DEMETRIA

The smell of frosting and coffee still clung to me when I stepped out of my office, rubbing the back of my neck. It had been one of those days, three custom cake orders, a client who wanted “just one more little change,” and a delivery mix-up that nearly made Amanda cry.

Before I could grab my purse, my phone buzzed on the counter. Anastasia.

I answered with a tired grin. “Hola, bride-to-be.”

“Don’t ‘hola’ me, thank Marion for saving your ass,” she scolded ...