Sweet Nothings

Ivy pulled her finger out of her mouth and studied the reddened skin and admitted she could throw no stones when it came to klutziness. "Suffering is the bane of creativity."

Considering they were not only family but had been living together for a year now, Violet didn't comment but crossed to the aloe plant on the shelf above the window, snapped off a stem, and grabbed Ivy's wrist before dragging her to the sink to douse the offended finger in cool water.

"Oww!"

"Baby," Violet admonished.

"Sadist."

Violet grinned, turned off the tap, and dabbed the digit dry with the turquoise-and-purple-flower-embroidered edge of Ivy's own Sugar Babies apron.

"You'd better get back out there," Ivy commented as she heard the bell to the front door jingle once again. The shop had welcomed a steady stream of customers since Violet had opened the doors eight months ago. But ever since their third roommate, Kennedy Lowell, had come over to the bakery full time and given Sugar Babies the benefit of her marketing background, the bell had been doing a lot more jingling. The city of Nashville had embraced Ivy's unorthodox, unpredictable menu and looked forward to Kennedy's social media messages each day announcing the cupcake of the day and other sweet treats.

"Kennedy's got it handled." Violet slathered aloe over Ivy's finger before covering it with a Band-Aid. Violet was probably right. Kennedy's past as a bartender meant that she was used to handling a crowd. But when the bell jangled again, Ivy bumped her hip against Violet's.
Violet dropped a quick kiss on the blue-and-white snowflake-decorated latex.

"Better bring out whatever we've got left in the back and any of those if they're ready."

There was nothing left in the back, which was why she was baking again at almost five o'clock at night. Though she made most of their sweets fresh every morning, some treats were able to be refrigerated or frozen and assembled quickly for emergencies. Ivy nodded before she grabbed a turquoise potholder, picked up the pan that was causing her artistic suffering, and flipped the cupcakes out onto the cooling rack.

Too bland, said Devil Food.

Simple and scrumptious, argued Angel Cake.

Some people likened their subconscious to a little voice in their head. Ivy happened to have two of them. It had been that way since Iris died years ago, and the fact that Angel Cake sounded a lot like her sister gave Ivy some comfort. Cake even looked a little like Iris with her blond hair neatly twisted into a chignon while Devil Food shared Ivy's wild and wavy hair. Food and Cake were the genius behind her creative bakery treats, though Ivy had to admit sometimes it was exhausting to listen to them bicker.

Right now Devil Food was a bit PO'd because Ivy had gone with Angel Cake's vanilla bean cupcakes with crème brûlée frosting instead of Food's hotly contested Mexican chocolate cupcakes with chili-chocolate frosting.

Fifteen minutes later, Ivy's finger had stopped throbbing, she had two dozen cupcakes frosted, and the bell had jangled three more times. Ivy tossed the spatula she'd been using to finish the frosting into the stainless steel sink. Even though it would drive Violet bonkers, Ivy decided upon hearing the front door again, she would wait to wash the dishes until the bakery closed. If there was something she hated more than almost anything, it was washing dishes.
Ivy grabbed a tray of cupcakes and left the most recent batch to cool as she walked through the arched open doorway to the storefront, pausing for a second when she saw the mob. It wasn't that she was unused to seeing the bakery packed with customers. But tonight it was really full of people. Kennedy was manning the register, her cinnamon-colored hair in a long tail down her back. She was similarly dressed to Violet, but instead of dress pants, she wore dark-washed skinny jeans and a purple apron. Even though the line at the counter was three deep, Violet sat with a woman at one of the dainty ice-cream-parlor tables. The fifty-something woman's black boot tapped against the gleaming wood floor, and even as Ivy watched, Violet laid a hand on the woman's arm.

The antique lights along Hale Street shone through their front window, a warm glow on a drizzly and chilly early February night. With a half an hour until closing, Ivy wasn't surprised to see the curved display cases so empty—today had been especially busy—but even the glass containers on the counters were down to crumbs. Even with tonight's extra baking, she would have to come in at least an hour early in the morning to back up the backup treats.

