Save the Cake - Sample Chapters

Chapter 1

As my co-supervisor, Paul saw to it that I had everything we needed to keep up with our orders, including keeping track of our schedules and suppliers. As my brother, however, Paul made it his business to get into my business.

"How could you leave the bakery to go to the salon?" he asked, his large eyes burning into mine as he waved his hands in the air. "So you take off just like that, just because you feel like getting a haircut?"

"I'm just trying to make things more efficient for both of us, Paul. One less stray hair means one less thing to worry about when I'm working with the cake."

Mom, who had been plating slices of carrot cake, felt the need to speak. "Eloisa did ask me and your Pappy, you know. And that was while you were talking to your clients on the telephone this morning." Taking a good look at my hair, she added, "This hairdo is pretty on you, dear. It makes you look more like an adult."

"She is an adult," Paul snapped.

My voice began to quiver. "I'm sorry, Kuya, This is going to be the last time, I promise." 

"It's not just this cake, Eloisa."

Paul was practically growling at me. This could not be good.

"I got a phone call from Hazel Valencia's mother," he continued. "She's been asking me questions about the cake tasting this week for the wedding."

"Paul, I told you, it's just a cake tasting. All they have to do is sit down, eat cake, and tell me what they want…"

He knitted his thick eyebrows together. "She wants to order the cake now."

"Who – Hazel, or her mother?"

Paul pointed frantically towards the calendar printed on the whiteboard in the kitchen. "Eloisa, I know that you're not a happy camper about Hazel's wedding to Vinny, but please be reasonable."

"I am being reasonable, Paul. I just hate being pressured. "

My brother thumped on the calendar again. "We have deadlines. Please stick to them." 

That afternoon, I took another break from working on the cake to get coffee from the espresso machine.

The café was half-full with customers from the village coming in for their merienda, so it was easy for me to make my own espresso. Moving quickly, I pressed down some ground coffee and let the machine do its thing while I poured myself a cup of milk.

That was when I heard my father talking to one of the customers.

"You say you are the son of Betsy?"

"Yes," he replied. "My dad was a polo player from Argentina. He passed away two years ago."

"I am sorry to hear that. But your mother, she is still around, yes?"

"She's still active. She now makes costume jewelry – earrings and necklaces with beads."

Sitting in the corner next to a black-and-white portrait of Lola Carmen were two middle-aged ladies who kept glancing towards Pappy's general direction. Those ladies had been regulars of the bakery for years, and Mom used to say that they always visited the store to check out Pappy's dark movie-star looks and polished, masculine presence. Today, however, they seemed to be checking out the smooth-cheeked mestizo who was speaking to him.

"Your mother used to bring you to the store with her because you liked the empanadas," Pappy remarked.

"Yes," the younger man answered. "I was a bit of a brat when it comes to those empanadas. I used to throw tantrums all the time…"