Kiss My Cupcake Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Helena Hunting

  Cover illustration by Monika Roe

  Cover copyright © 2020 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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  Forever

  Hachette Book Group

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  First Edition: August 2020

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  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020935792

  ISBN: 978-1-5387-3467-4 (trade paperback), 978-1-5387-3465-0 (ebook)

  E3-20200707-DA-NF-ORI

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  chapter one: Just a Big Old Pile of Crap

  chapter two: Hot Lumberjerk

  chapter three: This Means War

  chapter four: I’m Number One

  chapter five: Poke the Agitated Alice

  chapter six: So Hilarious

  chapter seven: What House Are You?

  chapter eight: Should’ve Been My Win

  chapter nine: Not the Payback I was Looking For

  chapter ten: Turkey Time

  chapter eleven: This Isn’t the Game I Was Playing

  chapter twelve: The Revealing Ride Home

  chapter thirteen: Dick and Bobby Invasion

  chapter fourteen: Coordination Nation

  chapter fifteen: Miss Mistletoe

  chapter sixteen: Ringing in the New Year

  chapter seventeen: After the Orgasms

  chapter eighteen: Purse Strings

  chapter nineteen: Best Bar Award Goes To…

  chapter twenty: Don’t Leave Me Hanging

  chapter twenty-one: Well that Explains It

  epilogue: I Love You More than Cupcakes

  Acknowledgments

  Discover More

  About the Author

  Also By Helena Hunting

  Praise

  For the outliers who are willing to choose the road less traveled over the easier path

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  chapter one

  Just a Big Old Pile of Crap

  Blaire

  I have a fantastic idea for your little cupcake shop, Care Blaire!”

  I cringe at the nickname, how ridiculously loud my dad is, and the reference to my first ever solo entrepreneurial endeavor as my “little cupcake shop.” He doesn’t mean for it to sound condescending, although it does.

  My first inclination is to throw some sarcasm at him, but I’m aware he’s trying to be helpful in his own misguided way, and the conversation will be over that much sooner if I play along. “What’s this fantastic idea that has you so excited?”

  “The café right beside Decadence is going out of business at the end of the year. I’d be happy to pick up the lease on that building and you could open up shop right next door to us! Wouldn’t that be wonderful? And so much more practical than what you’re doing right now.”

  I hold my phone away from my ear and breathe in and out to the count of four so I don’t snap at him. “My current lease is a year, Dad.”

  “Can’t you break it?”

  “Not without a penalty, no.”

  “Hmm. Well, I could cover that for you. I don’t think it hurts for you to give this a go on your own for a few months, but then you can come back home and be part of the family business. And obviously I’d provide you with the financial capital if you decided to make the transition.”

  And there’s the braised carrot I was waiting for him to dangle. “Can I think about it?” There is absolutely zero chance that I’m going to take him up on his offer. It’s not that I don’t want the financial help. It’s all the strings that come along with it that I’m not interested in dealing with.

  “Of course, of course. It’s a great opportunity and I wouldn’t want you to miss out on it. Why don’t we talk later in the week?”

  “Sure. Sounds good.”

  “Love you, Care Blaire!”

  “Love you, too, Dad.” I end the call on a frustrated sigh and then nearly do a face plant into the concrete trying to sidestep a pile of dog poop. I also come perilously close to dropping my Tupperware container full of buttercream-topped delights. The dog doody happens to be decorating the sidewalk right out front of my “little cupcake shop.” I mentally shake a fist at the thoughtless dog owner who left it there as a special surprise.

  This better not be a sign.

  I glance around, looking for something to…remove the visual and olfactory offense, but the sidewalk is trash free. Normally I would be happy about the lack of old newspapers or takeout food wrappers blowing down the street, but today it’s rather inconvenient. The last thing I want is a stinky mess sitting front and center outside of my not-yet-open storefront. As a helpful warning to other passersby, I pluck a yellow flower from one of the planters brightening the entrance to my brand new cocktail café/bakery, aptly named Buttercream and Booze—scheduled to open in just one week—and stick the stem in the fresh pile. I’ll come back out and get rid of it so no one else suffers the same almost-fate.

  Even the nearly craptastic accident and my conversation with my dad don’t dim my good spirits for long. I rummage through my purse in search of my keys—they always migrate to the bottom of my purse. I finally snag them, slide the key into the lock and push the door open. It tinkles cheerily, an auditory accompaniment to the vibrant, clean interior.

  I wanted simple, fresh, and chic without being overly bubblegum adorable. So I nixed any pink from the décor that doesn’t include cupcake frosting. Instead I went with pale hardwood flooring, simple white tables and luxurious chairs upholstered in pale gray, easy-to-clean faux leather. Pops of vibrant yellows, pale blue, and silver accent each table’s centerpiece. The windows are sparkling and streak-free, the signage across the front of the café is clean, simple, and classy in eye-catching gray with a metallic sheen.

