Yesterday, GiGi had determined that if she managed her time she should be done with this by 11 p.m. tonight, giving her plenty of time to sleep and be fresh as a daisy in the morning.
The rehearsal dinner had run long, the speeches went long, and she finally had to excuse herself at 10 p.m. with apologies to go back to the kitchen to take care of the cake. As she sculpted away, she thought bitterly how nice it would be to have a huge staff at her disposal to meet her deadlines. Why had she insisted on keeping Vann and his staff away from the cake? She had glanced over at Vann during the rehearsal dinner, and he looked gloriously relaxed. He was drinking his favorite cocktails and howling with laughter with all his buddies, his tie loosened and his top buttons undone, exposing his sun-kissed tan, which he no doubt got somewhere on a beach last week.
She knew she couldn’t be mad at him. He had done nothing wrong. But her reptile brain kept making comparisons. That’s just what it did. Her competitive, perfectionist nature would not allow her mind to simply be in the zone.
Pretty soon she decided to take a break to look everything over. She had the whole base assembled and iced, and it perfectly resembled Bourbon Street, down to street signs made of candy and translucent windows made of gelatin that would be lit up from the inside. The only thing left was making the little chocolate people and the bride and groom on top of the wedding float.
GiGi went into the pantry to get the chocolate molds she needed. That was odd, she thought. The molds were not where they were supposed to be. The molds she had specially commissioned for this project. The molds that had set her back a pretty penny. And yet they were not there. She swore she had left them on the shelf right there in the pantry, but there was no sign of them. She opened cabinets and pulled out drawers. Oh shit. This is bad.
She rested her hands on the butcher block counter and tried to breathe. Think, GiGi. Where did you leave them? This was unacceptable. Looking around like this was wasting time. She was not going to get any sleep now. Should she keep looking or come up with a plan B? Gum paste? Awful. Rice Krispie treats molded into little people? No.
And then, the panic settled in her chest. This was not good. She tried to breathe, but her chest was starting to feel tight. She needed to go outside to get some air and just think. The smell of sugar and butter was overwhelming. GiGi bolted out the back door and into the alleyway and braced herself against the brick wall and started to cry. This was it. She failed. There would be no perfect cake. It would just be an okay cake. The tears came and came and came. And then, the next thing she knew, warm hands were gripping her. A blanket went around her. She was sitting down on her couch in her office, someone was next to her, helping her remember how to breathe in and out to calm herself down.
Most likely it was Vann, but she couldn’t be sure, she was so exhausted. When her breathing returned to normal, she felt him next to her. He was kissing her forehead and telling her to lie down.
“No, it’s not done. The chocolate molds. Somebody stole them. I can’t make little parade people, it’s too much.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“You don’t know how to temper chocolate. It has to be shiny. Not just regular shiny but wedding shiny. It’s a whole other level of shiny. Do you know what wedding shiny is?”
“I did go to culinary school, my love. I do remember things.”
“Also, I have to attach all those tiny little flowers and leaves and make the butterflies…and oh shit, I was going to do the piping around the base to look like little Mardi Gras beads.”
But all Vann said was, “Shhhh,” and laid her down on the couch. He tucked his jacket under her head for a pillow.
“GiGi, I want you to do exactly as I say. You are a fucking rock star, but even rock stars need to sleep. Close your eyes.”
As soon as she did, she was out.
When she woke up, she had a crick in her neck that told her she had slept way too long. She sat up and checked her phone. The time was nine a.m. The cake was due for delivery in 30 minutes.
Shit! It wasn’t done. The cake was really fucking far from done. She had failed. She bolted out of her office and went into the kitchen. But it was empty. In fact, the room was spotless. Not just that, but the stainless steel was gleaming. Someone had cleaned up in here and moved the cake!
She opened the fridge and sucked in her breath.
There it was. Finished. The ivy vines, candied ferns, and royal icing flowers from the tiny hanging balcony baskets were all attached. There were gorgeous orange and purple and white sugar butterflies alighting on the delicate little balcony railings. There was beaded piping around the base. And there, filing down the little street, was the parade of tiny people, tempered to the highest shine she had ever seen. And on top of the white chocolate cake float was a tiny white chocolate version of Rosemary and Ash, down to the right colored hair. It was hands down the most beautiful cake she had ever seen.
Vann had saved her ass but good.
But where was he? She checked her phone again. He would probably be overseeing the food delivery to the reception venue by now.
She sent him a text. All it said was, Thank you. I love you so much. I’ll thank you in person
