A story mostly focused on Joshaya but will contain hints of Corpanga, Rucas, Smarckle, etc. It all starts in the days leading up to the 25th Corpanga wedding anniversary. It takes place some years in the future (Riley, Maya, Farkle, Smackle, and Zay...
I continued to be Maya's personal su chef as we finished the cake decorating. Pearl by pearl, I watched as she so precisely placed the edible decals around the soft curve of the cake tiers.
I gotta admit, if I liked red velvet, I probably wouldn't be able to resist waiting until tomorrow for this cake.
She dramatically stuck the last tear-drop shaped pearl on the cake.
"Voila!" she said, placing her forefinger and thumb together and bring them towards her lips to do a cliché chef kiss.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I glanced back and forth from Maya's sketch to the final product of the cake. It really was a spitting image. And I knew that Topanga was gonna be captivated by the simple intricacies of this cake. It was definitely her dream wedding cake.
"Now how the hell do we move this? I've never made a cake this big before," she looked at me nervously, clearly hopeful that I would have the answer.
I looked around the room for some clues as to what to do.
"I didn't think this far ahead," her eyes flicked back and forth around the room.
"I got it!" I shouted a little too loudly. "You finish clearing out the fridge," I instructed her.
And without question, she followed my direction.
I freed up a thin rolling cart from the bowls, towels, and seasonings on it.
She turned back to me as she heard the clunking of the wooden bowls and the clanking of the glass seasoning bottles.
"Great idea and all, but how are we supposed to get the cart in the fridge?" pessimism explicit in her voice.
"Well, Maya," I let out an amplified sigh of frustration. "Being an architect and all, I got a pretty good eye and brain for this sort of thing," I reminded her. "By the looks of it, the cart and the cake which will be right on it, it will just about perfectly fit in the fridge. Now as for getting it in the fridge, I have a thought."
I left the room without a word, taking the keys to Topanga's and my phone.
I walked a couple store fronts down to a local hardware store. The large, white print read Smith's. As I approached the door, an old man with short snow-white hair, rosy cheeks, a plaid shirt exited the store and jammed a key into the lock.
Shit.
"Hi, sir. I'm sorry to interrupt. I know you are closing up the store, but I was wondering if there was any way that I could just run in and purchase a piece of plywood from you," I shot him a sincere closed smile.
"I'm sorry son," his husky voice spoke. "I gotta get home, the wife is gonna kill me. She's always complaining that I stay here too late and I'm open too late. And my tattered old back can't take the stiff couch no more."
