The Wrong Cake

“I’m picking up an order for Alex,” I said to the bright-eyed woman with light brown, curly hair standing behind the glass case. She was wearing candy-pink lip gloss and a fresh white t-shirt underneath a black-and-white striped apron. In the case were rows and rows of pastel buttercream cupcakes, frosted cookies, and chocolate truffles painted with colorful lines of icing. 

Carrie’s Cafe and Confections was a happy sugarfest, and I was not in the mood for happiness or sugar at the moment. I just wanted to pick up this cake, put it in the trunk of my car where I could pretend it did not exist for the four-hour drive to New York City, and listen to an audiobook about something more aligned with my tastes, such as true crime. I did not want to spend one second of this road trip thinking about celebrations.

“Welcome!” Carrie said. “I’ll just pop to the fridge and get it. It’s for an engagement, right?”

“Yes,” I replied, taking out my phone to pretend I had something important to do, hoping that would hurry her along.

“Oh, how wonderful,” Carrie cooed as she disappeared in the back. “I just love wedding orders.”

She returned moments later holding a square white box tied with a blue ribbon. From the glass case, she collected two dark chocolate truffles decorated with pale blue and white sprinkles and put them in a small cardboard container. “On the house,” she said with a wink. “Something blue for the bride!”

“It’s not me,” I blurted. “But thanks. I’ll make sure she gets them.”

Carrie’s sunny demeanor balked for only a second. “Oh, congratulations to her! Is she a friend of yours?”

“Sister.”

She clasped her hands. “Oh, how fun! You must be the maid of honor?”

“Guilty.” I scrolled faster on my phone and did not make eye contact.

Carrie paused. My mood must have finally been clear.

“Well, looks like it is prepaid,” she said with much less pep in her voice. “You’re all set, then. Enjoy.”

“Thanks.”

I took the cake to my car and placed it securely between my carry-on size suitcase (containing one heinous pea-green strapless dress) and the gift bag for the happy couple (containing matching wine glasses with a picnic hamper). I shut the lid with a satisfying thud. There. The merriment was locked away. For the time being, anyway.

The GPS told me it would take me four hours and thirteen minutes to reach The Ritz-Carlton. It was so like Andrea to pick one of the fanciest, most expensive locations in New York state for her engagement party. Never mind that the rest of us had normal jobs and were not an Instagram influencer marrying an NFL player.

I was one hour away from my destination when my delightfully dark murder podcast was interrupted by a call from a number I didn’t recognize, but it had the Boston area code, so I answered.

“Is this Alexandra Barkley?”

“That’s me.”

The woman’s voice was familiar.

“Alexandra… it’s Carrie. From Carrie’s Cafe and Confections?”

Right. It did sound like her. Except without any of the bubbly energy and sunshine.

“Oh. Hi. Uh… How can I help you? Did I forget something?”

“In a sense.” There was an awkward pause. “It’s my fault, you see. I should have asked for your full name. I just – we only had one Alex place an order. I didn’t realize that your order was for Alexandra and that you weren’t him.”

“What do you mean? Are you saying I have the wrong cake in my trunk right now?” 

My heart rate immediately skyrocketed. Andrea had tasked me with one thing for this party, and that was to get this specific chocolate rum cake. Carrie’s shop was where she first met her fiance. Two years ago, Jeff and Andrea both happened to be there for an open-mic comedy night taking place after hours at the cafe. As the story goes, Jeff ordered a slice of the chocolate rum cake, and he knew Andrea was the one when she was willing to share a piece and didn’t insist on ordering a different flavor. Andrea had instructed me to get a small cake as a special treat for Jeff. She wanted to surprise him during dessert, while the rest of us would be eating our non-special catered cake.

And now I had the wrong cake.

“I am so sorry,” Carrie said emphatically. “I really hope we can fix this little mix-up. Especially because, you see, the right Alex – the one I thought you were – his cake is very, very special. It is extremely important that he gets the right cake as soon as possible.”

I sighed. “Well, there isn’t much I can do. I’m not even in the state anymore. I am almost in New York City for my sister’s engagement party.”

Carrie drew a deep breath. While I waited for her to say something else, I tried to think of a plan. I could spend the next hour calling New York City bakeries to find a replacement cake. At least one baker in the city must have chocolate rum cake for sale and could write Congratulations Andrea and Jeff with pink and green hearts on it. Right? They must. Andrea and Jeff would never even notice the difference if I put another cake in the box with Carrie’s logo. They would be too busy being the center of attention, Jeff would still be surprised, and no one would be the wiser.

“That is unfortunate,” Carrie finally said. “Hold, please.”

“What? Hold for what?” Silence filled my car.

A minute later, Carrie was back.

“I didn’t want to have to share this with you,” she said slowly. “But I fear I have no choice. The cake you have is for an engagement. Obviously. A proposal taking place tomorrow. And… well, Alex – the soon-to-be-fiancé – he asked us to do a surprise cake.”

