. “Give her my number then?”

“Sure thing.”

Graham watched Pete walk down the street and fade from sight before he relaxed. He could feel Harper watching him. He tried to act normal. When he realized he had retied the strings on his apron three times, he decided she’d know better anyway. He headed back to the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

“I guess he’s the one you told me Jack could sense,” he said.

“You have nothing to worry about. She’s not interested in him.” Harper took the tray of batter and placed it in the oven for him. “But now I know how I’m going to get her to forgive me. Though I still think she owes me an apology, too.”

Graham couldn’t look at her. Instead he watched out the pass-through window as a couple strolled along Pearl Street, arms wrapped around each other, comfortable and content. The guy kissed the girl mid-sentence, as if it would’ve been too hard to wait until she was done.

Something shifted in his mind—a memory he couldn’t quite bring into focus. He could see Jack, young and smiling, with icing on her lips. He closed his eyes to concentrate, but the image dissolved before he could place it. He looked for the couple outside to re-trigger it, but they’d walked on.

He tried to keep his voice light when he said, “Messing with your sister is not the best way to fix things.”

“I don’t get you, Graham. You don’t seem to like the idea of her dating other people, yet you haven’t staked a claim. As far as I know, you’ve never even stepped in that direction. You can’t have it both ways.”

“I know,” he said, blowing out a frustrated breath.

“Just don’t wait too long.” Harper walked over and sat on the counter facing him. “Sometimes you only get a small window to figure things out and if you don’t, your whole life goes to hell and you’ll end up running away just to make it hurt less.”

For a second, Graham could see it. If he left things with Jack alone, he’d wind up watching her fall in love with someone else. If he made a move, he’d lose his best friend—Hutton had made that clear years before. Either way he’d lose someone he loved. It might be easier, as Harper suggested, to pack it in and move on.

Seeing the resignation he felt mirrored on her face, he said, “I’m sorry, Harp, for whoever you left behind.”

“It is what it is. Now, can we just make cupcakes? I have a special delivery tonight. Oh, and I’m gonna need some gum paste.”

***

The knocking boomed through the haze of sleep. It morphed from a light tapping of a woodpecker in her dream to a full-blown banging as the tree fell over. Jack lay on the sofa and pulled the blanket over her head. Small threads of light wormed through the holes in the yarn.

Harper called her name through the door. She didn’t think her sister knew the spare key was hidden in the top of the porch light, but she knew Harper wasn’t going to give up easily. Pushing the blanket aside, she stood and shivered. She clicked on the light and shielded her eyes from the glare.

Harper held out a cupcake box when Jack cracked the door. “Peace offering.”

She opened the door wider and stared at her sister. After a few seconds, she took the box and asked, “Is it poisoned?”

“That wouldn’t be very peace-like, would it? Just open it.”

The lid untucked with a soft pop. Inside were two pink-frosted cupcakes with black cutouts of the cupcake-and-crossbones icon Jack loved. The designs were so precise that Jack wondered for a moment if Harper had printed them and stuck paper on top instead of something edible. But before she even touched the velvety gum paste, she knew her sister had hand-drawn and cut them.

She moved out of the doorway.

Harper followed her into the living room, and they both sat on the sofa. “Did you know that you have a company policy not to give out employees’ personal information?”

“No, I wasn’t aware of that one,” Jack said.

“I thought that might be the case. Graham’s not good at lying.”

“Who was he lying to?”

“Pete came by after we’d closed up tonight. He wanted to take you to dinner. I don’t think Graham liked him much.”

“What’s not to like?” Jack asked. “He’s a sweet kid.”

“That statement right there would crush his little heart,” Harper said.

They laughed the same melodic laugh.

Jack pointed to the couch, a silent make-yourself-at-home then went to grab napkins.

“Hey, that’s mine,” Harper said. Her voice cut through the quiet room.

The accusation pulled Jack from the kitchen. Anything Harper had left when she took off had been fair game, though Jack couldn’t remember taking much, much less what she would have on display in the living room.

Harper was staring at the painting she had done of downtown Sugar that hung above the china cabinet in the dining room.

“Oh yeah,” Jack said. She studied the swirling brushstrokes and vibrant colors that were distinctly Harper. It had taken her months to track down the one painting on an indie artists website. Not that she’d admit that to her sister. “I found it online a couple years ago.”

“It’s the only picture of Sugar I put up for sale. I always wondered who bought it.”

Jack watched her sister for a minute, tying to remember the last time they’d been around each other this long without fighting. She wondered if it was some kind of record. “What happened to us, Harper? We used to be friends.”

“Do you really want to talk about this?” Harper asked.

“If we’re going to work together, we have to be able to talk to each other. And right now it feels like every time I try, you throw it back in my face. I guess I just want to know why.”

Harper slipped off her shoes and pressed her toes on the coffee table. It shifted an inch on the floor. “You push, Jack. You were never happy with who I was. My grades were never good enough, I didn’t spend enough time on my art, the guys I dated didn’t meet your standards. I looked up to you, but I didn’t want to be you. And you could never see that.”

The words weren’t harsh, but they cut just the same. Jack wrapped her arms around her middle.

“I never wanted you to be me, Harper. You had—have—all this potential, yet you seem content to let it slip by. Everything came to you so easily when we were younger—grades, friends, art. I worked my ass off and it was so frustrating knowing that if you gave even the tiniest bit of effort I’d never be able to catch you. But you never did.”

“That’s not true,” she said.

Their eyes met. They both knew it was.

“I guess it’s fitting that the day you finally decide to put all of that talent to use it’s on something of mine.”

“I didn’t do it to ruin anything. I just, I don’t know. I heard you and Graham brainstorming about it and I could just see it, all the details and how the colors would swirl together around the scene, and I knew I had to make it.”

“And you couldn’t ask first?”

“I’m not trying to justify it, Jack. I know I should’ve talked to you before doing it, but it wasn’t really a conscious decision. I saw a picture in my head and painted it.”

Jack remembered how her sister’s face would set—eyes squinted and lips pulled tight in concentration—when she was painting or drawing. She used to joke that the bright colors put Harper in a trance. Sometimes she’d sit for hours watching Harper, waiting to see how long the art could hold her captive. She’d always wondered if bringing images to life was Harper’s ability.

She shifted on the love seat, tucked a leg under her. “I’m only going to say this once—”

“I know,” Harper interrupted. “I screwed up.”

“Would you let me finish?” Jack groaned when Harper tried to cut in again. “I loved the cupcakes.”

“Say that again. I’m not sure I heard you correctly.”

“Not a chance, sister. I’m still pissed at how you went about it.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Harper’s voice was quiet, firm. “Really.”

A gush of sweet air brushed against her arms. It wasn’t a specific flavor, just the desire, the need for sugar. She opened the cupcake box again and handed one to Harper. “Want some milk?” She went to the kitchen when her sister nodded and poured two glasses. “Thanks for this.”

When she came back, she picked the logo off and set it on the box top. Then she dug her fingers into the fleshy side of the cupcake and ripped the bottom off. Inverting it, she fit it onto the icing like a sandwich. She watched her sister do the same.

“So, how about this,” Jack started. She took a bite before continuing. It melted in her mouth. “I’ll let you play around with some designs if you promise to get approval from me and Graham before starting.”

“Does this mean we’re okay?”

“Not yet. But we’ll get there.”