“Screaming yellow monkeys!”
Ivy Gibson’s favorite curse word slipped from her lips as she yanked her fingers off the hot cupcake pan. Her bracelets jingled as she immediately put her index finger in her mouth.
“Burned yourself again, Gypsy Chick?”
Since answering would have required Ivy to take her scorched finger from between her lips, she just whirled around to look at her boss. Technically, her cousin. And boss. And roommate. Ivy eyed the woman in front of her and thought Violet Calloway had as many aspects to her personality as their relationship. She, with her dark brown hair twisted back in a smooth chignon and peaches-and-cream skin, looked at home anywhere from a boardroom to an elegant dinner. Today she was dressed in a cream sweater and navy blue pants, the whole ensemble covered with a Sugar Babies Sweet Shop lavender apron. Not only because it was sanitary but because her cousin was unusually clumsy in the kitchen.
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.
