Page 30 of Sugar and Spice (Glitter and Sparkle #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Don’t get me wrong; I’m not complaining, but don’t you think you’ve made enough cupcakes?” Riley asks from the kitchen stool.

She’s been sitting there, watching me for almost an hour. A few minutes ago, I pulled my sixth batch of cupcakes out of the oven.

I have cooling racks everywhere—and when I ran out of cooling racks, I started putting the tiny chocolate cakes on dinner plates.

In fact, I have so many cupcakes, there is not an ounce of counter space left.

I look around with the last tin still in my oven mitt-covered hand and search for a spot to place it.

“How about the microwave?” Riley offers helpfully, even though I’ve been ignoring her.

Not a bad idea.

I open the door and slide the tray in.

Riley comes around the counter to stand in front of me. “No more cupcakes.”

I stare at her. “I have one more batch to make once those cool enough to leave the tin.”

“Harper,” my sister says, exasperated. She holds her arms out. “The kitchen is covered. You cannot make any more until you do something with all these.”

“Fine. Start eating.” I shove a cooled cupcake in her hand and then yank it back. “Wait, I still have to frost them.”

“And people think you’re the sane sister.”

But no one thinks that, not anymore. Sure, they used to, but that was before the bake-off, before Mason, before leaving college to confess my undying love to a boy who didn’t want me.

Before I started filling the kitchen with thousands and thousands of test cupcakes for my cookbook.

My parents don’t know what to do with me, so they stock the pantry with sugar, flour, and chocolate and stay out of the kitchen. In exchange, I promised to keep going to classes, even if I don’t know what I want to be “when I grow up.”

Peyton Barnes’ newest song fades from the little speaker attached to Riley’s phone, and a new one comes on.

My sister’s eyes go wide, and she scrambles across the kitchen to skip it.

She’s too late. Mason sings about the girl who got away, and my stomach knots, just as it does every time I listen to the brand-new hit single.

It’s been three months, and I think about him every day.

Every. Single. Day.

I figured he moved on months ago, but then that song began playing on the radio. It’s our story, all wrapped up in four minutes and twenty-four seconds. I cried the first time I heard it. It still destroys me.

Riley finally manages to hit the pause button and looks at me, her face pale. “I’m so sorry, Harper.”

“You have it in your playlist?”

She gives me a guilty shrug. “It’s really good.”

I go back to my cupcakes and stack the cool ones on top of each other to make room on the counter for frosting supplies.

A chime sounds on Riley’s phone, and she frowns at it. “Lauren says Brandon’s home for spring break.”

“Is Sadie here too?”

If she is, I’ll stick all these cupcakes in the freezer and wait until she comes over to help me frost them. I think I can trust her. She’s an HBN bake-off champion after all.

“Harper…”

Riley sounds so odd, I look up. “What?”

She returns to her seat at the counter. “Brandon and Sadie broke up.”

The kitchen goes quiet after the admission.

“When?” I finally ask.

“About a month ago.”

I let the news sink in, but even after several moments, I don’t know how I feel. So instead of facing my emotions, I avoid. After I’ve piled all the cupcakes into precarious cupcake towers, I wash the mixing bowl and beater I’ll need for the frosting.

“Do you think that maybe…” Riley trails off.

“Our timing is finally right?” I ask as I dry a rubber spatula. Even I flinch at the dead tone of my voice.

Wisely changing the subject, she says, “Lauren thinks we should all go bowling tonight.”

“ Bowling? Have fun.”

“ Harper. ”

I glare at her, but she glares right back.

“Fine,” I finally say, but only because I know she’ll badger me all afternoon if I don’t.

Thankfully, now appeased, she happily chirps about her last phone call with Linus, and I continue to brood about the dark-haired singer I’ll never see again.

Brandon plops into the hard-plastic seat next to me, offering me a drink of the soda he just bought from the questionable concession counter.

I shake my head and study the scoreboard. Brandon and I are tied for the lead.

Lauren picks up her ball—a pink, lightweight kid’s ball—and walks straight to the line. She stands there, concentrating much too hard considering she’s hit the gutter every time but once—and that one time, the ball hopped out right at the end of the lane.

“Lauren,” Harrison calls, laughing. “You need to start at one of the dots like I showed you. Build up momentum and then throw.”

As she has every time, Lauren ignores her boyfriend, awkwardly swings the ball back, and lets it go. It drops like a rock and skitters several times before it inevitably ends up in the gutter.

