A/N: Bakers! Apologies for the late update, I'm in the middle of finishing my exams, so yay! ^0^/ As always, I write through them (although at a pace much slower than I'd like) so here is an update! :) Enjoy.

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The special guests were taking an unusually long time at Miss Rachel's display, exchanging private conversations with one another and smiling as they did so. Shea and I couldn't quite tell if it was a good or bad thing for guests to remain around even after they'd finished sampling the dessert.

While the award-winning French pastry chef seemed to be actively conversing with Miss Rachel and her assistant (with the help of a translator), the rest of them were taking a closer look at the shortcake.

"Damn it. Wish I could hear what they were saying," muttered Shea under her breath. I poked her arm and advised that even if she could, she probably wouldn't be able to understand them anyway.

"Hey. I took basic French back in middle school, okay? And like, I'm on my third level one class for Japanese," she reminded with a smirk. I raised a brow.

"And the words you know are...?"

"Konnichiwa."

The conversation ended right then and there. Neither of us openly acknowledged Shea's lack of proficiency in the language—it was far too embarrassing.

I returned my gaze to Miss Rachel's display table, where the huge, whole strawberry shortcakes were. Some of the guests had moved on to the creations of other pastry chefs, but the remaining stayed, penning down notes and exchanging words that were barely audible.

"Well, looks like they go by what piques their interest," sighed my sister, shoulders falling as she broke out of her 'professional' act. "I thought we were going by alphabetical order. Scared the shit outta me."

"What piques their interest?" I prompted with a blink.

"Uh," Shea coughed stiffly. "Not that our shortcakes wouldn't. Just..." she gave the guests a pointed look. "Pretentious people tend to miss out on the bigger things in life."

I laughed. "No one said they were pretentious, Shea."

"Yeah but being impressed by some fancy deco obviously means they are," she grumbled, displaying her tendencies for teenaged angst. I briefly remembered going through that stage.

"I think it's something worth appreciating nevertheless," I tilted the sign of our bakery further to the left, in hopes of attracting more attention. "Maybe the guests understand that there is beauty in many things. That everything has its own form of value."

My youngest sister patted me on the head. It was a strange thing to do.

"The problem with cinnamon rolls is that they give the world too much credit."

*

Although I was slightly relieved that the special guests hopping from table to table in a random order meant that there was no anticipation of being 'up next' down the row, the uncertainty and subsequent fear of not knowing if I was next did things to my heart. ;-;

Pebble-me was so busy re-thinking the exact words to say in my self-introduction (which I was likely to mess up regardless) that I didn't notice a man standing in front of our display, taking pictures of our shortcakes with a camera that looked as big as my face.

"Oh no. Hi!" I began in a panic. "Oh no, oh gosh. I'm so sorry, I didn't notice you were—u-um, were you standing here for a long time? Would you like to have a slice?" Chip is a disaster. That's what he is.

Already, I'd forgotten to introduce myself to my first guest and just when I thought there was absolutely no way of recovering, the man reassured me that he was just the photographer of the event.

"My company covers events like these. Complimentary articles included, and I'm in charge of writing this one, so. Here I am," he laughed and his curly hair bounced. Aw! Nice people ;v;. The photographer was very relaxed and easy-going, going on to ask if he could take a picture of me standing beside my display.

"O-of course! But uh," I laughed nervously, deciding to give him a heads up. "I'm very bad with pictures. I just, somehow, look terrible in every single one of them."

"Don't fret over it. How about pretending to arrange the cake slices or something—that way, you don't have to look at the camera."

I felt better about that, quietly impressed by how professional he was.

"Right! That's a good shot. Thanks," he nodded and was about to go off when I offered him a slice of shortcake. He seemed rather surprised.

"Really?" He stared. "But I'm just a photographer. You might want to save some of that for the invited guests."

I shook my head, smiling up at him. "Desserts aren't supposed to be an entitlement!"

The photographer guy chuckled, accepting the slice of cake. "Guess I found the perfect title for my article. Thanks." He raised the plate in greeting before disappearing in the direction of the pavilion.

Shea made her timely return from the restroom, following my gaze before bursting into silent outrage. "A cute guy came while I was away and I wasn't informed?! Hello?!"'

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

There were several unexpected guests following the photographer's visit. A lady in a blue floral blouse popped by with another camera and introduced herself as a...um, a food blogger (I-I think) and asked if she could have a slice of shortcake.

