Cupcakes

Chapter 6: A Buddy Swim

Chapter 6: A Buddy Swim

June 6. The following day, to my utter surprise, I learned that Jarr was invited to the same party as Richter.

Jarr was late for his shift, as usual, and I nailed him with an assortment of questions regarding Gray’s buddy swim: Do you know about the party? What’s a buddy swim? Does Gray always invite strange, but hot, guys to these parties?

Jarr responded while drinking a cup of coffee, looking interrogated in the process, “Yes, I know about the party. A buddy swim is a group of guys who enjoy a swim together. It’s not an orgy or kinky. It’s sort of like going to the bar. And Trafford Gray loves to mix up the parties with new faces, particularly those that are adorable, just like your husband’s.”

I took offence to his last comment and asked, “Why wasn’t I invited?”

He rolled his eyes and guzzled more coffee. “There is no nice way to tell you that Gray finds your husband more attractive than you. Now the cat is out of the bag. Do with it what you will.”

“Whatever,” I said in a huff, spun around, and went in search of numbers to crunch and ways to save the bakery money.

* * * *

The evening of the buddy swim was absolutely gorgeous, which had somewhat of a dismal effect on me since I had wanted it to storm with crashing lightning, high winds, and roaring thunder. No one in their right mind would have stepped into Gray’s pool during a lightning storm, right?

Instead, the sun set with a beautiful plump-purple perfection and there wasn’t a cloud over Snowden. Beauty seemed to be an understatement, if the truth be shared, and I was somewhat bummed.

In the end, without me, Jarr took Richter to the buddy swim at Gray’s, who lived in a posh area of Snowden with gated driveways, hidden cottages, and lavish in-ground pools. Richter took a chocolate pecan pie with whipped cream and Jarr took a pyramid of creamy lemon bars.

Of course, I seethed with jealousy, but reminded myself to get over it and not cause any trouble in my marriage. And the following morning over sweet cappuccinos and blueberry muffins at the shop I was quite pleased to learn from Jarr that: “There were a slew of older, wealthy men there with far too many wrinkles. Your husband and I were the youngest swimmers. It was scathing and uncomfortable, if you must know. We became meat in our trunks, such uneasy prey.”

I was ecstatic and jovial with Jarr’s news and shared an unexpected hug with the stud. I grasped him with a lobster-like embrace, squeezed hard, and applied a kiss to his forehead.

“Get away from me, sicko.”

“Not in this lifetime,” I said, beaming with joy.

He took a sip of his warm beverage and said, “It’s nice to know that you still love Richter after all these years. Your jealousy over the swim was flattering for the man.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“In so many words.”

“Because I trained him well.”

He laughed.

I laughed.

And we became busy with work at the bakery, creating fabulous summertime cakes.