"Kennedy, could you come here a minute?" Violet called out as Kennedy finished up with one of the customers.

Kennedy's hazel eyes met Ivy's, and Ivy gave her a wink to signal she was okay with the remaining two people in line. As Ivy helped the first woman pick out a frosted sugar cookie and a slice of carrot cake with cream cheese frosting, she heard bits of conversation float by from the table, and the woman her cousin was talking to was looking a little more sparkly-eyed and a little less panicked, Violet evidently working her magic.

Having been in the food service business since she was a teenager, she was used to hearing weird bits of information. But even she turned her head quickly, setting her silver hoop earrings swaying, when she was sure she heard the words square dancing and Cheshire cat.

With effort, she returned her attention to the customer remaining in front of her, sighed mentally, and asked a question she knew was pointless. "Lurlene, what's it going to be today?"

The slightly bug-eyed woman in front of her squinted her eyes at the display cases. It was the same every day. But Ivy had learned the hard way that there was no speeding up the process. "What's that one?" Lurlene Williams pointed a glove-encased finger at the lowest case.

"Lemon-glazed scone." Ivy shifted her weight and rolled the kink out of her left ankle, not bothering to point out—again—the small chalkboard sign in front of each item.

"How about that one?"

Since there was only one other tray that still had anything on it, Ivy didn't need to look. "Double-chocolate fudge brownie."

Lurlene wrinkled her nose. "It's very, very pretty. Do you know the origins of fudge?"

Before one of Hale Street's longest residents could start in, Violet intervened. "Hi, Lurlene."

"Violet." Lurlene nodded hello so vigorously the bright blue ball on top of her orange stocking cap bounced.

Violet ducked under the counter and retrieved a small lavender Sugar Babies box. "Chocolate cupcake with chocolate frosting. I wasn't sure when you'd be in today, so I set one aside."

"Hmmph," was the woman's only response. But she took the box and pulled an old change purse from inside her bright green London Fog winter coat.
"If you'll excuse us," Violet went on, "I need some help from Ivy."

While Lurlene paid, sorting out exact change, she grumbled about the general hurriedness of this generation, then Violet herded the Hale Street resident toward the door until she was finally able to flip the old-fashioned Open sign to Closed.

Ivy turned on her pink-Ked-encased heel, came out from behind the counter, and dropped into the chair Kennedy slid her way. She tried not to groan in relief. She was glad the bakery was successful, for Violet, and for her own bank account, but it had been a lot easier when she was only creating new confection treats to suit her own whims.

Violet's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Mrs. Johansen is in need of a little Sugar Babies help."

"Of course." Ivy edged the pile of Kleenex out of the middle of the table and patted the woman's hand. "Whatever you need. I've got some cupcakes cooling in the back, and there might be a slice of lemon meringue in the cooler. And I always keep frosting on hand for Kennedy. She's a bit of an addict. Has a sugar fang."

Kennedy's hazel eyes narrowed on Ivy before she grinned at Mrs. Johansen and tapped her incisor. "That is not a lie."

"Not that kind of help," Violet interrupted. "Her annual fundraiser has had several donations fall through."

"That's too bad." Ivy crossed one leg over the other. Pizza. Pizza sounded really good right now. With mushrooms and onions and sausage.

"It is." Violet's eyes darted over to Kennedy. "Kennedy is coming up with some ideas, and as part of them, I'd like to offer a Sugar Babies catering event as a replacement."

"A catering event?" Her stomach dropped and thoughts of pizza vanished.

"It works out fabulously for both parties." Kennedy's voice held excitement.

"Gives us some exposure at a largely attended event."

"Hopefully." Mrs. Johansen's quiet voice wobbled.

"And we get to help out a great cause," Violet interjected.
Ivy squirmed in her chair. Violet had neatly cornered her. What else was she supposed to say to the red-eyed woman in front of her? There was really only one answer to give. "Sure."

