I didn’t argue. I didn’t cry. I just nodded once, set the cake gently on the display table, and walked out to my van. What Brielle didn’t know was that her fiancé’s mother, Eleanor Vance, had been watching the whole thing from the doorway. Eleanor was the CEO of Vance Hospitality Group, the same company that had signed the $40,000 contract with Lune & Crumb the previous Tuesday. She’d come to the tasting hoping to finally meet the “mystery pastry chef” her team wouldn’t stop raving about.
Three minutes after I reached my van, Eleanor was knocking on the window. “Maren? My assistant just showed me your portfolio. You’re the Lune & Crumb founder?” I nodded. She exhaled slowly, then asked me to come back inside — not as the help, but as her guest.
When we walked in together, Brielle’s smug grin froze. Eleanor took the microphone the DJ was testing and calmly announced that the cake on the table was made by “the most sought-after pastry chef in the state, who graciously donated forty thousand dollars of her time as a wedding gift.” The room gasped. Then Eleanor added, “Unfortunately, the bride has just informed us she doesn’t want it. So I’ll be purchasing it personally, and Maren — if you’ll still have us — Vance Hospitality would like to triple our existing contract.”
Brielle’s fiancé, Daniel, turned to her slowly. “You told me she was unemployed. You told me she was an embarrassment.” Brielle stammered. He set down his champagne. “I think we need to talk.”
I left before dessert. By Monday, the wedding was postponed “indefinitely,” and my inbox had forty-seven new orders from guests who’d tasted that hazelnut praline. Brielle texted me one line: “You ruined everything.” I typed back: “No. You did. I just stopped saving you from it.”
