Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
“My family isn’t doing too bad financially. We’ve helped each other through a lot, and had gotten a lot of people who were knocked down back on their feet. They, in turn, return that help when others get knocked down.”
“I’m jealous,” she says. “I’m absolutely jealous. I’m brought up with fancy cars, being given caviar at the age of five, and here I am being jealous of you and your potato salad cookouts.”
“Aunt Marie’s potato salad is the food of the gods, and I won’t let you talk bad about it.”
“I assure you I’m not.”
We continue through the party, Lavender being amazed by the most mundane of things, left and right. She's never played kickball.
What a deprived childhood she had.
“Hawk,” I hear my grandfather say as he runs up to me. “We got a situation.”
I raise my eyebrow. “Oh. What’s going on?”
The tone he speaks in suggests there’s a big fight. Maybe one of my cousins got too drunk again. Maybe a bear has wandered into the party. Both have happened before—and multiple times.
“We don’t have a cake,” he says.
“No cake?” Lavender echoes.
“Your grandma’s been sick as a dog this past week. She was supposed to make the cake yesterday so it’d be all good and ready for today, but she hasn’t. She’s still barely able to walk.”
“So? Did you want me to go order a cake? Grab one from the store?”
“All of the ingredients here?” Lavender asks, interjecting herself into my grandfather’s concerns. “I’m assuming she was going to make it herself from scratch.”
My grandfather raised an eyebrow. “I’m guessing so, we have a stocked pantry, butter and eggs are in the fridge.”
“I can help,” she says. “I’m a professional baker.”
“You are, are you? Would you, then? We can't have a proper birthday party without cake.”
“Take me to the kitchen and it will be done.” She grabs my arm. “Come on, Hawk.”
“What do you need me for?”
“I need an assistant, and you’re clearly the best choice.”
“The last time I baked something it was from a box—brownies—and they came out usable as weapons.”
“Oh, quiet, boy. You have the guidance of a professional with you,” Grandpa says, slapping me on the back. “You’ll do wonderfully.”
The two of us head for the kitchen, and I whisper to Lavender as we go, “Not judging your abilities, but I thought you didn’t go to baking school yet. How are you a professional baker?”
“I bake things. I get paid. Therefore, I technically am a professional baker.”
I grin. Loving this girl’s tenacity. Technically correct, I suppose.
We head into the kitchen, and find the ingredients we need.
“Besides,” Lavender says as she gets to work, measuring flour out. “I know how to make my favorite recipe of Hannah’s. It’s a really sweet, light cake. I’m going to make the wild assumption your grandmother knows what Serena’s favorite type of cake is.”
“Yes. She spoils my sister. It’s why she’s so rotten.”
Lavender smiles at me. “I can alter the recipe for this. And it hopefully won’t come out bludgeoned like your brownies.”
“And what role do I play in this?”
She hands me a bowl full of random ingredients, along with a wooden spoon. “Mix. Mix until it’s an actual batter.”
“You do know we have both an electric stand mixer and hand mixer, right?”
“Yes, but both of those are too harsh. This recipe distinctly calls for a strong set of hands to beat it until it's ready.” She shows me her hands. “Do you really think these dainty little hands could manage such a task?”
“I know what those hands can do. They are incredibly skilled.” I look at her with a sly grin. “But I’ll relent and mix this anyway.”
“Good, I need to make the frosting.”
Together, we worked on Serena’s cake. She’s really into all of it, quickly getting into the flow. She’s a baker in spirit, and I’m saddened that her parents will never see her in her true element.
If anything, she’s not cut out to be the businesswoman her parents want her to be. She’s too kind. She wants the best for people and has never cared about money beyond having enough of it to survive.
So she’d be a terrible CEO.
Finally, the cake has cooled ad it’s time to frost.Lavender stop me from writing Serena the Little Demon, on her cake. I never get to have any fun.
When we present the cake to the party, it’s a hit. It’s so good that it manages to shut Serena up for a bit, and that’s the highest of compliments.
Grandpa came over to Lavender and I, sitting in our chairs, a hand on each of our shoulders. “Everyone can give thanks to Hawk’s fiancée here for this lovely cake.”
Lavender blushes at being called my fiancée.
“She’s not my fiancée,” I correct, ashamed that his words aren’t true.
“Then you ought to fix that, Hawk. Get on it. She’s one hell of a baker and stepped in to help us in our time of need. Just think, what would we do without her today?”