  I inhale deeply as I step inside, the faint scent of fresh paint and bleach almost entirely eclipsed by the lemon oil diffusing in the corner, and the lingering smell of the real vanilla candles from yesterday.

  I forget all about cleaning up the poopy present and shriek when I notice the box sitting on the bar. I set my purse and Tupperware on the closest table and my coffee on the bar. Despite my excitement, I take a moment to wash my hands prior to nabbing a pair of scissors. I carefully drag the tip along the seam to slice through the tape.

  “I thought I heard you making sex noises out here.” My best friend Daphne appears at the end of the hall, scaring the heck out of me
.

  The scissors slip and catch my finger. “Ow! Crap!” A bead of blood wells from the cut and I suck the end of my thumb, the metallic tang making me slightly woozy. I’m a bit of a baby when it comes to the sight of blood.

  “I’m so sorry.” Daphne rushes across the café, heels clipping on the hardwood. She nabs the small first-aid kit behind the bar, flips it open, and retrieves a bandage.

  “It’s okay. I’m just clumsy this morning, and jittery.”

  “Everything okay?” Her expression shifts to concern as she quickly covers the wound with a Band-Aid.

  “Oh yeah, you know how it is. I woke up at three because I needed to use the bathroom and my brain wouldn’t shut off. Then I got another idea for opening day cupcakes so I figured I’d make a test batch while drinking an entire pot of coffee.”

  She glances at the adorable cupcake clock on the wall. “So you’ve been up since three?”

  “Mm hmm. And of course my dad called this morning with another one of his amazing ideas.”

  She grimaces. “Oh no.”

  “Oh yes.”

  “What wonderful suggestions did he have this time?” Daphne is aware of my parents’ constant push for me to join the family business. I love them, and they’ve worked hard to get where they are, but their dreams and mine don’t line up. They love sautéing and roasting and hobnobbing with the rich and famous. I love butter and sugar and vanilla and not hobnobbing.

  I give her the abridged version.

  “And how did the conversation end?”

  “All I said was that I’d think about it.”

  “You did not!”

  I hold up a hand. “I’m not honestly going to think about it, Daph, but I also didn’t feel like listening to an hour-long lecture on why being part of the family business would be better for me. I know exactly what will happen if I go back to working with my family. I won’t have a say in anything. They’ll take over the whole thing and change it from my cocktails and cupcakes theme into something ridiculous and highbrow. They’ll strip me of all decision-making power, pooh-pooh all of my ideas, and I’ll get to watch my dream go up in flames.” It sounds dramatic, but it’s not. My family is well-intentioned but pushy. “I didn’t work this hard just to go back to kobe beef and duck fat truffle fries.” Not that there’s anything wrong with either. I enjoy eating both, but I don’t enjoy preparing them the way my family does.

  “Okay. That’s good. I was worried there for a second.” Daphne sheds her thin cardigan and hops lithely up onto the bar top. I finally notice her outfit; she’s dressed in a pair of pale yellow jeans and a light-gray shirt with Buttercream and Booze in silver and blue letters across her chest.

  “Oh my God! The shirts came in!” My volume is far too loud for the early hour, but my excitement cannot be contained. “I need to take a picture.” I pat my hips, but my phone is in my purse, which is sitting on the table where I left it. I raise a single finger. “Hold on! I need my phone. Or maybe I should get the good camera. And we need a cupcake. Actually, we should stage a bunch of photos.”

  “Blaire.” Daphne grabs my wrist. “Take a breath or six and chill the eff out.”

  “But we need a picture. One for our Instagram. Oh! We should host a T-shirt giveaway!”

  “Done and done. I posted half an hour ago and it’s already in our stories and on our Facebook page and posted to the website. Social media managed.” She says the last part with a British accent, mimicking “mischief managed” from Harry Potter. We’re both huge fans. Sometimes we have weekend movie marathons despite having seen the films quite literally a hundred times. Don’t judge. There are worse addictions.

  Daphne is a photographer and has her own business a couple of blocks down. She opened her studio last year and I was right there with her, helping in whatever way I could. Unlike B&B, her place didn’t need too much work, but I was there with a paintbrush and moral support. I even brought the Cupcakes to Go! truck on opening day to help entice new clients with sweet treats.

  Daphne’s actually the person who told me about this place. She’s also been kind enough to help get all of my social media up and running. Currently, I pay her in cupcakes since I can’t afford much else in the way of compensation. She’s assured me this is a great addition to her portfolio and if Buttercream and Booze takes off she’ll most definitely benefit. I squeeze her hand. “You are so amazing.”

  “I know. It’s one of the many reasons I’m your bestie.” She winks. “Now open the damn box so we can get excited about something else and you can freak out about more potential Insta posts.”

