They did indeed, hadn’t even planned that. The cute floral romper Remi sported showed off miles of her toned deep brown legs. The deep orange color splashed with pink and white flowers complimented Remi’s skin tone. Cherisse’s floral pattern was all purples and pinks.

“Now, since you kept us all waiting on the goods, and I am your bestest friend in the whole world, I get first dibs on whatever’s in there, right? You didn’t tell me what you were bringing.”

Remi bounced in her wedges, and normally, Cherisse would have slipped the box open a crack and allowed her to steal a cupcake, but there were other pressing matters. “I just ran into Keiran King. He said he’s the best man? Please tell me I’ve somehow wandered into the Twilight Zone. That I’m still probably so tired from last night that I hallucinated him and that entire conversation just now?”

“Um...” Remi swept the bulk of her long curly black hair over one shoulder, fiddling with a lone curl. “I could lie to you and tell you that’s the case, or we could go set out the cakes and make everyone happy. Thus making you happy as well, because I know how much you love seeing people enjoy your goodies. And we could forget you just found that out today.”

Cherisse narrowed her eyes. “Wait, did you know about Keiran before today?”

“Ummm, well, you see...”

“Hello.”

They both turned to the older woman who’d approached. Remi looked extremely relieved at the woman’s appearance. Cherisse immediately pegged her as Eric’s mother, her sister’s future mother-in-law. The resemblance was clear. Mrs. Jones was a lighter shade of brown than her son, but they had the same hazel eyes that couldn’t decide what color to be. Today, they leaned closer to brown. Her hair was styled into one of those pixie cuts, and she wore a flowy yellow dress that swirled around her knees. Her look was simple and chic, but Cherisse had no doubt that dress cost more than her rent, the gold bracelet she sported on her wrist possibly worth twice that amount.

“You must be Cherisse.” Mrs. Jones smiled down at the boxes. “The cake we’ve all been so eagerly waiting on, I presume?”

Mrs. Jones’s smile remained pleasant, but her words landed like a jab about Cherisse’s lateness. “I’m so sorry to be late,” Cherisse rushed out.

“Oh, no worries, it happens. Just be early for the wedding.” Mrs. Jones patted her arm.

Cherisse laughed, but she wanted to crawl into a hole and bury herself. She’d started off with a shitty first impression. She wasn’t marrying Eric, but Cherisse hated to keep people waiting. She knew perfection didn’t exist, but it had been drilled into her enough that perception and image was everything. Being late for any reason made her itchy.

“These are worth the wait, I promise you, Mrs. Jones. They won’t disappoint,” Remi said cheerily.

Cherisse wanted to elbow Remi to shut up. She couldn’t even promise that the cakes were her best work. She’d been hustling and worried they’d turned out subpar. What if her taste buds lied? Remi hadn’t been there for a second opinion, and now she was second-guessing everything. Her reputation sure as fuck wasn’t built on mediocre-tasting treats. Excellence had gotten her to the Pastry Wars show last year, not the potentially inferior goodies she now clutched for dear life.