C.A.K.E

Chapter 5: Horizons

“Nadia, could you take these out front for me?”

Arden hands a tray of mini chocolate ganache cakes to her baking assistant, a twenty-three-year-old

woman fresh out of culinary school. Naddy is still green around the edges. But she's been a godsend.

“Sure.” Nadia takes the tray of desserts from her, and starts to back out of the double swinging doors of

the kitchen. Then she stops and ducks her head around the corner to speak to Arden. “Oh, and there's

a gentleman waiting for you at table six.”

“Elliott?” Ardi starts to breathe a little easier. Maybe he was able to move some things around on his

schedule and will be joining her and Casper at the museum after all.

“No, ma'am.” Nadia licks her lips. “This tall drink is of the hot chocolate variety, and British.”

“And very married,” Arden adds. She needs to remind herself of that fact.

“What a waste.”

“Tell him I'll be right out, please. And try to control yourself, Naddy.”

“No guarantees.” Nadia winks at her, before backing out of the door.

Arden's stomach goes back to doing backflips. What is he doing here?

They agreed to meet at the museum. That would have given Ardi more time to prepare herself to be

alone with him and his disarming charm. Instead, he's caught her off guard at work.

She can't hide in the back all afternoon. There are things she needs to handle before she can leave.

She considers not going, making up an excuse about being too busy. The bakery is always teeming

with business. So that wouldn't be too far fetched.

Arden realizes that whatever she decides to do, she will still have to go out there and speak to him.

See him. Be close enough to be ensnared in the seductive clutches of his smile.

“Get your shit together, Arden. He's just a man.” She continues arranging macarons for a waiting

customer's order and ranting to herself. Soon, her anti-Casper pep talk takes a whole other turn.

"He's just an intelligent ... tall..." She sighs to herself. "Well-spoken, sexy ... man.”

“Well, you know. What can I say?”

Arden jumps, dropping one of the macarons. She turns to find her brother leaning against the wall,

stroking his chin. He grins at her with their mother's hundred-watt smile, the same one Arden was

blessed to inherit along with her defined, button nose. They have their father to thank for their deep,

brown eyes.

“Look what you made me do.” Ardi gestures to the fallen pastry.

He laughs and grabs something to clean up the mess. Then he kisses her cheek.

“I'm sorry. Just wanted to check on my sister.” He steals one of the little meringue cookies from the

parchment-lined tray. “And seems like I need to. You're talking to yourself now?”

She pops his hand when he reaches for another macaron. His surprise visits are the reason she makes

more than she thinks will sell every day.

“I was thinking out loud.”

“Who were you thinking out loud about?” He leans on the counter and nudges her side. “Eli? ...”

Arden doesn't answer.

“Oh ... someone else.”

“None of your business.” She bumps him with her hip. “What are you doing sneaking up on me

anyway?”

“Had a lunch date with Dad. Decided to stop by on my way back to the hospital.”

“And why wasn't I invited?”

“Guess, he just doesn't like you, Elmer.” He chuckles.

Arden frowns. “Stop calling me that, Adam.”

“It's not my fault you talked like Elmer Fudd until you were seven.”

“But you're the reason it stuck. Even Gran calls me that sometimes.”

He grins. “Mission accomplished.”

“Get outta my kitchen.” She aims a bent spatula at his face.

“Come on. Don't be like that ... I was just playing.” He tries the puppy dog eyes.

She ignores him and points to the back exit without looking up from her work. “The door, Adam.”

“Okay, okay. I'm leaving.” He turns and Arden calls him back.

She pulls a cake box from the shelf of completed orders waiting for pickup and places it on the

industrial stainless steel counter.

“Don't forget this.”

Adam glances at her lowered head, as he examines the pastel package's contents. A selection of his

favorite sweets is tucked inside between sheets of parchment.

“You do love me.”

“Only because I have to.” She smiles.

He taps her foot with his. “Take those off as soon as you get a minute. Give your feet a rest.”

“Yes, doctor.” She sighs.

Adam gives her another peck on the cheek and leaves the same way he came.

She checks the order and carries the stack of boxes to the front of the bakery.

Arden catches Casper's eye and shoots him a polite smile, careful not to seem too pleased to see him.

Ardi presents a smash cake, a six-layer strawberry cake, and a variety of macarons to a young woman.

The order is for a first birthday party. Hence, the smash cake. Arden gets several requests for the small

cakes a week. Though, she does consider it a waste to spend so much effort on baking and decorating

a cake that will end up plastered on a toddler's hands and face.

