Chapter 6 - THE WEDDING I NEVER AGREED TO BAKE FOR
“YOU PAID MY BROTHER SEVEN THOUSAND SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS FOR A WEDDING CAKE I NEVER AGREED TO MAKE? NAOMI, I'M GOING TO HELP YOU FIND A SOLUTION. BUT FIRST, WE NEED TO FIND OUT EXACTLY WHAT HE SOLD YOU.”
I returned Naomi's call that Sunday evening.
She answered on the first ring.
“Miss Vale?”
“Please call me Audrey.”
“Oh, thank goodness.”
I could hear the relief in her voice.
And it hurt.
Because I knew that relief might disappear when I told her the truth.
“Naomi, I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Of course.”
“Did you personally speak with me when you booked your wedding desserts?”
“No. Graham handled everything. He said you were his sister and the head pastry chef for the company.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did you receive a contract?”
“Yes.”
“Whose name is on it?”
“Vale House Events. But Bluebird Bakes is listed as the dessert provider.”
“Would you email it to me?”
“Absolutely.”
She hesitated.
“Is something wrong?”
I chose my words carefully.
“Naomi, I don't have your wedding on my production schedule. I was never informed that Graham had booked it.”
Silence.
Then a small, frightened sound.
“Oh, no.”
“I'm sorry.”
“My wedding is in six days.”
“I understand.”
“We have almost two hundred guests.”
“I know.”
“My fiancé and I saved for two years. We specifically chose Graham's company because he showed us photographs of your cakes.”
I pressed my fingertips against my forehead.
Of course he had.
My work had become his most effective sales tool.
“Naomi, did Graham tell you I had approved a design?”
“Yes. He said you personally selected the sugar flowers.”
I swallowed.
The three-tier cake sitting in my bakery suddenly came to mind.
Those handmade sugar flowers.
My brother had seen them.
Had he promised Naomi something similar because he knew I could make it?
“Do you have the design sheet?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Send that, too.”
A moment later, my email chimed.
I opened the attachment.
There it was.
A beautifully presented wedding-dessert proposal featuring photographs of cakes I'd made over the previous three years.
One photograph came from a wedding in Newport.
Another was from a bridal shower in Bristol.
Several descriptions were copied almost word for word from my bakery website.
And at the bottom, beneath a payment summary showing a $7,600 deposit, was a sentence that made me feel sick.
All custom desserts will be produced under the direction of Audrey Vale, Bluebird Bakes.
I hadn't seen the document before that moment.
“Naomi,” I said gently, “I need to be clear. I did not authorize this booking.”
She began crying softly.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just a frightened woman whose wedding was suddenly threatened.
“My mother died last year,” she whispered. “The cake design was based on the flowers she carried at her wedding. I thought everything was arranged.”
Something inside me softened.
I had spent the weekend thinking about how badly my family had treated me.
Now I was speaking to another woman who had trusted the wrong person.
I couldn't solve everything.
But I could refuse to let my anger make me indifferent to her pain.
“Naomi, listen to me.”
“Okay.”
“I'm going to contact a baker I trust. I can't promise she has availability, and I can't take responsibility for money I never received. But I can help you find out what's possible.”
She sniffled.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“And Graham?”
“You'll need to pursue that deposit with the company that received it. I'll provide a written statement confirming that Bluebird never accepted the booking.”
For the first time, her voice steadied.
“Thank you.”
After we hung up, I called Renée Alvarez, a talented pastry chef who operated a bakery in Warwick.
Renée and I had helped each other during difficult wedding seasons.
When her oven failed three summers earlier, I'd let her use mine after closing.
When my delivery van broke down, she'd helped transport a wedding cake without asking for anything in return.
She answered with a laugh.
“Audrey Vale! Aren't you supposed to be enjoying Maine?”
“I'm trying.”
“That bad?”
“Worse.”
I explained Naomi's situation without sharing unnecessary details about my family.
Renée listened.
Then she asked, “How many guests?”
“One hundred ninety-six.”
“Wedding date?”
“Saturday.”
She whistled.
“That's tight.”
“I know.”
“Send me the design. I might be able to do a smaller centerpiece cake and a dessert table. But I'll need to review my schedule.”
I almost cried with gratitude.
“Thank you.”
“Don't thank me yet. Let me see what I can do.”
Within an hour, Renée had reviewed the photographs and confirmed that she could offer a realistic alternative.
It wouldn't be the enormous display Graham had promised.
But it could be beautiful.
And, most importantly, it would be honest.
I passed her information to Naomi.
The bride thanked me repeatedly.
I told her to wait until Renée provided a proper proposal before making any new payment.
That distinction mattered.
For years, I'd operated on informal promises whenever family was involved.
I wasn't going to encourage another woman to do the same.
At nine o'clock, I opened Naomi's original contract again.
Something about the document bothered me.
Graham's contact information appeared near the bottom.
But beneath his name was another entry.
Family Client Liaison: Lorraine Vale.
My mother.
I stared at the screen.
Why was Mom listed as a client contact for Graham's company?
She had never mentioned working for Vale House Events.
As far as I knew, she occasionally helped Graham organize seating charts and mailed invitations.
Nothing more.
I scrolled through the accompanying emails.
Then I found a message sent three weeks earlier.
Naomi had asked whether she could speak directly with the baker before finalizing her cake design.
Graham had replied:
Audrey is handling a very busy production schedule right now. My mother, Lorraine, can confirm the family details on her behalf.
Below that was an email from Mom.
Please don't worry, Naomi. Audrey has been helping Graham with weddings for years. Everything will be lovely.
I sat frozen.
My mother had reassured a paying customer about a contract I didn't know existed.
And suddenly, her silence when I'd called about the engagement invitation looked very different.
I called Mom.
She didn't answer.
I tried again.
Voicemail.
Then I sent one message.
Mom, why is your name on Naomi Price's wedding contract?
A reply arrived twenty minutes later.
Audrey, we should talk when you get home.
I stared at the words.
Then another message appeared.
Your father told me everything had been arranged.
I lowered the phone.
May you like
For the first time, I realized my mother might know far more about Graham's business arrangements than she'd admitted.
And I wasn't sure I was ready to hear how much.
