I watch the clock. It’s after midday. I check my watch considering perhaps the clock is fast, or broken. But the clock is fine, and it’s almost one o’clock. Standing at the counter, I tap my nails against the countertop, resting my chin on my other hand as I sigh, staring at the table I’d set up in the center of the small store. I’d gone all out. A pretty tablecloth. Two silver trays; one with Nash’s samples, and of course, another ‘special’ batch destined only for Anna. I even decorated the table with a pretty mosaic vase full of fresh flowers, and a bottle of Pellegrino in a silver bucket of ice with two crystal champagne flutes. And, they’re late. I quickly begin to grow impatient but, just like clockwork, my cell phone vibrates in the pocket of my skirt, and I pull it out to see a new text message from the one person I’d expected.

Nash: Hey. Murph, I had to drive Anna to the city. There was a mix-up, and the designer couriered her wedding dress to their store in Atlanta! I’m so sorry, but I’ve asked Harley and Beth to stop by and test the cakes on our behalf. I hope that’s okay x

I read the message at least ten times, and it takes every ounce of my self-control not to have a complete meltdown. Such a great plan gone to waste. But, before I can think of an alternate, the bell above the entrance chimes and I look up from my phone to see Harley holding the door open for Beth, the two entering the store together. Harley looks excited for cake. Beth looks like she’s ready to sacrifice her unborn child. I swallow the lump at the back of my throat.

“Hey, you guys,” I chirp brightly, walking around the counter.

Beth offers me a cold, bored glance, clutching her expensive-looking handbag tightly as she stands on the spot, looking around with an unimpressed glower.

“Hey, babe.” Harley smiles, rolling his eyes at me when Beth isn’t looking before leaning down and placing a kiss on my cheek.

An unexpected flutter causes my belly to twist from his closeness and the scent of him, but I ignore it, forcing my smile to remain as I pour two glasses of sparkling water, handing one to Beth, which she snatches from me before taking a seat at the table.

After receiving the text from Nash, I had considered disposing of the tray of tainted cake samples. I thought maybe his text had been some kind of a sign. I couldn’t poison Anna. What if she’d been allergic to something in the laxative? She could have died, and I’d have been charged with murder. Nash would have hated me forever and I’d have been confined to a federal prison. Then I look at the perma-scowl etched into Beth’s hard face as she glares at me, and I silence my subconscious.

“Here, Beth.” I push the tainted tray closer to her. “This batch has … less sugar,” I say on the spot, knowing a girl like Beth would most certainly be the type to count her calories.