Page 2 of Paging Dr. VanRyan

No cakes.

I shook my head. Disappointed, but not surprised.

The swinging door opened, and a young woman stepped out, a patient smile on her face. I was certain she’d had a long, busy day at the bakery and was silently cursing a last-minute customer. But her voice was friendly and warm as she spoke.

“Hi. Welcome to Sugar and Spice. How can I help you?”

I smiled at her in return. “I sort of need an emergency cake. But I see you’re out.”

“An emergency cake?”

I leaned on the counter, dropping my voice. “My dad had a little incident. My mom’s birthday cake is all over the inside of his car.” I grimaced dramatically. “He is not a happy camper, nor is the interior.”

“Oh dear,” she replied and let out a quiet laugh. It was light and airy, and her eyes crinkled as she showed her amusement. She was very pretty. I judged her to be about my age. She had light brown hair and blue eyes, and her lips were full and pouty. She was about a foot shorter than I was, but she carried herself well. Shoulders back, spine straight. She projected warmth and kindness, which reminded me of my mom.

Not one to usually notice these things, I was surprised by my observation. And that I found her incredibly appealing.

“I guess I’ll take the pie,” I said, indicating the remaining treat. “We’ll put a candle in it. Unless…” I paused. “You have any cakes in the back?”

She frowned, chewing her bottom lip. “None decorated. But I have one unpicked-up order. I’m not sure it would suit, though.”

“I’m desperate.”

She held up her finger. “Give me a moment.”

She disappeared through the swinging door, returning with a box that she carried to the counter. “I have called the customer three times, and they haven’t returned my messages.” She shook her head with a frown. “This is why we don’t take orders without a deposit.”

She opened the lid and spun the cake, showing it to me. “It’s for a child,” she explained.

I studied the picture of a pony with grass around it. The writing was simple—Ride ’em, Kyle!

“I could remove the writing and smooth out the top and put ‘Happy Birthday,’” she offered. “I can’t redo the horse.”

“What kind is it?” I asked.

“Half chocolate, half white.”

“That’s perfect, actually.”

An idea formed as I looked at the cake. “Could you just change the writing a little?”

“To?”

I told her, and her lovely eyes widened. She bit back her smile and admonished me. “Is that really, ah, appropriate, um, sir?”

I chuckled. “Matthew. My name is Matthew—I’m known as the prankster in the family. No one will be surprised. My mom will laugh.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yep.”

“Your funeral.”

I chuckled. “Maybe.”

“Okay, give me a moment.”

“Sure. Take your time, ah…” I let my voice trail off. “I didn’t catch your name.”