“I actually wondered whether I was getting too old.”
David’s expression hardened.
“One cruel afternoon doesn’t erase twelve years.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
He answered honestly.
“I know humiliation can make somebody forget what they knew five minutes earlier.”
Margaret looked at him.
“Who are you?”
David smiled slightly.
“Today?”
“A guy who came in for pastry boxes.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know.”
He put both hands in his coat pockets.
“My younger sister is getting married tomorrow.”
Margaret froze.
“Carter?”
David nodded.
“Emily Carter.”
Margaret stared.
“You’re the brother?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes moved toward the bakery.
Then back.
“That’s her cake.”
David’s expression changed.
“What?”
“The cake Eric told me to throw away.”
Margaret spoke quickly now.
“Peach roses.”
“White blossoms.”
“Ivory piping.”
“Vanilla almond with raspberry.”
David stared at her.
“That’s exactly her cake.”
Margaret stopped breathing for a second.
“You’re sure?”
“She’s been talking about peach roses for months.”
“She had some strange argument with my mother about blue flowers.”
“Mom wanted blue.”
“Emily said no.”
Margaret’s eyes filled again.
“Then I made the right cake.”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Completely.”
David took out his phone.
“I have pictures.”
He scrolled.
Then showed her a screenshot of his sister’s inspiration board.
Peach garden roses.
Small white flowers.
Ivory piping.
Almost exactly what Margaret had created.
Margaret looked at the image.
Then closed her eyes.
Relief arrived first.
Then anger.
A different kind.
Clean.
Steady.
She had not forgotten.
Her hands still knew.
Eric had been wrong.
But why?
David said:
“I’m calling Emily.”
Margaret opened her eyes.
“Wait.”
“Why?”
“Don’t tell her she almost lost her wedding cake.”
“She has enough stress.”
David thought.
“Fair.”
“Can we go back inside?”
Margaret looked toward the bakery.
“I was told to leave.”
“You were told to leave by someone who apparently doesn’t know the order.”
“I need to think.”
David nodded.
“Then think.”
Inside Hawthorne & Finch, Rosa waited until the door closed behind Margaret.
Then she walked directly to the finishing table.
Eric was already pulling the wedding folder from the rack.
“Don’t touch that cake.”
Rosa said.
“I’m not.”
“You were going to.”
“I need to fix it.”
“No.”
Eric looked at her.
“What?”
“The client ordered peach.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I saw the sheet.”
“The current order is blue and silver.”
Rosa pointed toward the printer.
“Printed at one forty-six.”
Eric’s face tightened.
“Orders get corrected.”
“You keep saying that.”
Rosa moved closer.
“Who corrected it?”
Eric said nothing.
Rosa lowered her voice.
“You gave Margaret the first sheet.”
“I watched you.”
“That doesn’t mean the client didn’t change it.”
“Then show me the message.”
Eric’s eyes moved toward the office.
Rosa followed his gaze.