“What on earth does that mean?”

“It means that we leave a hole in the center of the cake for a ring box. When you slice the cake, sprinkles fall out and reveal the box.”

“So? Can’t you make another one tonight? How long does it take to bake a cake?” My voice sounded sharp, even to me, and I felt a little guilty.

Carrie choked audibly. Her voice gurgled like she was going to cry. “Our surprise cakes are very delicate. It takes a skilled hand to insert the ring box into the cake without destroying the structure. So, my team does it.”

I squeezed the steering wheel until my knuckles were white. I knew what Carrie meant, but I had to say it out loud to confirm that I was, in fact, living in some kind of bakery-themed, romantic comedy hell.

“Carrie, are you telling me that the cake in my trunk has a stranger’s engagement ring hidden inside it?

She burst into tears.

“I don’t know how I could have made this mistake!” Carrie said. “I just feel so awful. I didn’t know the details of this order. My assistant handled everything. All they told me was that Alex was picking up an engagement cake today. And then you said your name was Alex…”

“My name is Alex,” I muttered. But Andrea never liked to call me that. Of course she had placed the order under Alexandra. 

A muffled sob came from the car speaker.

“So, what do we do?” I said. “I can’t turn around at this point. I will be in New York City in forty-five minutes. Not to mention that I need my own replacement cake now.” Ugh. I felt a headache coming on. And I thought I would need to be medicated for this weekend before this little disaster.

“We will refund you, of course,” Carrie said. As if that fixed anything. In fact, it would make it worse, because Andrea would see the refund.

“No! Don’t do that.”

“Don’t refund you?”

“No. My sister can’t know. Maybe I can just bring the ring and the cake to your bakery when I come home on Sunday. Can the other Alex postpone the proposal?”

“Let me ask. I’ll call you back.”

***

The next time my phone rang, the voice on the other end was a man.

“I assume you are the other Alex,” I said.

“I am. I hear you are the wrong Alex.”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it that way."

“Sorry.” He paused awkwardly. “So you have my engagement ring.”

“Yes. It is safe in my car. I am happy to bring it back to you on Sunday. I would be at the bakery now if I wasn’t out of state.”

“Carrie mentioned you were almost in New York City.”

“That’s right.”

“Listen–I’m really sorry to ask this, but the thing is, tomorrow is my girlfriend and I’s five-year anniversary. A few months ago, she gave me an ultimatum. If I don’t propose by midnight on our fifth anniversary, it’s over. She seems to have run out of patience with me.” He sighed. “I keep telling her that I don’t get what the big deal is. She knows I love her. We even have a toy poodle together! Named Angelica. Do you think I wanted to name the dog Angelica? No. But I didn’t complain. I let her name the dog whatever she wanted because I am that generous. And once I get a better job, maybe we can afford a house. But, like, that’s her responsibility, too. I can only do so much. Besides, we already have a one-bedroom apartment. Plus Angelica, like I said. What more does she want?”

“The ring in my trunk, apparently,” I said, holding back from adding anything snarkier.

“I guess I left it down to the wire a bit.”

“Just a bit.” I was already losing patience with this man, and it had been less than five minutes. How his girlfriend had lasted five years was beyond me.

“So, anyway, I was thinking–my brother lives in the city. I already texted him and explained everything. He can be at Central Park at five-thirty to get the cake from you, and then he will drive it to Boston in the morning. I will still be able to propose tomorrow night like I planned. Does that work?”

It did, actually. The Ritz-Carlton was across the street from Central Park. This was a very convenient way to get rid of this problematic cake. And with luck, I would still have time to find another chocolate rum cake, blow out my hair, steam my dress, do my makeup, and get to the party on time.

Okay, so my part of the plan was shaky, but at least I wouldn’t have to worry about this ring anymore.

“Fine,” I said. “Text me your brother’s number and tell him I’ll be there.”

“Oh my God, you are the best!” the other Alex effused. “Thank you so, so much. I owe you one.”

“In that case… does your brother have time to pick up a chocolate rum cake from anywhere? I'll repay him, of course. I don’t care where he gets it. It just needs to be chocolate rum flavor. And the baker needs to write ‘Congratulations Andrea and Jeff’ with hearts that are blush pink and bright green.”

The other Alex was quiet. I don’t think he was expecting me to cash in the favor so soon.

“I’ll ask him,” he said. “No promises.”

***

Central Park was alive with wide-eyed tourists who blocked the sidewalks and New Yorkers scrolling on their phones while they walked through the crowd. I sat on a wooden bench surrounded by manicured grass and bright, leafy trees, but the air smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and soft pretzels. I clutched the cake box and jiggled my leg nervously.

