Kiss My Cupcake - Helena Hunting Page 0,38

center filling and vanilla buttercream icing, topped with an adorable pumpkin candy. “These smell like heaven.”

“Well, it’s your recipe, so you can take the credit for that.” He’s still grinning. “You feeling like a rock star this morning?”

“Uh, not particularly, no.” I lean against the counter, legs still shaky from the scare.

His smile fades and his face scrunches up. “I take it you haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?” I drag my attention away from the cupcakes, imagining how perfect they’re going to look when I’m done with them.

“There’s a video of you.”

“What kind of video?” A shot of panic hits me. I’m not sure why. It’s not like I’ve ever made one of those kinds of video. And honestly, there are loads of videos of me posted on YouTube since I have a channel and I upload there all the time.

He arches a brow. “Wow, your face right now makes me want to ask a lot of questions, many of which I don’t necessarily think I want the answer to.”

I wave the comment away. “Stop being dramatic and cryptic and tell me what’s going on.”

“Someone posted your performance from last night.” He tips his chin toward the wall connecting us to The Knight Cap.

“Oh, that. It wasn’t a big deal.” I pull a tray of cupcakes from the cart and begin arranging them carefully in the display case.

“Well, maybe not to you, but it’s sure getting lots of attention.”

“What kind of attention?”

Paul fishes his phone out of his pocket and opens YouTube. It appears the video was uploaded by Ronan’s bartender Lars—apparently his name isn’t Larry. Paul hands me the device.

“This can’t be right. It’s been viewed more than a million times?”

“He tagged that YouTuber Tori in the video and she shared it.” He taps the screen right under the video, where Lars has captioned it “Best Bar in the Pacific Northwest Challenge” #toritaylorbestof #TheKnightCap #BestBarPNW and about seven hundred more hashtags. The video has tons of likes.

“Damn it!” I grouse, scrolling through the comments. “I can’t believe this.”

“You sound great. I mean I always knew you could sing, but you really nailed that performance.”

“I know I can sing.”

Paul’s eyebrows lift. “Humble much?”

I give him a look. “It’s not ego talking. I was always in theater. I can sing. It’s a fact, and now Ronan is getting the accolades for it.” I hit Play on the video for additional self-torture.

Ronan and I appear on the screen, although only half of me because the focus is on Ronan, at least at the beginning since he’s singing and the center of attention. He doesn’t have a terrible voice, and he’s annoyingly nice to look at. The camera really loves him and all his pretty man angles.

When it’s my turn I nab the microphone from him and start singing. “Damn!” Lars turns the camera around and there’s a closeup of his face and wide eyes. Like Ronan, he’s also nice to look at. “Listen to that voice.” He flips the camera around again, turns it sideways and pans back to me.

“How the hell am I going to beat him now?” I pass Paul his phone back before I do something like throw it against a wall. I don’t have the funds to replace it. “He didn’t even tag me or B&B in the comments! What a jerk.”

“If Tori ends up coming to Seattle, you’ll have a chance to prove you’re the better bar.” Paul gives my shoulder a squeeze. I hate that his expression holds guilt as well. “I can try to help out for a little longer if you need me.”

I wave the offer away. “We both know that won’t work. Especially not with you moving an hour away. I can totally handle this.” I motion to the naked cupcakes. I can definitely do all the baking, but I’m worried about how it’s going to impact everything else. Running a business is a lot of work. Especially with all the paperwork and keeping track of inventory and ingredients. It’s been nice to have the help while it lasted. “Anyway, let’s check this out.” The box is unusually light, so maybe it’s sample napkins or something. The company we bought ours from routinely does that.

I fold back the flaps and a balloon with the word BOOM! floats out, heading for the ceiling. Paul and I give each other a quizzical look as a second balloon rises out of the box. Both of them pop at the same time and suddenly I find myself covered in

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