I’d applied the transfers to the chocolate after it’d dried and had then carefully broken it up so that as many as possible had the full Kleins logo on them after I’d sprayed them with an edible blue metallic luster. I usually just went to town when I was smashing it, so it’d taken a bit more time, but I loved how it looked with the two different blue tones between the layers.
Biting my lip, I chanced a glance at the men, who were all looking at it with amazement. At least, that’s what I hoped it was. Maybe it was pity or disgust? Shit, had I made it look tacky?
Finally, Bond took a step forward and leaned in to inspect it. “Fuck me, babe, you’re awesome. I had no idea we could do things like that.”
Canon pulled his phone out and started snapping photos of it. “This is what we want every week from now on. If you need to use our kitchen to do it, it’s all yours, but we need these shards.”
“You know,” Cason mused, “you could put one of them on top of every slice sent out.”
“Some of the cakes this week have either a lower sugar level or a lower saturated fat content, though,” I told him with a sigh. “So far, I haven’t come across any type of chocolate that would work with both of those things. Dark chocolate with a high cacao level in it helps, as does diabetic chocolate, but it’d be a stretch for servers and the kitchen to make sure the right one went on the right dessert.”
“Hmmm,” Bond hummed as he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “What about if we had a dedicated dessert person? Someone who was in charge of them and the different individual decorations?”
“That could work. I mean, you’ve got someone who does the virgin cocktails, so why not someone who does desserts,” Cason agreed. “And I’d like to reiterate my earlier comment about putting shards on the sides of the cocktails. All you’d have to do is ask if the person has any dietary requirements, but because of the syrups used in the cocktails at the moment, few people with diabetes can drink even the virgin ones.”
Then, looking at me, he added, “Which I’m working on. I don’t see why people with health issues and dietary requirements can’t partake in even a virgin version of the drinks, so I’m trying to come up with a way to make that happen for them.”
I smiled at the man, liking this. “In this day and age, it’s a must.”
“What about if we offered your neighbor’s daughter the job of dealing with the cakes?” Bond suggested, surprising me. “Maybe with some responsibility, she’ll settle down. And it’s always good for teenagers to have money of their own to take the burden off their parents.”
I freaking loved that idea!
Which I told him, then added, “Do you want me to suggest it to her?”
Canon didn’t miss a trick, somehow knowing who we were talking about without us explaining it. “Yeah, she knows you and so does her mom. Ask her, and if she’s interested, even if it’s just a couple of days a week, it’s hers. We always have other staff members who can take over on the days she’s not in.”
Smiling gratefully at them both, I turned back to the cake, placing the layer on the top of it, and then added the final shards and fruit. When I was done, I took a step back and stopped when I bumped into someone. It was the cologne that gave away who it was and the fact he wrapped his arms around me instead of moving out of my way.
“That looks outstanding,” Bond murmured as he rested his chin on the top of my head. “I really don’t want to put it up for sale, though, because it’s too pretty to be eaten.”
“Casy,” Canon called to the bartender who was staring at the cake open-mouthed. “Put some of the cocktails you just made for us to taste around it so we can take some photos for the website.”
I continued setting up the cakes in the display case and put the drizzles and adornments in the refrigerator under it while they had an impromptu photo shoot. I hadn’t expected them to like it as much as they did, and their reactions made me proud. I’d also be lying if the thought of using their professional kitchen and learning to make the syrups with Cason didn’t excite the hell out of me. It was the simple things, really.
Just then, the door to the kitchen opened, and the scent of heaven hit me as the chef brought out two platters with pastries on them.
“Heidi,” Bond called, waving me over to them. “We need your help.”
Moving to stand next to him, I looked down at the plates. “Okay? Are these savory or sweet pastries?” The outside of them was a little bit more yellow than usual, and they were shaped like a semi-circle, but they looked good and smelled fabulous.