She takes one more look at her colorful creations, before securing the boxes with the bakery's

trademark seal.

“Lulu, is going to love this, thank you.” The woman is so pleased with Arden's work, she even

purchases a few items from the bakery's lunch menu.

After she finishes the transaction, Ardi makes her way over to the corner table where Casper is seated,

staring out the window. He smiles and stands to greet her.

His eyes travel from her nude heels, over her white pencil skirt, up to her turquoise cardigan and the

bubble gum pink belt accentuating her waist. He lingers over her lips, before meeting her almond eyes.

Arden pushes a stray lock of hair back into the mass of curls pinned behind her ear. She wishes she

had thought to glance in a mirror, before coming out to meet him.

His gaze falls on her shoes again. “You work in those every day?”

“No, just for today.” She glances down at her leather mesh, t-strap heels. “My brother would kill me if I

did.”

“Why is that?”

“Wearing high heels on a daily basis can cause permanent damage to the feet and leg muscles,” Arden

smirks. “Adam's an orthopedic surgeon and virtual know-it-all.”

“Maybe, he's right. You shouldn't put too much strain on your legs. Especially, since your ... you know.”

Arden is puzzled by the concern in his voice. Then it dawns on her that maybe he's been doing some

reading, and her heart sinks.

She takes a trembling breath. “Since what?”

“Since you're on your feet all day.” He pulls out a seat for her.

Okay, good . . . Maybe he doesn't know about the accident. She smooths out her skirt and eases onto Belongs to © n0velDrama.Org.

the hot pink wooden chair, crossing her ankles. Casper reclaims his seat across from her and sits

gawking at her. A bit unnerved by his stare, she makes an attempt at conversation.

“So . . . change of plans?”

“No, I was looking for an escape from the boredom at the office.” He looks around the cafe, studying

the collection of vintage plates on one wall. “And this is anything but mundane.”

She follows his eyes to the coral, wrought iron chair that's been converted into a light fixture. Encased

in an ivory cage of timber and light bulbs, it's a consummate conversation starter.

“Yeah, that's my fault. I decorated this place like it's my house.”

The bakery is Arden's second home. So, it seemed fitting to her that it should feel that way. Her shop

sits at an odd angle, catty-corner to an intersection in the heart of South Homewood, SoHo to the locals

(an attempt to seem more metropolitan. But try as they might, they're still in quiet Alabama).

The building's triangular structure emulates the shape of the street, lending itself to the quirky and

cutesy branding she had in mind.

A pastel pink and gray, cherry blossom wallpaper accents the walls of the dining area. Tables and

chairs in various bright colors, that were distressed by Arden's own hands, give the space a casual,

lived-in feel.

Antique cake displays, side tables, and other things salvaged from the archives of the past are

everywhere. Anything with a hint of old-school, kitsch catches her attention and ends up in a

shadowbox on the walls of SoHo Sugar.

Casper grins at her. “I like it. It's very inviting.”

“Thank you.”

They sit in silence, glancing at each other like two kindergartners too shy to exchange their Valentines.

“Would you like something before we go?”

“I offered ...” Naddy walks up behind Arden and rests a hand on the back of her seat. “But he declined.

I think he has a taste for something sticky and sweet ... Arden, isn't that your specialty?”

Naddy bites her bottom lip and runs her string of pearls through her gloved fingers.

Arden shakes her head. “Nadia, one of these days, I swear you're gonna get me sued.”

“Oh, calm down. I don't bite.” Nadia winks at him. “Unless you ask me real nice.”

“Neither do I. It's just good manners.” He winks back.

“Please, don't encourage her.” Ardi sighs.

Casper smiles at Arden, then addresses the young woman. “So, Naddy, is that short for something?”

“Nadia.”

“That's beautiful. It's nice to meet you, Nadia.”

“Thank you.” She grins, flashing that endearing gap in her front teeth. “And you are?”

“Casper.” His accent is undeniable, stronger than usual. It warms the two women like the smell of fresh-

baked bread. Both are caught in his web.

Ardi snaps back to reality first. “Nadia, could you please go see what Joseph is up to?”

Naddy continues to gaze at Casper, sweeping her hand across her neck over and over. “Joseph is at

home sick today.”

“All the more reason to check on him.” Arden peeks up at Nadia, who gives her an irritated nod.

“I should get back to work before the slave driver here gets upset.” She glances at Arden, who rolls her

eyes.

“Casper, it was a pleasure. I hope to see more of you in the future.”

