Chapter 33
Hattie sighed but didn’t argue. She knew me well enough to know that once I set my mind on something, there was no changing it.
The rest of the day dragged. Every movement felt heavier, every breath a little harder. By the time I locked up that night, I was running on fumes. I barely made it through the door of my apartment before collapsing onto the couch.
The next morning, I woke up feeling worse. My head pounded, and my stomach lurched the moment I stood up. I pressed a hand to my forehead, trying to will the dizziness away.
“Come on, Maisie,” I muttered to myself. “You’ve got this.”
I forced myself to the bakery, moving slower than usual. The smell of vanilla and sugar, normally comforting, turned my stomach. I kept sipping water, nibbling on crackers, anything to keep myself upright.
By noon, Hattie showed up again, her expression a mix of worry and frustration. “You’re still sick,” she said, crossing her arms.
“I’m fine,” I insisted, though my voice was weak. “Just need to finish the detailing on the top tier.”
“Maisie, you’re shaking,” she said, stepping closer. “You can’t keep pushing yourself like this.”
I looked down at my hands—they were trembling, the piping bag slipping slightly in my grip. I wanted to argue, to tell her I could handle it, but the truth was, I wasn’t sure I could.
Still, I couldn’t stop. The cake was due tomorrow, and I refused to disappoint anyone, especially Preston. He’d been checking in every evening, his texts full of encouragement and little jokes that made me smile even when I felt awful. I hadn’t told him how sick I was; I didn’t want him to worry.
By the time the sun set, the cake was finally finished. Four tiers of smooth buttercream perfection—I stood back and I feel in love with it, exhausted but proud. The only thing missing was the fresh flowers but those would be put on in the morning, once we delivered it to the venue.
Hattie whistled. “It’s beautiful, Mais. You did it.”
I smiled weakly. “Yeah. I did.”
But as I turned to clean up, the room tilted. My vision blurred, and before I could steady myself, everything went black.
When I came to, I was lying on the bakery floor, Hattie kneeling beside me, her face pale with worry.
“Maisie! Thank God. You scared me half to death,” she said, pressing a cool cloth to my forehead.
“What happened?” I croaked.
“You fainted,” she said. “I’m calling Preston.”
“No,” I said quickly, trying to sit up. “Don’t. He’s busy with the wedding—he doesn’t need to worry.”
Hattie gave me a look that said she wasn’t buying it. “You need to see a doctor, Maisie. This isn’t just exhaustion.”
I wanted to argue, but the truth was, I didn’t have the strength. My body felt heavy, my head spinning.
“Fine,” I whispered. “After the wedding tomorrow, I promise.”
Hattie sighed, clearly frustrated, but she helped me to my feet and made sure I got home.
That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong—really wrong. But I pushed the thought aside. The wedding was tomorrow, and I couldn’t fall apart now.
As I drifted off to sleep, one thought lingered in the back of my mind, quiet but insistent.
What if this wasn’t just exhaustion?
The morning of the wedding dawned bright and clear, sunlight spilling through the bakery windows as I packed the last of the cake parts into their boxes. My hands trembled slightly as I tied the ribbons, but I told myself it was just nerves. The cake had turned out beautifully—four tiers of ivory buttercream frosting and fresh flowers that would be added to the cake once we got it set up. It was everything Charlette had asked for, and I wasn’t about to let a little dizziness ruin it.
Taylor arrived right on time, her hair pulled back and her sleeves rolled up. “You ready, boss?” she asked, her voice cheerful but her eyes scanning my face. “You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine,” I said automatically, forcing a smile. “Just tired. Let’s get this cake delivered before I start worrying about every little detail.”
We loaded the cake carefully into the van, each tier secured in its box. The drive to the venue was quiet and I stared out the window, trying to ignore the queasiness that had settled in my stomach. The world outside looked almost too bright, the sunlight sharp against the rolling fields.
When we arrived, the venue was already buzzing with activity. The barn had been transformed into something out of a dream—white drapes, twinkling lights, and rows of wildflowers lining the tables.
Preston was there, hanging out with the bridal party. He looked up as we pulled in, his face lighting up when he saw me. My heart gave a small, traitorous flutter.
“Maisie!” he called, striding over. “You made it.”
“Of course,” I said, climbing out of the van. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
He smiled, but his expression shifted as he got closer. “You okay? You look… a little pale.”
I waved him off, trying to sound casual. “Just been a long week. Wedding season, you know?”
He frowned, clearly unconvinced. “You sure? You don’t have to push yourself.”
“I’m fine,” I insisted, forcing a smile. “Really. Just help me get this cake inside before the sun melts the frosting.”
He hesitated, then nodded, taking one of the boxes from Taylor. Together, we carried the tiers into the barn, setting them carefully on the display table near the dance floor. I focused on the task, steadying my breathing, ignoring the way my hands shook as I stacked the layers.