And it was, indeed. A buttercream blossom was one of the first things Emily learned how to do when she began to bake (and really bake, not just follow by-the-box directions) and she'd been proud of it ever since, jumping at any chance she could to pipe it on any dessert that Bambi let her. She'd just finished a batch of lemon and lavender cupcakes, something new for the upcoming spring menu, and tonight was her chance to show it off to the rest of the crew—see if it was good enough to sell at the restaurant someday. Taking extreme care, the blonde transferred each one onto a white cupcake stand, crafting a sort of dessert bouquet while the restaurant buzzed, sizzled, and dinged around her.
"Behind," came Beckett's voice from the direction he'd called out. Big red oven mitts covered his hands and a big smile was sprawled across his face as he headed toward the oven, Emily moving herself—and her delicately crafted cupcake stand—out of the man's way.
The smell of cornbread as Beckett opened the oven knocked the aroma of her lemon and lavender cupcakes out of the park. She smiled warmly, watching as he pulled a square pan out. "That taste as good as it smells?" she asked.
He glanced over at her, sending a wink. "Even better." He set the pan of cornbread on the counter beside the stove and opened up the big pot, the only one left. The thing about Beckett was that he was a bit of a turtle when it came to cooking; everything he made was low and slow. Well, at least, everything he cared about making. He opened the lid to check on his mom's recipe of chicken and sausage gumbo, which simmered to completion in the pot. The smell of paprika, garlic, andouille sausage, bay leaves... It filled the room and overpowered the cupcakes and everything else everyone was cooking in the best way. It was the main star of the night, after all. Bambi had entrusted him with this, and he needed to exceed expectations.
Beckett took the lid off the pot and turned off the heat. Like clockwork, Emily swerved behind him, pulling out enough bowls to feed everyone who'd be at the table. As she did that, Beckett cut up the cornbread into messy squares.
"Thanks, darlin'," he muttered to the blonde, who was like a sister to him at this point. In exchange for her quick work, he offered her a piece of cornbread. She took a bite.
"S'that good or what?" he asked, nervous.
"Beck, that's fantastic. Bambi's gonna freak."
Then, a pause before Emily added: "And so is Mickey."
A moment later, Lizzie emerged from the front of the house, somehow toting around a few liters of soda. She was clearly struggling, and Beckett came to her rescue, retrieving the drinks and setting them off to the side. "So fucking sorry," she spoke hurriedly, obviously flustered. "My fucking card wouldn't work at the fucking liquor store and I had to go to the goddamn ATM and—" Her words were stopped only by the feeling of Emily's hands on her shoulders.
"You're good. We're ready. Go get 'im."
Lizzie took a deep breath. Tonight was important. No, it was more than important, and everyone in the restaurant felt that, the gravity of that. She nodded, then turned to head to the back of the restaurant, making the same route she always did when it was the end of shift and she needed to toss the garbage.
She found him by the dumpster. In comparison to the sensory overload that was the diner, this side of the streets brought her ears respite. Even if there were rats and running gutters. Arms folded over her chest, feeling the breeze blow through her sweater, she approached him. There he was.
"Hey, Mickey," she said. "Family's up."