"It's very...simple, your concept," she said in a heavy accent, as I was handing her a slice. "Like. Less is more. Y'know?"

I thanked her for the compliment before attending to another guest. It was starting to get a little busy.

"You've got some guts! Bringing such a common cake and making it look so simple," boomed a chubby man in a bow tie. That sounded like a laugh. "But it's pretty darn good."

"Thank you, sir," I offered him another. He received it with a grin. "I'm honoured that you like it!"

"Y'know, I've never heard of this...'Baked Love' place before. You should consider doing ads. Publicity could do you guys some good."

I nodded to express agreement, although silently sure that we didn't have enough funds for advertising, either way. "Sounds like a plan."

He did a mock salute before heading towards the pavilion with his cake. Then, it was the next guest. And the next.

Then came Mr. Yamazaki and his translator, the pastry chef who was specially invited by the organizers. I was shaking in my shoes because I'd seen them coming from afar—across the open area—towards our table. Shea was pretty nervous as well. I could tell from her nose; they'd move a little whenever she was put in a spot.

I decided to introduce myself first.

"H-hello! Nice to meet you. I'm Chip Honeycutt, the owner of Baked Love," ohmygodChiptheyalreadyknowthat. "This is Shea Honeycutt, my chief baker. U-um, do help yourselves to some shortcake. Oh wait, why don't I just serve you some? H-here."

I handed Mr. Yamazaki and his translator each a slice and a dessert fork. Both nodded their heads slightly, but remained silent otherwise.

"デザインはちょっと簡単ですね。" The translator turned to Mr. Yamazaki to say.

I blinked, smiling blankly. What does that mean? Why didn't he translate that?

"ま、それはポイントですから。" Mr. Yamazaki smiled, nodding in my direction. I nodded politely in return, waiting for the translation. It didn't come, and I was getting a little anxious so I decided to ask when—

"I like how you cut the strawberry until almost transparent," Mr. Yamazaki pointed out before using the dessert fork to cut out a portion of the slice. "And you only put one. One..."

"Slice," his translator finished. "One slice of the strawberry."

Relieved, I thanked them profusely. "I'm really glad you like it! We try to keep the design of the cake as simple as possible, so that it doesn't offset the balance of the cream, sponge and strawberries."

The translator belted out word after word as soon as I finished my sentence while Mr. Yamazaki nodded and had his first taste of the shortcake.

I waited, anxious for his reaction.

At first, his expression didn't change very much. The Japanese pastry chef remained rather passive until the second, third bite. He looked up from his plate.

"You know what is the sponge to cream ratio?"

I told him the number that I'd come to perfect over the years and he smiled.

"How do you make the cream?"

I explained.

"Un. And the strawberries—how you prepare?"

I explained more, slowly, just so that the translator could keep up. It was only after Mr. Yamazaki finished his helping and the translator had wrapped up my final sentence when he set his plate down and smiled, hands behind his back.

"そうですか。ごちそうさま。" The pastry chef stepped forth to take a closer look at the rest of the slices, then proceeded to point at the entire display. "It was perfect."

I blinked.

"Mr. Yamazaki is impressed that you have understood the concept of balance," the translator explained. "He believes that simplicity is an art."

My mind went blank. I didn't know how to respond, let alone what to say next. Mr. Yamazaki and his translator must have witnessed by gaping mouth because they laughed and said something in Japanese before the translator took the liberty to explain further.

"Because strawberry shortcakes are so common, standing out from others can be a difficult task. Pastry chefs try to differentiate themselves by either revamping the recipe or making the cake physically, in terms of design and decoration, different. What Mr. Yamazaki is concerned about is that they, by doing so, forget that simplicity requires mastering as well. By trying to stand out, these special designs and decorations have ironically drifted further away from the mastery of the cake."

As if to re-emphasize his point, Mr. Yamazaki pointed at the cakes again—then gave me a thumbs-up. "Perfect."

!!! Oh no I'm gonna cry ;-;

Naturally, I didn't know what to say. Regardless. Giving me another hour or so wouldn't have ensured a concrete, sane response either. I bowed twice and thanked him as I did.

"He says it reminds him of his childhood," the translator relayed and Mr. Yamazaki smiled at me.

"Where is your...店は英語で何ですか。"

"Store."

"Ah yes yes. Store. Where is it? I will send my son. Go to your store and buy," the pastry chef laughed shortly. "He always so free."

Far too emotional, my heart nearly stopped.

