4 | Moist Chocolate Cakes

It was Sunday today.

I sauntered – yes, sauntered – to the wide opening between the kitchen and the counter to get another plate of pie. Make those two plates of pie. I balanced both plates on my hands and delivered them to table number seven, a young couple.

Because I felt like it today, I was dressed in the shop's uniform blouse and a pair of skinny jeans with my usual apron. My hair was tied up in a neat bun covered with a hairnet. My job today was to wait tables, because the shop was busier on weekends.

I suddenly missed Mitch. She was volunteering (or was convinced to volunteer by her mom) at the animal shelter today, part of her weekly duties. If she were here, she'd be blabbing my ear off while enjoying a cup of banana and pineapple shake. I sighed as I picked up another order.

"Ollie, please come with me," Mom said as she walked past me. She was dressed differently today: in a simple white blouse and jeans. Her blonde hair was in a cook's bun as usual, but she didn't have a hairnet and apron.

"Aren't you helping in the kitchen?" I arched an eyebrow at her. "And I'm supposed to work at the ice cream station today, remember?"

She took my wrist in one hand after I managed to hurriedly give the order. "The station is closed every Sunday," she said, "And we'll take a break."

Are you really my mother?

Mom dragged me upstairs, leading to our home. Then, we went to the kitchen counter. I spotted a manila envelope sitting on it. She took it and opened it, but stopped midway.

She looked at me, "Don't look at me like that." She must've seen my look of disbelief. But can you blame me?

"Like what?" I asked innocently.

"Like I've been possessed," she said. "Anyway, this is important and will be quick – depending on how you react – "

I cut her off, "Depending on what – "

Then she cut me off, "then you're going back to the shop."

I eyed the fresh white papers in her hands. Suspicious. "What are those?" She slid them to me, across the counter.

Damn, is it just me, or is this like one of those movies?

My eyes were glued to the all caps large sized word on the top printed in bold: CONTRACT.

"What's this?" I asked Mom as I absentmindedly scanned the paper. I realized it wasn't only one sheet of paper, but several, stapled together.

Mom pursed her lips before answering, "Your father wanted to explain and give it to you after dinner last night. But since you stormed off, I thought it was best that I give it to you."

I flipped the pages, not really reading the text. Only glancing at a few random words – like what I usually do when studying. "Have you read this? What's this all about?"

Is my father taking me with him? Did he sign me up in a contract for Hollywood? Filed a case against me?

Mom took a deep breath. No uh, that wasn't good.

"He's offering you a new job." When I opened my mouth to ask, she held her hand up and continued, "a bargain. It involves the Dales."

Okay, I knew Dad was willing to do anything to make Walter Dale go out of business so his own can succeed, but he's bringing me into this? Sacrificing his middle child?

"Cut to the chase, Mom."

"You have to pose as the Dales' cook and spy on them." She finally let out.

That was it. Dad was definitely cuckoo. The movies and Hollywood must be getting into his head. Does he really think I'd agree to that? To be all mission impossible?

I'll give you a ticket to the mental hospital, Dad.

I arched an eyebrow, not reacting much. "In return?"

"He'll pay for your college expenses – send you to the one you like so much. And you can get a record deal for two years."

Shut the fridge.

What was that first sentence again?

I licked my lips, "Bridgeshade University? He'll send me there?" "Like" was an understatement. I always dreamt of going there. A college in Phoenix.

Mom nodded, "And if you don't do it, he'll stop sending money for us and the shop."

This was crazier than I thought.

"So let me get this straight," I said, "I have to cook for and spy on the Dales so Dad can get me to Bridgeshade, make me a celebrity, and continue sending money?"

"Pretty much."

My shoulders sagged. No, I couldn't do this. And if I get caught by the Dales? If I screw this thing up? Did he really think Mr. Dale was an idiot?

"What makes him think he can bribe and blackmail me to this?" I scowled at the contract, "Maybe, I can sacrifice Bridgeshade. We can get me to a decent college."

Yep, sacrifice the best college of all time. With the best non-boring lessons.

"I don't even want to be some singer. Why would he think that?"