“Weddings sure are stressful, aren’t they?” A deep voice said, and I looked up to find a tall man wearing aviator sunglasses, a black baseball cap, light-wash jeans, and a polo standing before me. His dark hair curled just beneath the cap and he had a tiny scar above his top lip. He smelled as if he had just taken a shower–like soap and citrus. In his hands was a brown cardboard box tied up with string.

“Please tell me you are Alex’s brother and that is a chocolate rum cake in your hands,” I said.

“And what if I wasn’t and this was a vanilla cake?”

I raised one eyebrow. “I am really not in the mood for jokes right now.”

“Fair enough.” He nodded at the white cake box on my lap. “Fancy dessert you have there.”

“Your brother spared no expense, apparently.” 

He sat down next to me and kept the brown box on his lap. “Alex sure does have some crazy ideas. This doesn’t even take the cake. No pun intended.”

“Right. Well, thank you for doing this.” I handed him the white box. “Can I have mine now?”

He chuckled. The sound was low and easy like his voice was used to laughter.

“Wow. You weren’t kidding when you said you weren’t in the mood for jokes.”

I sighed. “It’s been a long day. I just want to go to my hotel, close the curtains, and sleep. But instead, I have to do my hair, put on a silk dress the color of vomit, and smile at my entire extended family while my sister walks around the room flashing a diamond and pretending to understand football.”

“Sounds tortuous.” He leaned back on the bench and spread his arms. One finger nearly brushed my shoulder. “Why are you wearing a dress the color of vomit?”

“My sister wanted everyone in her wedding party to wear her colors tonight, which are pink and green. I have a feeling it is a practice session for the bridesmaid dresses so she can see what we all look like in different styles.”

“Forgive me for saying this, but your sister sounds like a bridezilla.”

I put my face in my hands. “And she has been engaged for only two months. I might not survive this wedding.”

“How much time do you have before the party?”

I checked my watch. “Two hours.”

“I couldn’t interest you in a drink, could I? Might take the edge off.”

“Are you really asking me out right now?”

He cocked his head and paused thoughtfully. Then, he removed his sunglasses, hooked them in the collar of his shirt, and stuck out his hand. “I’m Luke.” His eyes were brown and kind beneath surprisingly well-groomed dark eyebrows.

“I’m the right Alex,” I said, tucking my hand in his. It was warm and dry and electricity sparked through my palm. That was bad news. I knew what that feeling meant.

Luke threw back his head and laughed again, bigger this time. Louder. I felt even more sure that he was used to laughter. When he smiled, he took up space.

“The right Alex,” he repeated. “Man, I’ll have to tell my brother you said that.”

“He brought it on himself. He called me the wrong Alex.”

Luke met my gaze and held it. “Well, I feel very sure that he was mistaken. Alex suits you. You are definitely the right Alex.”

My heart fluttered. Uh-oh. I knew what that feeling meant, too.

And I knew I was not going to be able to resist it. 

I pointed to the brown box.

“If that actually contains a chocolate rum cake with the right words and colored hearts, then the answer is ‘Yes’. I will get a drink with you.”

Luke grinned. “See for yourself.”

I untied the twine and opened the lid. The smell of frosting and sugar wafted out, and there sat a perfect round chocolate rum cake with white looping icing and two intertwined pink and green hearts.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m impressed. Where should we go?”

“I was thinking of a tavern. Something easy with good beer. Someplace where silk dresses would be a terrible, terrible idea.”

“It has to be quick. I might be able to wear jeans to a tavern, but my sister will murder me if I show up to her party in the wrong color.”

“Alternate idea,” Luke said. “You go get ready. Tell me where this engagement party is. Let me invite myself.”

“You would go to a family event with a complete stranger?” His offer was a little weird, but the idea of having a date for this evening was comforting. Distracting. Definitely crazy, but maybe acting crazy is the only way anyone gets through wedding events.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say we are complete strangers. We swapped cakes.”

I tried to hide my smile–the first one all day.

“I’m warning you,” I said. “My family is nuts. My sister is marrying an NFL player. She has over 500,000 Instagram followers and the party is at The Ritz-Carlton. Completely over the top. You’ll need to look nice.”

“I clean up well.”

“It’s your funeral, but fine. If you really want to come with me tonight, the whole charade starts at eight o’clock. It’s just apps and small bites, so you might want to eat something first. You can meet me in the hotel lobby.”

Luke stood up and took the white cake box with him.

“Hey,” I said. “We need to switch the cake boxes. I’m going to lie to my sister about where this cake came from.”

“Later,” he replied. “I’ll bring the box. See you at eight.” Then he walked away.

I went back to the hotel room and got dressed. The vomit-green silk dress was still hideous, but when I looked in the mirror, I was able to smile at how ridiculous my day had been. For the first time since my sister got engaged, there was a fizz of excitement in my chest. A small slice of hope floating, hovering, like a balloon about to be released. It tasted sweet.