*

Thankfully, I was given some breathing space to recover from the mini-heart attack. Mr. Yamazaki and his translator had posed several questions about the bakery and the rest of our desserts before moving to the next pastry chef's display. Since the rest of the invited guests were occupied at varying tables, no one really stopped by ours for the next couple of minutes.

Shea and I exchanged a look as soon as Mr. Yamazaki and his translator were out of sight and I could tell that she was equally shoOk as I was. Oh! This really isn't good for the heart.

I fished out my phone to send a quick text to Xander, half wishing that I could excuse myself to make a call.

"What—sending love messages to your mortal?" My sister popped by my shoulder in an attempt to peer at my screen. I moved away at once.

"Shea! People need their privacy. Even your siblings do, okay," I huffed.

"Sure," she shrugged, smirking a little. "Especially people who receive sexts from their husbands."

Her response left my jaw hanging and made me start to think that she resembled Xander more than myself. E-even though she was supposed to be my sister.

"Shea! We're—" I looked around nervously. "We're in public! What'd happen if someone heard that!"

My sister held back a laugh and nudged me in the side. I returned the favour before noticing that someone else was making their way over to our table. He had a white cane in hand and on his left was the female pastry chef; the lady overseeing the entire event.

"Hi there! How has everything been going for you?" She asked, smiling sweetly.

"It's been great. Everything's really new and exciting," I laughed nervously, wondering if my response was weird. I couldn't help but notice that the critic—the man with the cane, looking in our general direction—was standing unusually far from our display table.

Is he worried about knocking his cane against the table leg? Maybe he's trying to be careful since he doesn't know what's on the table yet...everyone brought different things after all.

"Tell us more about what you've brought today," Chef Randy prompted, surveying the table of shortcake slices.

"Sure! But, um. Mr. Atkins, would you like to come a little closer?" I offered, holding out my elbow. "If you don't mind, you could hold on to my elbow."

It was what Xander and I taught Giselle from the start, just in case the two of us didn't happen to be around and she needed help finding her way around. Asking for someone's elbow was basic, since holding hands was not an action that everyone was comfortable with.

The special guest turned sideways, in my direction. "Oh! That would be nice indeed. Thank you for offering." He raised his hand slightly and I guided it towards my elbow.

"Oh you don't have to thank me," already, I was worried that they'd be bored of more strawberry shortcake. It was a miracle that Mr. Yamazaki wasn't. "It's nothing. All I'm worried about is...well, that you've had too much strawberry shortcake already."

Mr. Atkins must have detected the worry in my voice because he laughed and patted my forearm, declaring that he could never have 'too much' of any dessert. "I'd eat a whole cake for breakfast. Twelve inches in diameter, mind you."

"Sometimes I worry for your health, Sebastian," Chef Randy shook her head with a sigh before turning back to me. "Do continue."

"Ah! Um, well...there's nothing much I can say, really. It's a strawberry shortcake. I don't exactly have a name for it. My sister-in-law likes a lot. A recent new customer of mine liked it as well! He's very young. In fact, he's the one who sort of...gave me the idea to bring shortcake today."

The pair nodded in understanding. I handed each of them a slice and a dessert fork before helping Mr. Atkins with the clear plastic around the cake.

"Actually, um. Let me," I cut a portion from the slice with the dessert fork and passed it back to him. "I-in all honesty, there's nothing much on the cake itself. We refrain from piping more frosting swirls on the cake or adding more strawberries on top because then every slice would have a different cream to sponge ratio. And...um, well, it tampers with the overall balance of the cake."

I stopped myself from going too far. Minutes in, I was already ranting which wasn't the nicest thing to do when Chef Randy and Mr. Atkins were just trying to eat in peace. Ugh.

"That's important, actually." Chef Randy nodded, unafraid to speak between mouthfuls of cake. "I mean—what'd you do if the strawberries aren't in season? They'd taste sour and not everyone is fond of coating them in syrup or jelly. Whole strawberries on shortcakes are problematic in that way."

"Wait," Mr. Atkins paused the conversation. "You mean to say that there is nothing on the cake itself?"

"U-um! There are sliced strawberries on the whole cake. Just...thinly sliced strawberries. Eight of them with the sharper end pointing towards the middle so that it looks like a flower..." I swallowed, suddenly very aware of the lack of detail.

Chef Randy proceeded to elaborate. "Well, they look almost transparent! I mean, since you're having a slice now, the one on top of it sort of looks like a heart. It's pink and very thinly sliced. That's some artistry right there."

