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“Hmm,” Holly said, tapping a pen against her chin. “And I know Miriam will always choose chocolate if given an option. Maybe a dark chocolate Valencia orange situation?”

Gavi was flipping through a massive binder on the kitchen table.

Holly watched over their shoulder. “Is this the Rosenstein’s bible?!” she asked, awestruck.

“The Torah is our bible,” Gavi deadpanned. Holly snorted out a laugh. “But yes, this was very generously loaned by the aunts, and it has recipes going back to the very beginning, some of which haven’t been made in decades. Here’s a lemon white chocolate?”

“White chocolate is gross. But we could probably modify it. I like the base recipe.”

Gavi grimaced. “So the original cake was vegan, because apparently a bunch of Noelle’s Old Ladies convinced a bunch of Miriam’s Old Ladies to go vegan a few months ago. Can you… replicate that?”

“I can if I have the right ingredients.” Holly chewed on her lip. “The dairy part is easy, but…” She opened the kitchen door and yelled, “CHEF MATTHEWS!”

Levi materialized. “You rang?”

“Are you taking lessons from Cole in mysteriously appearing? Never mind. Talk to me about egg substitutes you already have on hand.”

Within a half hour, they had a game plan and an assembly line set up. Cakes were going in the oven, then into the freezer to cool enough to ice. While they baked, they sang along to Holly’s favorite baking playlist.

“I appreciate the Dolly to Black Flag transition,” Gavi yelled over the music.

“You have to keep it unexpected!” Holly yelled back.

The kitchen door burst open, and Esther Matthews ran in. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I heard there was a cake emergency, but the lab called with a samples emergency! Does anyone have an apron?!”

When Miriam came to check on them, they were dancing to “I Want You to Want Me” while the KitchenAids whipped frosting. Holly saw her give a speculative look to Gavi, who was dipping Esther. Lord, did anyone on this farm ever stop matchmaking? She pulled Miri into a swing and then paused the music when the song was over.

“Do you want marmalade inside the layers, and, if so, how do you feel about cardamom?” she asked, showing Miri what they were doing. Miriam was a baker herself, and probably would have insisted she could bake her own wedding cake if her friends hadn’t restrained her.

“Yes, and enthusiastic,” Miriam answered.

Holly smiled. “Great, because I already made Levi make some.”

“My aunt Shoshana has been making noises about how this cake cannot possibly be as good as the one they sent over that Cole callously ruined, but I think she’s going to have to eat her words,” Miriam said, sneaking a spoon into the frosting and licking it happily.

Grabbing a small bowl, Holly layered a sliver of cake, a spoon of marmalade, and a dollop of frosting. “She can eat the cake if she wants. See what she thinks.”

Miriam cradled the bowl. “I’m going to take this to Noelle since it’s her wedding cake, but I’ll let Aunt Shoshana know it’s an option.”

Aunt Shoshana arrived with alarming swiftness, followed by Tara and Cole.

“I heard there was cake,” Tara said.

Holly waved her off. “There’s not cake for you—you can have some at the reception.”

“Aunt Shoshana,” Gavi said, “let me show you the original Rosenstein’s recipe that we lovingly adapted to fit the couple. I’m thinking it might actually be something we want to bring on the menu.”

Aunt Shoshana made a disbelieving sound in the back of her throat but accepted the bowl she was handed. She chewed it slowly, like a sommelier with a mouthful of wine.

“She reminds me of the judges on Australia’s Next Star Chef,” Levi whispered.

While she was chewing, Noelle burst into the kitchen, which was now full to bursting with people and cakes. “Holly, this is the best cake I’ve ever eaten. In my life. Do you want to marry us? I’m open to having two wives.”

“Hey!” Tara objected. “If polyamory was an option, why didn’t we all end up together a year ago?”

Before anyone could respond, Aunt Shoshana cleared her throat and they all turned. “This cake is delicious. In fact, if you can bake like this, Holly, I have an opening at Rosenstein’s. I don’t know how you feel about living in Davenport, Iowa, and the position requires you to have graduated from, or currently be attending, culinary school, but I’d love it if you applied.”

Holly could feel Tara’s eyes on her.