"Oh, that's lovely." Mrs. Johansen squeezed Ivy's fingers.

"Welp, I've got to get to those dishes. Just let Violet and Kennedy know what you'd like. Violet is especially good at list making." Ivy hauled herself to her feet. She scampered toward the back as quickly as her tired feet could carry her, turned on the kitchen faucet, and squirted detergent into the tub. The sound of water pounding into the bottom of the stainless steel sink would be loud enough to cover any discussion of the blasted catering plans. Fairy farts on her Aunt Serena. If Violet's mother hadn't been so determined to hate and then tolerate Sugar Babies, her cousin's brainchild and dream, her two friends might not be so determined to make the catering part of the business take off.
When Violet had first had the idea of opening a bakery, Ivy had jumped in with both feet. Which was typical. What wasn't typical was that she'd actually signed a contract to commit to a year's worth of time here. It was longer than she usually stayed in any one place—and she had a hard time with contracts—but she'd still been reeling from what had happened in Atlanta so close on the heels of the death of Violet's father. But when Violet and Ivy had met Kennedy, there had been a moment of connection and the spark of an idea that had become Sugar Babies.

That spark and connection the three of them had shared in building the bakery had been energizing and almost electric. Ivy had been excited, bursting with creativity and ideas, the freedom to create whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, causing the recipes to flow out of her like magic. Added to that, the project had helped banish the aura of sadness that had cloaked Violet. Things had been perfect; she created the bakery's treats on a whim, Kennedy tweeted out the offerings of the day, and Violet dealt with all the detail stuff that made Ivy crazy. She shouldn't have gotten complacent and expected things to stay the same. Things always changed, and if you didn't stay ahead of it, life could just beat you down.

That this most recent beating came at the hands of her formerly favorite aunt was just … well, icing on the cake.

To be fair, Serena wasn't a bad person. But she hadn't dealt well with Violet's life choices. At first, Serena had been disappointed and frustrated that Violet was giving up a well-paying and prestigious job for the uncertainty of owning her own business. Her mother's disapproval had nearly done Violet in. But things had gone from bad to worse when Serena had finally seen how important Sugar Babies was to Violet. And when she'd tried to "help" by getting rid of Kennedy—who she'd seen as an unstable and untrustworthy partner—by trying to pay off Kennedy to leave Sugar Babies, well, that was when things really went south.

Kennedy and Violet had gone into overdrive. Part of that mania had been brainstorming a catering branch to Sugar Babies. And that, that was enough to have Ivy get itchy. In catering there was no freedom, no creativity, no life. It was following someone else's ideas, doing what they wanted. She'd done plenty of that in her twenties. At a year past thirty, the thought of conforming to a plan that wasn't hers … well, that made her feel closed in. It was also too eerily familiar to what had happened in her last job. And look at how that had turned out. She trusted Violet and Kennedy, but she wasn't going to give up that piece of herself again. Ever. Even if it meant leaving Sugar Babies.
Kennedy and Violet had agreed to hold off on pushing the catering until after the holidays, and though the relationship between Aunt Serena and Violet was currently at a coolly polite level, things at Sugar Babies were great. Ivy had hoped the new aspect of the business would sputter out, and they could leave things like they were. But just two weeks ago, Violet had booked catering for a baby shower. Now this. Looked like her plan of ignoring it and hoping her friends would just forget about that half-baked plot wasn't going to work after all.

She took off her bracelets and rings, turned off the tap, plunged her hands into hot, soapy water, and hoped while she was washing away cupcake crumbs that Mrs. Johansen might change her mind and decide a catered event didn't quite measure up to box seats at a Titans game in terms of an auction item.

Deciding that for the moment it wasn't worth worrying about, Ivy grabbed her phone and chose a random playlist. She was going to take another a page out of another Southern belle's book and think about it tomorrow.