Casper takes Nadia's hand and kisses the white glove covering her ebony skin. “The pleasure was all

mine, mademoiselle.”

Nadia saunters away with a smile wider than her swing skirt.

Arden watches her leave, then looks at Casper. “I can't have you seducing my staff.”

“Seduce? ... Nah.” He leans back and grins. “I have someone else in mind for that.”

Certain her burnt sugar complexion just went beet red, Arden excuses herself before she says

something she might regret. “I'll be right back.”

Her fitted skirt, while of a respectable length, has a sizable slit at the back. She makes each step long

and slow, hoping he's watching.

Arden slips behind the display counter and reaches into a case full of enough sugar to rot the teeth of

the entire neighborhood.

She returns to Casper with a sampling of macarons and a pot of saffron tea. Arden sits the copper tray

on the table and pours him a cup.

“I feel like I should have taken an etiquette lesson before I came.”

“Because of the gloves?” she asks.

He nods, and Ardi smiles.

“They complete the look. The '50s was a great decade for women's fashion. Very demure and

glamorous. Classic movies from that time period always fascinated me. And since I pay the bills, I get

to treat my employees like paper dolls.”

The uniform of the members of the SoHo Sugar team includes swing skirts kissed with polka dots, knit

cardigans in bright solids, colorful jewelry, and their signature white gloves. Even her two male

employees get a makeover in fitted pants, classic button-downs, and colorful bow ties. Though, not

everyone is as happy with the look.

Leo, one of her waiters, shows up in jeans and one of the bakery's more masculine branded tees most

days. But her host, Joe, loves it. The standard dress is his everyday style. He even sports a long

pompadour. Arden misses Joseph's vibrant personality when he's not here. He makes a long day seem

so much shorter.

“It all works ... very well,” Casper says.

His eyes are on her again. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him studying her backside. It's hard

to ignore her curves in the snug material. The ensemble shows the slightest wisps of her skin. But it

highlights her figure like a number from the pages of Agent Provocateur. Arden pours herself a cup of

tea and sits down, putting a temporary end to the peepshow.

Casper takes a bite of a macaron. The second the dessert hits his mouth, he closes his eyes. “This is

by far the best thing I have ever put in my mouth.”

Arden sips her tea, trying to hide the satisfaction on her lips. “Thank you. That's sweet of you to say.”

“It's the truth.” Casper takes another few bites, then settles his smoldering stare on her again. “I know

you can bake your ass off. What else should I know about Arden?”

“What would you like to know?”

He leans forward with a flirtatious sparkle in his eye. “Everything.”

Arden adjusts her sweater and leans back in her seat. Her imagination is going wild with things she'd

love to do with this man. And her resolve is weakening by the minute. She has to find something else

for them both to focus their attention.

"Maybe we should get going." She begins to clear their table.

"Here, let me." Casper gets up and starts to help.

His hand brushes against hers as they reach for a plate at the same time. He's a breath from her face

and she has to resist the urge to turn and kiss him. She shakes her head, desperate to regain her

composure.

"I've got it." She quickly takes the other items from him. "I'll um... meet you at the museum."

He licks his lips. And she takes a visible gulp of air.

"All right, love. See you in a bit."

Arden watches him leave, hoping no one catches her staring after him. She clears up the table and

heads into the kitchen. Before Nadia can descend upon her again, she ducks into her office at the

back. She takes a moment to touch up her hair and apply a little more lipstick. Midway through her

primping, she realizes how ridiculous it is to be readying herself for a man who is definitely not her

husband. She rolls her eyes at her reflection and slips out the bakery's back entrance.

Casper is waiting for her outside the Birmingham Museum of Art. Once she's parked, he makes his

bowlegged walk over to her car and open's her driver side door. He extends his hand to her and smiles.

"Ready?"

She takes a deep breath and takes his hand. "Lead the way."

They head inside the building and start in no particular direction. Casper sees signs for an African

diaspora exhibit and guides them in that direction. They make light conversation, asking about each

other's home lives.

“Twelve years of marriage, and no kids?”

Arden steps away from Casper, her focus pulled to an intricate African ceramic. She stares at its

smooth lines, letting the clay communicate the artist's emotions to her.

“Elliott doesn't want any more kids.” Her voice is heavy, almost too low for him to hear.

“What about you?” Casper joins her at the display. “Do you want children?”

A faint smile crosses her lips. “I thought I did when I was younger. Before ...”

“Before what?”

Before my mother was stolen from me.

