May 15
Cupcakes on Keller Street
Noontime
Chandler Nightingale, the daylight pastry chef, stood behind the counter: blue-blue eyes, pink lips that looked as if they were injected with a fresh dose of Botox, broad shoulders, white apron pulled tight around his muscular middle. I took him for a beefster who worked out at Rontunda at least six times a week and drank protein from a plastic bottle, but he didn’t. Instead, he did push-ups on his fiancé, Matt Gleeson, for the last three years. Rumor had it the two men were getting married at the end of summer. Something extravagant because Matt came from money; the son of a famous mystery writer.
Chandler asked, “Can I help you?”
I saw a line of flour on his left cheek and respected his work. “I need a nine-inch round cake. Chocolate in and