  “Right! Yes!” I take one of those deep breaths Daphne suggested because I’m speaking like I’ve mainlined cocaine after drinking seventeen Red Bulls and everything I say is punctuated with an exclamation mark. “Calming myself before I get more excited,” I mutter as I open the flaps. That calm lasts about a quarter of a second and then I’m back to excited freak-out.

  “They are so much fun!” I gently free one of the unicorn martini glasses from the box. “Aren’t they the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen?”

  “They are absolutely the most adorable things I have seen.” Daphne bites her lip, obviously fighting laughter.

  “Well, I think they’re perfect.” I can already imagine the specialty martini and the cupcakes I’ll make to go with them. The glasses were a little expensive, and slightly outside of my budget, but they’re so much fun and they’ll look amazing in photos for social media posts.

  “I wholeheartedly agree. You should display a few up there.” She motions to the shelf adjacent to the bar that showcases a row of candy-inspired martini glasses.

  “Ohhh! Great idea!” I carefully free two more unicorn glasses from the box and round the counter.

  Daphne hops down off the bar. “I’ll be right back.”

  I mm-hmm, too consumed with rearranging the shelf to be concerned with where Daphne is going.

  Daphne returns as I finish positioning the glassware. She’s grinning and her hands are clasped behind her back. “Close your eyes.”

  I slam my lids together. “They’re closed.”

  “Arms up.”

  I raise them over my head and Daphne laughs. “Just to the side, like you’re halfway into a jumping jack.”

  I lower them so they’re out in a T. “Oh my God. What do you have? What came?”

  “Stop jumping around and you’ll find out.”

  I didn’t even realize I was bouncing with excitement. I still and wait while Daphne drapes something over my head. When she ties it at my waist behind my back I start bouncing again. “It’s my apron, isn’t it?”

  “Stop moving and don’t you dare peek.” She smacks my butt.

  “Ow!”

  “It was a tap, you sucky baby.”

  “It was unexpected.” And the most action I’ve had in a long time. Opening one’s own business means I have very little time for anything but work, more work, and limited sleep.

  “Eyes closed until I tell you.” She takes me by the shoulders and pushes me forward. “Okay. You can open them.”

  I pry one lid open, and then the other. Daphne has moved me to the center of the café, where a massive mirror with the Buttercream and Booze decal hangs from the wall. I’m off to the right, so I can see my brand new apron without the obstruction of opaque letters cutting through it.

  My hands start flapping without my permission, so I ball them into fists and hide them behind my back for a moment while I search for some calm. “It’s just so perfect, isn’t it?” I’m halfway to tears, I’m so elated.

  But then, that’s what this place reduces me to: tears and excitement. I’ve worked my tushy off to get here.

  “It is.” Daphne, being the awesome friend that she is, hands me a tissue before I even have to ask. “You’ve come a long way from weekend markets and a cupcake truck.”

  I survey the product of all my hard work. “It’s been a journey, hasn’t it?”

  “An uphill
battle to the top of cupcake mountain, really,” Daphne agrees.

  “I’d rather take the hard road than compromise my dream.” I run my fingertips over the letters that spell out Buttercream and Booze. My phone chimes from inside my purse, signaling a call. The ringtone, which is “The Addams Family” theme song, means it’s my mother.

  Daphne and I look at my purse and then each other. “I’m letting that go to voicemail. I one hundred percent guarantee my mom is calling to try to argue my dad’s case.”

  Daphne sighs. “They really don’t get it, do they?”

  “Nope.”

  “Have you told them when your grand opening is?”

  “Absolutely not.” I do not need them showing up on opening day throwing advice at me. And honestly, it wouldn’t be that difficult for them to find the information on their own if they had the wherewithal to check out social media, but I’ve been extremely vague about the whole thing.

  “It’s too bad they can’t just support you without taking everything over.”

  “They have the best of intentions and a complete lack of chill.” Two traits I’m not unfamiliar with.

  “Truer words have never been spoken.” Daphne blows out a breath. “It’d be nice if they would let you access your trust without forcing their opinions on you.”

  “They really love the concept of conditional independence.” My family owns some of the most highly regarded, exclusive fine dining establishments in the Pacific Northwest. The expectation was always that I, too, would become a chef and carry on the family legacy.

  She taps on the edge of the counter. “It’s just frustrating to know you have the money, but if you use it there are all kinds of stupid stipulations that go along with it. Sort of defeats the whole purpose of having a trust in the first place, doesn’t it?”

  Daphne’s family is well off, too. We went to the same prep school and have been friends since we were kids. The main difference is that her family has backed every single dream she’s ever had an inkling to pursue, whereas mine keeps trying to hammer the square peg that is me into a round hole of their design. “Hence the reason the money is staying where it is until this place is established and I’ve proven I can make it work.”