Itty Bitty Stories

I Think I Kind Of Love You

I Think I Kind Of Love You

He swallows. “Bella, I kind of have been in love with you for over twelve years now.”

I blink at him. He blinks at me. It gets eerily quiet. I slowly wheel the cake to the side so it’s not standing between us anymore. “Kind of?”

(((())))

“I want it to be chocolate. Or vanilla…what about strawberry? No, no, no, Mike is allergic to strawberries. Chocolate is fine, Bella.”

“Okay.”

“With roses. No! With pink roses. Or…maybe…no. No roses, I don’t think he’ll like them…”

“Alright.”

“There should be some kind of decoration…like those little pearl things that I saw on Desperate Housewives…no! I might choke on them. No pearls. Just go with flowers.”

Letting out an irritable sigh, I look at the lady who clearly has had one too many coffees. “Why don’t you come back Monday with your fiancée? That way you can decide on a cake together.”

Her pixie bob wobbles around her head as her eyes light up. “That’s a good idea! I’ll see you Monday! Bye, Bella!” She jumps from her seat and hums her way out of my shop.

The fake smile that’s been plastered to my face finally falls off. She was my last customer. Of course she had to take three hours to decide on absolutely nothing. I spin around and hop off my chair, eager to shut down the shop for the weekend. I swipe off some orders and other paperwork from my counters. Usually it’s not that messy. Today was a busy day, I guess. Lots of people want wedding cakes during April. 

“You got one more client.”

That deep, velvety drawl makes me want to swoon and resist the urge to throw up all at the same time. I whirl around, my messy brown bangs getting into my eyes again. I brush them to back of my head and glare at the smirking idiot in my shop.

He’s sporting a nice v-neck with sunglasses perched at the top of his fluffy brown hair. There’s a ticket in his left hand. He’s waving it around like it’s some kind of pass for a V.I.P. club. “What are you doing here, Jasper?”

The grin doesn’t fade from his face as he strides towards my freshly cleaned desk. “To show you what our wedding cake is going to look like.”

“We’re not getting married,” I deadpan him. But I would like to. Not.

“But we could be,” He purrs, sitting on top of my desk and invading my personal space.

Scowling, I move away, also ripping the piece of paper from his hand at the same time. It’s actually a picture, not a ticket. It’s a picture of my soon to be sister in law, Lauren. She’s in her new wedding dress. It’s a skinny little number with a black sash around her waist. It’s strapless, showing off her tanned skin. Her brown hair is half up half down in a curly bun. In her sloppy handwriting, she wrote in the bottom corner: My dress!!!