Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Of course, then she’d had to fiddle. And fiddle. Until Fernsby thought he might have to carry her bodily away from the cake.
But there was no doubt about it, the young woman had oodles of talent. If only she would use butter. But now was not the time to dwell on that. They had a cake to show off.
The table had been set up in the gazebo where Ava and Ransom had laid out the cutlery, plates, and serving knife.
And wasn’t that extremely interesting.
Ransom hadn’t needed to carry anything out to the table. He was the master chef. Minions did his bidding. And yet, he’d enlisted Ava’s help, and they’d done it together.
Fernsby knew for a fact that it was his thoughts pervading the atmosphere to the point where Ransom and Ava were finally getting the right idea. All he’d had to do was leave an empty spot next to Ava during the wedding and guide Ransom right to it.
They still needed a nudge there, a nod here, and a wink there, but truly, it was as if they were doing the job for him.
There’d be a hot time in the old town tonight. Oh yes.
Finally, the cake was displayed on the table, the silverware gleaming as brightly as if he’d polished it himself.
He’d been afraid the cake topper might be a travesty, but once the bride and groom figurines were piped into place, he acknowledged the delightful appropriateness of it. The Dia de los Muertos bride and groom, holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes as they leaned close to kiss, their skeletal teeth not quite touching, were perfection.
Yes. The cake was a triumph. Even if he did say so himself.
As Gideon and Rosie stepped up, Fernsby allowed Gabrielle to ceremoniously hand them the cake knife, informing them softly, “The lower and the third tiers are Fernsby’s. The second and the top tier are mine.”
“Yes, butter and eggs on the bottom to support everything else.” Fernsby sighed. “Then vegan.” Even in his own mind, he heard the drawl of that word.
“I absolutely must have a piece of both,” Rosita Diaz, now Rosita Jones, was a dear child. An amazing mother to Jorge, she was now also an enviable mother to Isabella. Good Lord, he hoped they didn’t start calling the poor child Izzie or some such nonsense. Rosita’s veil was gone, the adorable miscreant having pulled it off the bride’s head during the ceremony, and Rosita had never replaced it.
Fernsby didn’t chuckle. Although he wanted to. He thought of all the new babies in the Maverick realm. He wondered if Susan would allow him to babysit; Susan, being the matriarch of the family, would have to make that decision.
Wouldn’t it be nice, just for an hour or so, to bounce a little tyke on his knee? And when they needed changing, they could be returned to their mothers forthwith.
God forbid he should wait for the Harringtons to get down to the baby business. While he’d maneuvered Cammie and Dane into each other’s arms, he couldn’t very well maneuver them into having a baby.
Or could he?
He raised an eyebrow in contemplation.
Together, Rosita and Gideon cut four narrow slices of cake, two from the all-important first tier, and two from the second vegan tier. Even the word was a guttural sound in his mind.
Thank God they didn’t play that disgusting charade of shoving cake in each other’s faces. Especially not his cake. It deserved to be treated with respect.
Gideon fed his bride a forkful. And Rosita glowed. Then she fed Gideon. And if a man could actually glow, Gideon Jones did.
The look of love on his face was like Mr. Darcy finally telling Elizabeth Bennet that he loved her. Pride and Prejudice, the greatest love story ever told. But then, these Mavericks seemed so adept at creating their own greatest love stories that they didn’t need Jane Austen.
When they’d eaten from the two tiers, Rosita and Gideon turned to their bakers.
“They’re both so delicious,” Rosita said. Then she smiled like Elizabeth Bennet finally accepting Mr. Darcy’s proposal. “I can’t even tell them apart.”
Fernsby muttered, “Nonsense,” under his breath, just like Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
He was sure only Gabrielle heard him.
Rosita hugged him, then Gabrielle. “Thank you so much for doing this for us.”
Foregoing a man hug, Gideon shook Fernsby’s hand, then hugged Gabrielle. “Thank you both. You’ve made our wedding so special.”
Fernsby waved away their thanks. “We could do no less for two such as yourselves.”
Then Gideon asked, “Have you tasted both cakes?”
Fernsby harrumphed. “Of course. A baker must always make a test cake for occasions as important as a wedding.”
Beside him, he could feel Gabrielle Harrington’s smile. “I’m sure Fernsby’s is delicious,” she said mildly. “But unfortunately, I couldn’t taste-test since it isn’t vegan.”
Fernsby, nose in the air, said, “I found Miss Harrington’s cake to be… tolerable.” It was actually more than luscious on the palate, but one simply couldn’t say that aloud. Tolerable was compliment enough. Anything more might go to the young woman’s head.