"Ah! I understand now. Excuse me," Mr. Atkins turned towards my general direction. "Mind if you...show me where the sliced strawberry is? And—the sheer confidence you have to rid of all frosting swirls!" He chuckled.

"Just a secret between us and Randy: the previous one I had was a mouthful of cream. Of course, she was nice enough to guide me towards the middle as a start but as I got to the end! I heard there were rosettes piped on the sides of the cake. Swirls and swirls but in reality, I sometimes wonder if anyone would actually eat all that!"

Mr. Atkins was very chatty. Almost the friendliest person I'd ever met and for a moment, I wished Giselle was here to meet him.

Chef Randy chided Mr. Atkins on the sharing of their secret while I helped him with the portion of his slice with the sliced strawberry. We laughed together.

"Not everyone is daring enough to limit the decoration on their cake to such an extent, Sebastian. Just because people give you the liberty doesn't therefore mean that everyone else can get the same treatment," Chef Randy teased as she finished her slice of cake. "It's delicious, by the way. You have a point on limiting the frosting. It's strange how no one's really thought of that but now that I've tasted this, it's like there's no going back!"

I wasn't used to getting so many compliments in such a short span of time. Within ten minutes, I'd been showered with the nicest words ;v;

"I um, I'm so honoured," I managed without choking up. "Th-thank you."

"Why'd you always have to take the words out of my mouth, Randy? You leave me nothing left to say!" Mr. Atkins laughed. "Though I must admit...your confidence in your craft—and in this cake, specifically—is almost worlds apart from how you behave! It is very adorable."

I blinked, blushing a little. "O-oh! Oh."

Again, they laughed and Chef Randy had to explain that it was only a joke.

"He's only trying to say that you should have more confidence in yourself," she went on, nodding. "Which I agree whole-heartedly."

*

I was beginning to see the world in a strange, somewhat pink tinge when Mr. Dempsey came 'round to our display and declared that he finally had a moment or two to see what I'd brought today.

"This better meet my expectations, Mr. Honeycutt. Vanille spoke well of this, specifically, and I wouldn't want to experience the double disappointment of having to admit that my nephew has mediocre taste and that I've unfortunately invited the wrong bakery."

I laughed in agreement. "I wouldn't want that to happen to you as well, Mr. Dempsey. I can only hope for the best," I turned sideways to give Shea a thumbs-up while she eyed the critic suspiciously.

"Well then."

Mr. Dempsey received the dessert fork and took a couple of seconds to survey the slices of cake displayed on the table before choosing one of them. "Rather...simple-looking, don't you think?"

I nodded sheepishly, repeating a condensed version of the explanation that I'd given to the invited guests from before. "So that I can ensure the quality of the taste, sir. I guess you can say that some things need to be sacrificed for the greater good."

"Hm," Mr. Dempsey looked at me strangely. "I suppose."

I watched in anticipation as he sent the first spoonful into his mouth. Waiting.

Vanilla's Uncle didn't seem to have much of a reaction. He stared at the slice of cake then cut another portion of it. Ate that, and cut into the next. Then the next.

Shea and I waited for minutes until he was finally willing to speak, and when he did, I almost fell over.

"You should have given this to me from the start," he huffed, averting his eyes.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I was taking a short break from the unusual amount of compliments I was receiving (outside of the garden, just by the pick-up point) when I received a text from my husband. It was accompanied by a dangerous picture of him in front of the bathroom mirror, just out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his hips a-and oh no no no no I almost dropped my phone.

That devil ;-; he must have finished his run an hour ago and taken a bath. I read the text that he'd sent along with the picture—

And you didn't believe me when I said you made the best cakes in the universe. See you tonight.

—and felt my chest tighten with a squeeze. After all those words from renowned bakers, critics and pastry chefs...

I guess there is really no compliment more heart-warming than those from the people closest to the heart.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

There was a cough and I looked up to see our neighbour, Miss Rachel, standing in the doorway, arms folded across her chest as she stared right back at me. I didn't exactly know what to say. Already, I'd known that Miss Rachel preferred talking to Xander than myself, probably because I was such an awkward pebble.

"Miss Rachel! Sorry I—um...I'm sorry about not greeting you from before. I didn't know you were the owner of such a well-established patisserie. Ah, I must have looked so stupid," I began, going up to her before she interjected with something else.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*