“I know.”
That was what made it worse.
Vanessa hadn’t invented the problem. She had found a real one.
I had a wedding cake for 60 guests due in nine days and a corporate order for 200 cookies after that. Ingredients were already bought.
Deposits had already gone toward supplies and a new mixer attachment.
My ovens were suddenly useless.
Vanessa hadn’t invented the problem.
Vanessa came to our porch that evening carrying a bottle of wine.
“I’ve come to make you an offer,” she said.
Irvin folded his arms. “Get to the point.”
“Tell the neighborhood that you lied.” She stared at me. “You misunderstood an innocent friendship, humiliated me because I was jealous, and then apologize. Publicly.”
“I’ve come to make you an offer,”
“No,” I said.
“Get off our porch,” Irvin added.
Vanessa smiled.
“You have until tomorrow morning to reconsider.”
She left the wine on the railing and walked home.