“I cannot believe your sister suggested bowling,” I say to Brandon, cringing as I laugh with the rest of them.

“Hey, pizza’s up.” Brandon tugs me from my seat. “Help me carry it back.”

“Are you sure the health department has approved this place?” I ask as I eye the old, peeling laminate counter.

“Food snob,” he teases.

I set my hands on the counter and lean forward, trying to spot our order. “I don’t think it’s ready yet.”

“Weird,” he says smoothly, sitting at one of the deserted stools. “Must have been someone else’s order. It should be here soon. Sit.”

A popular entertainment show plays soundlessly behind the counter, and I watch it for several moments, already feeling my mind go numb. Who cares what celebrity is dating whom?

Brandon nudges my hand with his thumb, and I look back at him.

“How long have we been friends, Harper?” he asks.

I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t know. Since Riley met Lauren and our families hit it off.”

“Why haven’t we ever dated?”

His words are blunt, and they make me blink. “Because you were the jerky kind of guy who always had a different girl on your arm every week? Because you’re a chicken and never asked me out? Because Sadie? ”

He grins. “Let’s give it a shot.”

I stare at him. “Brandon?—”

“I know that was the least romantic way I could possibly ask you, but I mean it, Harper. It’s time we try.”

Two teenage girls shuffle up and ding the bell a few stools down. I watch them for a minute before I look back at Brandon.

Should we?

Every fiber of my being screams no. But those fibers still want Mason, and heaven knows that boat has sailed.

I should have never walked away. I should have stayed with him, braved the limelight, accepted the ridiculous offer to become his personal pastry chef.

“You’re such a good guy, Brand?—”

He groans, cutting me off. Then he laughs. “You see? This is why I never asked you. I knew you’d turn me down.”

“The irony is that any other time, it would have been an automatic yes.”

Brandon rests his arm on the table, entirely too close to a drying patch of ketchup for my comfort. “You still like the boy band guy.”

“Mason,” I correct, morbidly amused that Brandon seems to be the only one I can talk to about my ruined relationship without feeling like I’m drowning.

“Why don’t you call him?”

I toss my hands in the air. “Just call him? Just call Mason Knight out of the blue?”

“Yeah.” He looks at me like I’m five. “You still have his number, don’t you?”

“It went to voicemail.”

Did I leave a message like a sane person? No, of course not.

“So you have tried to call.”

I glare at him, but he smiles.

“Once,” I admit.

I’m drawn out of our conversation by the two girls at the counter. They’re giggling like hyenas, and their eyes are plastered on the silent TV.

I shake my head, and I’m about to return my attention to Brandon when I hear Riley shriek from halfway down the bowling alley.

And yes, I know it’s my sister because I’ve heard her dulcet tones more times than I can count while growing up. I watch, bemused, as she comes tearing toward us, practically tripping in her tri-colored bowling shoes.

“Harper!” she squeals.

“Riley,” I deadpan.

Then she grabs my head and forcefully turns me toward the television.

“You’re going to break my neck…” My complaint fizzles out.

Mason’s right there, on the entertainment show. It’s not a clip of his concert, nor of him galivanting about LA with some enhanced blond. He’s at a studio, doing an actual interview.

He’s holding something, but I can’t tell what it is.

Riley leaps over the counter, showing off her former cheerleading skills, and raises the volume on the TV until it’s practically blaring.

The young man working in the kitchen runs out, hollering at her, but he shuts up as soon as she motions for him to be quiet.

“You can’t read it now!” Riley whines. “Wait—just wait. Keep watching, Harper.”

“Shush,” I hiss because it’s been months since I’ve heard him actually talk.

“What day do you begin your national tour?” the pretty interviewer asks.

Mason lets out a slow exhale. “In a week. I play one concert in LA to kick it off, and then we’re heading to Europe.”

My heart clenches. Europe?

“And you’re hoping to win her back before then? Do you think it’s possible?”

He faces the camera, his familiar gray eyes piercing. “I don’t know. But I made her something, and I wanted to share it with you all today.”

The interviewer smiles, obviously confused, as Mason holds up a huge white piece of poster board.

It’s covered in pink puffy-paint hearts and glitter, and it reads, I’m your #1 fan, Harper!

He made me a poster.

My world temporarily freezes, and time goes still as I attempt to process the scene on the screen.

“Is there anything you’d like to say before you leave?” the woman asks.

Mason looks at the camera, and a crooked smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “There is actually. I’m looking for a personal pastry chef. Inquiries can be made with my assistant, Yvonne.”