Cupcakes

Chapter 7: Eating Gumdrops

Chapter 7: Eating Gumdrops

June 10. The day was crazy. The Astor party had ordered two wedding cakes (both four-tiers), Father Seamore Cloud’s bake sale at St. Anne’s wanted his ten dozen cookies as a donation, and Fidder McCartle, the president of the Irish Club, demanded his six Irish whiskey cakes for his party of three hundred. To top off the bedlam, Jarr was showing houses all day instead of working at Cupcakes. I couldn’t tell left from right, exhausted. The shop was over-chaotic, filled with much life, and not at all as slumberous as Richter and I projected.

I believed Richter loved his baked goods a little more than me. That sounds silly today, but it was true then. He was enamored with flour, eggs, and sugar. He desired time with fluffs and creams. And never did he ignore the bagged jellies and precious wall of nuts near the fresh fruits. The man was in love with Cupcakes unconditionally, which somewhat left me feeling ignored and on edge. No matter how busy we were, he never complained or scowled though, loving his pastries, cinnamon breads, and trail mix breakfast bars.

Driven seemed an understatement. He slept about five hours each night, awakened with a smile, showered, walked down the rear flight of steps to the bakery, and processed his days, which were always over eighteen hours long. Although he was a busy bee he was never exhausted. Cupcakes was his love and life, icing was his blood, and my heart was somewhat pushed aside for the time being.

I realized two important things after Cupcakes had been open for five months: one, we needed more help at the bakery; two, I had to attract my lover better. Golden honey on my chest would have worked, since he loved its natural sweetness, but that task was far too sticky to carry out. I could have coated myself in bittersweet chocolate for him, but I preferred butterscotch instead, which he liked but didn’t love. Colorful gumdrops could have been eaten off my torso, decorating my pecs, navel, and abs, which he loved, but I was quite sure he wouldn’t take the time out for the sweet snack. Bottom line: I wanted alone time with Richter, and we needed a date away from Cupcakes—somewhere where it was just the two of us.

He agreed to both conditions: we would hire a new employee to help at Cupcakes, and he would go on a date with me, outside the bakery’s doors.

Good for me—us.

* * * *

June 13. Snowden had an awesome, four-star restaurant called Underwater, which Richter took me to. It was owned by Tim Sheller and Waldon York, who were step-brothers. The restaurant was eight years old and sublevel. A maze of fresh water and salt water fish tanks comprised the place. Tables and chairs were set up along the aquarium labyrinth, hosting diners. Such treats on the menu included swordfish, turtle, and shark. Red and white wines were imported from Europe. And desserts were supplied by a small lakeside bakery called Cupcakes.

The date was everything he and I wanted it to be: chatting, drinking too much, eating spectacular fish dishes, and taking a walk along the beach while we held hands. Romance was in the air and he was quite affectionate, providing me with many kisses, laughter, and endearing hand squeezes. Following the date, we ended up back at our apartment over Cupcakes. Our clothes came off, our chests grazed together in an intimate manner, and I ended up underneath him, a victim of his lust, which was precisely how I had wanted our evening to end.