Page 159 of The Wedding Menu

“I’m starting to think this surprise of yours isnotanal sex,” Ian says as I pull him forward, his eyes closed and a wide smile on his face.

“It’s not,” I confirm. “And I told you that the minute you asked. Which was two seconds after I told you I had a surprise for you.”

He firmly nods. “Yup. Don’t need a summary. Need my surprise.”

With a sigh, I look back and, satisfied, turn to Ian. “Okay. Open your eyes.”

Slowly and dramatically, he does. First one, then the other. With a puzzled expression, he looks behind me, then to our left and right. “What… what am I missing?”

“Something huge,” I say as I point my thumb behind me.

“The joke’s almost too easy.” He squares his shoulders, then his eyes squint. “Hmm. I… That’s a ridiculous, ridiculous name.”

Rubbing my forehead, I glance at the horse fountain behind Ian. Water is pouring down from the sculptures’ mouths into a large pool underneath, and around it a slew of tourists are throwing coins in the water. Ian did it, too, of course. He said he wishedfor anal sex, which is indisputable proof that the fountain does not work.

“It’s because, if you spelldessertsbackward…” I sigh loudly. “Never mind. Let’s go in.”

We open the door, which has the logo of a girl in a pink dress under the bakery’s name, and, once inside, my trained eyes quickly spot the pastries behind the counter. The whole place is beautiful, with white counters and warm wooden floors. Plants hang overhead, and the back wall is a chocolate waterfall I’ll definitely need to keep Ian away from.

“I love my surprise. Love it. I have no idea what it is, but boy, am I grateful.” Ian’s lips kiss the top of my ear. “Thank you, beautiful.”

Rubbing his arm, I explain, “This is the place that made Barb’s cake. The bakery you kept asking about?”

“Oh.” His face crumples. “Well, I didn’t reallyeatthat cake. But I definitely saw it.” He tilts his head. “Maybe. From afar. It was white.”

“No, it was not.” I tug his hand and pull him closer to the counter. “It’s about time you try it. And I know you don’t love cake, but you were also sure mushrooms were as disgusting as peas, and now you love them.”

“Idolove them,” he considers. “I’m in. Let’s get cake. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for cake.” Pointing at a slice of Black Forest, he hums. “That one looks good.”

“I booked a nuptial cake tasting for us. Only lactose-free cakes.”

Ian’s confused eyes meet mine. “I’m pretty sure we’re already married. You’re not going to make me do it twice, are you?”

I chuckle, thinking of our wedding day. I still don’t know how Ian managed not to frownonce. Not at the speeches, which were awkward at best; not at the props for the wedding pictures; not at the monogrammed cookies or the first dance. He smiled andlooked as happy as he could ever be and totally didn’t let me throw the bouquet.

Which worked out just fine, because I handed it to Martha.

“No, no other wedding.” I dreamily look into my husband’s blue eyes. “We’ve had enough weddings for a lifetime.”

“More than a lifetime.” He leans closer, his nose grazing mine. “But I’d marry you every day, forever, if that’s what you wanted.”

I grin and close my eyes as his lips find mine. I love it when we smile mouth to mouth. His tongue gently grazes my own, his hand on my neck as his thumb brushes my cheek, and the fountain might actually be a wishing well, because I’d give him anything right now. Anything. Even anal.

“Errrr…Hello?”

I flinch away from Ian, then look down at the tiny human next to us. She has gorgeous dark hair and chocolate-brown eyes and is wearing a shirt with the bakery’s logo. I look left and right for the owners—parents.The parents. I’m sure children aren’t supposed to be alone when they are this small.

Ian crouches down, a big smile on his handsome face. “Well, finally, there you are. I was starting to think nobody worked in this place. We’d like one hundred slices of cake to go, please.”

“One hundred?” she asks, a giggle sputtering out of her lips. Obviously, Ian is a kids’ person. “That’s too much cake!”

“Oh,really?” he says playfully. “Excuse me, but it looks to me like you could use a sales class or two. Rule number one: never tell your customers to buy less cake.”

Throwing a curious look at me, she hooks her finger into her mouth. “I don’t work here,” she explains.

“Youdon’t?” Ian’s eyes widen.

“No. It’s my dad’s work.”