For Love and Pastry

Chapter One

"We should get married."

Busy with work - she was always busy with work - Clara Alderman struck a red line through another row of figures on the spreadsheet open across her knees without looking up. "Mmmm hmmm."

"Nothing over the top, just friends and family. I'm thinking fifty, maybe sixty people."

"Mmmm."

"We could have it at the lake, I guess, but we'd have to plan for rain and hope it doesn't."

"Sure."

"Or we could just stand in the middle of Maclay Avenue and block traffic."

"Whatever you - -" Her girlfriend's words finally broke through Clara's focused concentration on next month's budget for the bakery. She looked up to find Brittany watching her, her dark eyes smug and laughing. She'd gathered her long dreads into a heavy mass on top of her head, held in place with a wrap of emerald silk shot through with threads of gold. The regal effect added to the image of a queen amusing herself with a subject. Clara blinked rapidly. "Did you . . . Did you just propose to me?"

One shoulder lifted in a delicate shrug. "I guess I did. Your turn," she added, pointing at Clara with the scarlet tip of one finger. "Down on one knee, if you please."

Clara simply stared back, frozen. The women sat on the deck of the apartment they shared, built over the thriving bakery that Clara had opened and nourished for a decade before they'd met and become what they were. These lazy Sunday afternoons were their own tradition, a few quiet hours in the shade of the big elm tree, surrounded by the scents of summer and sugar frosting, and serenaded by birds and crickets and the occasional drift of traffic from the streets on the other side. Just at the moment, however, the normally serene atmosphere worked none of its usual magic on her.

"You want to get married?"

Brittany sighed, and shook her head with a disappointed look that wasn't altogether feigned. "Well, that wasn't quite the romantic gesture I was hoping for but, okay. I accept."

"No, that wasn't . . ." Clara heard the edge of panic in her voice and took a deep breath to settle the nerves making her pulse race. With deliberately slow, calm movements, she closed the notebook in her lap and set it aside. Just as deliberately, she took a sip from the vodka-spiked limeade they were drinking, then downed the rest of the glass and poured herself another from the icy pitcher they'd brought outside with them a little over an hour ago.

By that time, Brittany was watching her with a raised eyebrow and a severe expression that was all too reminiscent of her mother, a resemblance that had Clara wincing internally. Whether it was the women's love for each other or the fact that she was white while Brittany and her family were Black, Miss Trudie had never quite given her seal of approval to the relationship. Even after five years of living together and becoming co-owners of each other's businesses, she still held Clara at arm's length.

With the foundations of her carefully ordered life shifting beneath her feet, Clara chose her next words carefully.

"I didn't know you were thinking about getting married."

"I didn't know you weren't," Brittany replied tartly.

Genuinely confused, Clara waved with the glass in her hand. When some of the contents splashed out, she set it back on the table. "When have we ever talked about getting married?"

"At Mia and John's wedding last month. Yes," Brittany insisted, when Clara began to protest. "I said something like, 'our wedding will be better than this,' and you said, 'damn straight.'"