Definitely don't want to become famous and perform in front of thousands.

"And we can manage to run the shop and our lives without his money. Our business is booming."

Booming, of course.

Mom crossed her arms in front of me. I knew she knew me well, raising me for seventeen years now. She knew my sassiness, sarcasm and even when I was lying. And that makes her the best and the worst mom at the same time.

"Ollie," she sighed, "You and I both know you want in that college badly. And before you can deny it, let me remind you that I clean your room. That little Bridgeshade shrine in your closet doesn't escape my eyes."

She held up two fingers, "And two, I know you want to be singer. And you're great at it, too. Don't think I don't hear you using the mop as a mic when you clean the shop."

Three fingers now. "And three, half of the money your dad gives supports the stocks of the shop. I'm sorry, but if you don't do it, I'd have to stop paying you and you'd have to find a real job somewhere. And our bills wouldn't be covered much. He promised to increase the money he sends if you do it, too. Plus, you'll earn extra money because he'll let you keep the money the Dales pay you."

This time, I stared blankly at the papers. I guess Dad did know a lot about us even when he's away. But he's using it for his advantage.

Or maybe he hired a P.I.

The money and college were self-explanatory. I knew I had to do this for me and Mom. As for the "being a singer" part, I had dreamt of becoming a celebrity back when I was younger. Dreamt of being a singing cupcake baker. But I guess that dream was crushed when Montana changed because of the fame. Sometimes, I was afraid it would happen to Harmony. That's one of the reasons I was thankful Dad didn't take me with him.

But when I see my sister's and at times Brennan's faces on large billboards and commercials, the temptation was still there. The longing to show my talent. Mom wasn't lying about the "singing with a mop" part. I did sing but only when I was alone. Mostly busting some dance moves too when I cleaned at home. But then again, when I feel that longing, I also think about how it would change me. That fact alone always pulled me back.

Mom didn't let me answer. She just said, "I'll give you time to think." And she went downstairs to help in the shop.

After how many seconds of staring at the contract but not really absorbing anything, I pushed it back to the envelope and went back to work.

I was cleaning up a table when finally entertainment for my boredom waltzed into the shop.

He went to the counter to order and after Mel gave him a number, I offered a seat from the table I already cleaned up. I pushed back the chair dramatically, "A seat, Your Majesty." And I even faked a bow.

"Why thank you milady," he said, sitting on it, his dark brown eyes sparkling and he grinned goofily.

"I was wondering when you'd show up." I rested a hand on the table and the other on my hip.

"It took some time to get this one, but eventually I did." He smiled in triumph.

"What is it now? Girl number fifty-one?"

"Fifty-two actually."

"So," I raised an eyebrow, "when is she coming?"

"She's not." He replied, leaning back on his seat casually, "She said she had to 'run off to an appointment' when I texted her that I was heading here."

I laughed, "It's nice to know that I'm not the only one having bad luck in my life."

"Yeah, she definitely wasn't lucky."

I laughed even more. When Brennan's immaturity was annoying because he was so self-conceited, Lawrence always made me laugh. He was one of the regulars here in Sweet Moments – been coming here ever since he was a sophomore. He went so often that we became friends. He's a year older than me, already in college. But his immaturity is something I found entertaining.

Mom walked past our table, "I'm not paying you to chat at work." She glanced at Lawrence, "Even if it's him."

We all knew I'm not listening to her. But she'd make me clean the toilets or something if I slacked off.

"I'll talk to you later," I told Lawrence before heading to the counter to pick up another order.

Lawrence Riley was happy-go-lucky, so I'm kind of surprised girls wouldn't give him a chance. For so many months now, he's trying to get a girlfriend and did everything to do so. Went on blind dates, asked out girls from his college and joined dating sites. He only took them to one place for the first dates: Sweet Moments.

Poor guy, all alone.

I guess the main reason it hadn't worked out was that Lawrence was slightly nervous about any girl, but I could tell he's desperate to get one. Plus, this is a sweet shop he's taking the girls to. Mostly girls who watched their weight and weren't too fond of desserts.

