“Thank you,” she said. “Finally. Somebody around here has some sense.”
“Enough of this,”
Daniel stopped beside my chair and held out his hand.
“Give me that.”
I looked down. The spoon. I’d forgotten I was still holding it.
I hesitated.
Then he plucked it from my fingers.
I’d forgotten I was still holding it.
He turned toward the cake.
Ashley smiled, tight and victorious, already smoothing her hair for the photographer.
Daniel stepped up to the tiers.
He looked at them for a long moment, those perfect ivory layers, those little sugar roses that had taken my grandmother’s aching hands four days to shape.
And then he plunged the spoon straight into the middle.
“Finally. Somebody around here has some sense.”
It went in deep.
He dug out a huge, ragged scoop of frosting and sponge, lifted it, and put the whole thing in his mouth.
