have used a bigger pan.”
“These cakes don’t rise; they don’t need a bigger pan.” I bared my teeth at her. “You fucked with my recipe.”
“I did not!” Keeley said haughtily.
“You did something to my cakes,” I accused as I turned off the oven.
I hastily tried to scrape all the burned batter from the bottom of the oven without burning myself. I chipped at the pieces of smoldering chocolate, spattering myself and the floor with it.
I swore one more time for good measure then took stock. I had some time left but not a lot. Fuming, cursing Keeley’s ancestors, then backtracking because those were also my ancestors, I found more chocolate and remade the cake, also remembering to check on my custard as it cooled.
“Needs more booze,” I decided when I tasted it. I added another splash along with fresh vanilla bean and nutmeg.
This time, as I made the cake, I checked the ingredients carefully. That small tablespoon of flour I was about to add? I sniffed it. It smelled acrid. I tasted it, and it was bitter and salty.
“What the—” I glared at Keeley.
She had a smug look on her face. “Are you sure you didn’t mistakenly bring baking powder?” she asked, voice syrupy sweet.
“You’re going down,” I hissed at her, stomping back to the pantry to grab a new bag of flour, this time tasting it before I put it in my batter.
While the new cake baked, I mixed up my frosting. Then I cored cherries, washed the bright-red currants, raspberries, and blueberries, and stemmed the blackberries. I also whipped the cream, making sure it had stiff peaks so that the custard would be light but not runny when I mixed the two.
I had wanted to have my chocolate cake layers cool before I assembled the whole dessert. Now I was worried I wouldn’t have the time. As soon as they were out of the oven, I impatiently waited five minutes then flipped the cakes over onto a cooling rack and stuck them in the blast freezer.
I was sweating as I hurriedly made the base for my cocktail. I would add the champagne at the last minute, but I had to first boil the juniper berries in sugar water to create a flavored simple syrup. After I strained it, the syrup went into the glasses along with Grand Marnier liquor and blood orange juice. I put a sprig of juniper in each glass and got my champagne ready to pop.
I was covered in chocolate, orange zest, flour, and whipped cream when I ran to grab my cakes out of the blast freezer. They weren’t as cool as I wanted them to be, but that was what I had.
The assembly of the cake was, thankfully, easy. It was supposed to feel rustic and bountiful. I heaped the custard on top of the first layer along with a generous handful of berries then more custard. I placed the second layer on top, mindful of the clock, and poured the fudgy chocolate frosting over it slowly, allowing it to run like lava down the sides of the cake. More berries went on top. Then I arranged the clusters of red currants around the rim of the platter. A fine dusting of powdered sugar and the cake was done.
Thirty seconds were left on the clock when I popped open the champagne and poured it into the glasses.
36
Johnathan
“Time!” Anastasia called.
Morticia took a long drink of the champagne. I was still unsure how to convince her to fall in love with me. I was also unsure if I even should.
She doesn’t like you.
I had spent all afternoon with my eyes glued to her, searching for some sign that there was something there. But did it really matter? I needed that property. Besides, I told myself, even if she likes you now, that’s no guarantee that she would stick around.
I needed to hedge my bets.
It’s part of being a good businessman. You have to make the hard decisions.
“Ready to be pampered?” Belle asked me.
“Bring it!”
Five contestants in, however, and I would rather have been anywhere else. I had not known that a back rub could be bad, but somehow, the last contestant had managed it. All of the bachelorettes had insisted on touching me somehow while I ate the desserts they had made.
“You know,” Nick said to me as I rubbed my neck and winced, “at first, I was jealous you were getting back rubs, but now, I’m like, keep that away from my spine.”
“I have