Arden continues down the long corridor, trying to keep her mood casual. This is not the time or place to

have a mental breakdown.

She laughs to keep herself at ease. “Before I got old.”

He leans into her. “You have plenty of time.”

“I'm thirty-five, Casper.” She runs her fingers over a gold placard with an engraved description of a

vase. “All eggs have an expiration date. And mine is fast approaching.”

“Women in their thirties and forties have healthy babies all the time. If kids are something you want,

you should discuss how you feel with Elliott. I'm sure his decision isn't set in stone.”

“Eli had a vasectomy a year before we met.” She smirks at Casper. “I'd say that it's pretty definite.”

“How the hell could he marry a woman in her twenties, knowing he couldn't have kids?”

“Because that woman assured him that she didn't want any.” Arden blurts out the statement with more

force than intended.

He stays silent a moment. “Is that still the case?”

She sighs. “If it isn't, what does it matter now?”

“The procedure is reversible.”

“Yeah, but my decision isn't. Why put him through that when I'm not sure?”

“What aren't you sure about?”

She stares at Casper, looking through him to a tapestry on display behind his head.

Ardi would love to hear the pitter-patter of little feet that share half her DNA. But she's afraid the guilt

and resentment would overwhelm her.

Lillian has already missed her daughter's wedding. Arden can't bear to think of first birthdays, soccer

games, and graduations without her mom around to share it with her.

She resolved the guilt she felt when she married Eli. There was a limit to her happiness with him. They

would never have children.

“You wouldn't understand.” Arden walks up a ramp into another level of the museum.

Casper catches up to her. “Now, you're clairvoyant?”

“I just . . . Why don't we pull back the reins on my life for a while?” She turns on her heel to face him.

“Why aren't there any little Caspers or Karmas wreaking havoc on the world?”

He chuckles, stepping behind her to examine a collection of ceremonial pots.

“Karma's career is her baby. And I'm her husband on special occasions.”

Arden stands next to him, studying him in her peripheral. A sadness tugs at the edges of his smile. She

feels a connection with him then.

They're both latchkey spouses, sitting in empty homes and waiting for that key in the door.

“Even though, your better half is out fighting the good fight. It's hard not to feel abandoned.”

“Elliott miss a few meals a week?” He returns her understanding glance.

“Sometimes even when he's home, his head is still with his work.”

Arden notices the way Casper is looking at her like he wants to make up for Eli's shortcomings. The

urge to let him do so fights her common sense. She forces her feet to carry her weakening resolve

farther from him.

“What exhibit did you want to see, again?”

They find their way to the outdoor Sculpture Pit where a number of the twelve figures that comprise the

Horizons exhibit have been interspersed.

Casper offers his arm to Arden as they walk. But she pretends to be too engrossed in the androgynous

sculptures to notice.

The life-sized figures watch in silence, as Arden's heels play tag with Casper's oxfords. His feet chase,

while hers dodge.

The mid-afternoon sun hits Arden's white skirt, making her seem like a cloud floating among the

shadows of Thorarinsdottir's iron sculptures. But she's more uneasy on her feet than her outfit would

suggest.

Each unique figure has one similarity—a rather large piece of glass inserted into its center.

Arden ambles between the impaled models, struggling to keep a very specific memory at bay.

She's doing fine until they reach the one seated figure. Her body becomes as rigid as the iron casting.

Casper stops next to her and cocks his head to the side. “Wonder what the glass is supposed to

represent?”

His question doesn't register. Arden is somewhere else.

The sculpture makes her think about Adam. About the day they both had to grow up. The day the perils

of the world became all too real.

Arden ... sweetheart ... Can you hear ... me ... Adam ...

A voice plays back in her head, muffled yet amplified.

Adam ... Wake up, baby ... Arden ...

The despondent chant reverberates through her, crowding out all other stimuli.

She puts her hands to her ears and tries to shake the gurgling sounds that are choking the melody of

her and Adam's names.

Casper puts his hand in the small of her back. She drops her bag. He retrieves it.

“Are you okay?”

“No ...” She staggers backward.

Blood on tanned leather. Glass scattered across the pavement. Adam pinned and unconscious in the

backseat. Her mother's gentle voice in her ear.

It all bombards her with a vivid ferocity like never before.

Her legs begin to give way. Casper reaches out to catch her. She crumples against him. Frantic grief

distorts her bright eyes.

“Arden?”

“Get me out of here—please.”

Casper sweeps her into his arms and does as she asks.