Oh well. At least he hadn't got his heart broken yet.

Some orders later, I finally got to pick up Lawrence's. He ordered two slices of moist chocolate cake. If I wasn't careful, I'd probably drool all over them. Chocolate was my kryptonite.

"I thought she's not going?" I asked Lawrence as I set the two plates down on his table.

"That's why," he grabbed a fork and took a bite, "I'm eating these two. Stressed mood, equals desserts mood."

You're not even stressed.

"Gluttony," I grumbled, "I feel sorry for the cake." But he was too busy moaning at the food-gasm. I looked around the shop. There were less customers now.

I took a seat on the table, grabbed the plate of cake and dug into the chocolate goodness. Yum.

"Ey!" Lawrence pointed his fork accusingly at me, bits of cake around from his mouth when he spoke.

"The cake would be better off in my stomach. Thanks for the free treat." I said.

A few minutes of silence and eating the chocolate cake, then we leaned back on our chairs and sighed in satisfaction. Good cake, good times.

"So what's up?" He brought out something from his book bag – the notebook. It was where he kept track of the girls he dated (or went to a first date with) so he wouldn't get too lost. "You seem moody today."

"Crazy things happened," I was dying to pour it out. Lawrence got his pen and drew the usual "x" mark beside the name of the girl. He wasn't my best friend (Mitch already took the title for that one) but we were pretty close, asking each other about our lives and stuff. Although we were friends, he and Mitch weren't.

"Chapter one, Friday," I started. Then, I told Lawrence about the murder of my sandwiches, the ride home from Brennan then the ice pops, finally the dinner. Chapter two was a while ago, when I got shocking news from Dad.

He listened intently – with concern, not amusement, might I add (hello there, Brennan) – and added a few jokes in between my speeches to lighten me up.

"And the worst thing is," I ranted, "I haven't had any dessert until now! The family dinner? It was Montana's fault I didn't get much of my pie. And Mom cut me on desserts yesterday when she caught me about to steal from the ice cream station. I haven't even got my vanilla cream pop!"

Lawrence nodded, putting his fist under his chin. "No dessert, equals bad Ollie."

"Exactly!"

"So, let me be serious here," he stared at me.

"Go on," I picked at the leftover crumbs on my plate, wishing I can lick it off without being judged by society.

"What kind of pie was that actually?" his eyes sparkled in interest.

I stifled a chuckle. Such a shame he hadn't been blessed with a girlfriend. "Coconut cream."

He pulled on a thinking face, as if it was business we're talking about here, "Ah, good pie. Perfect for food fights, too."

"I think this is the part when you stop joking around and tell me what to do." I told him.

When he began absentmindedly humming "Break Free", I gave him a playful glare, "Riley!"

"You know what?" he tapped my nose, "Words of advice from me: What have you got to lose when you agree to this contract? You've experienced the craziest things in your life, so what makes you think you can't pull this off?"

"Those should be the wisest words I've ever heard from you, Law. The only ones, maybe."

"But," I sighed, "I don't know. Luck hasn't been on my side for so long now. Look at the consequences if I get caught. Media crowding around for news, my Dad's disappointment, and let's not forget my rewards."

"Look on the bright side." Of course he'll say that. "Your job wouldn't be so boring now. And you get paid fairly. You can be all Spy Kids at the Dales."

"Thanks," I smiled at him. A genuine smile.

I stood up, "Give me a second, please."

I found Mom in the kitchen, busy with muffins. She leaned her hip against the counter when she saw me. "Mom," I took a deep breath. My guts were fighting to do it or not. One side of me says it'll end badly while the other is a massive daredevil.

One reason I don't want to do it is because I never wanted to participate in the rivalry between Dad and Walter Dale. He thinks my sisters and I will continue that rivalry when he can't anymore. But I'm positive we won't. Even Brennan doesn't want to. Just because they hate each other doesn't mean they have to expect their kids to do the same.

The other side of me was screaming, "Just do it, girl."

And those four words were pretty convincing.

Then, I finally said,

"I'll take the offer."

♫ ♫ ♫