[Xander]

"Conference?" I scanned the fancy, digitalized invitation. "Sounds more like a tea party to me."

"U-um, you're not wrong," Chip laughed sheepishly. "It's an annual thing. They select and invite thirteen bakers to bring a batch of their one best product to the event. Like a buffet! Everyone gets to try the best-sellers from bakeries across the state."

I frowned. "Really? Wow, that's...why the hell didn't they invite you sooner?" Giselle laughed over the breakfast table and Chip pouted, looking away sheepishly.

"Their standards are really high, Xan." He handed over the second serving of pancakes I'd wanted. "W-we, well, we've got a long way to go. I'm just glad Mr. Dempsey gave us the opportunity!"

I reached over to poke his cheek. "I'm sure they'll love anything you make. It's just...I've got a bad feeling. As usual."

"You mean the review that Mr. Dempsey wrote?" Chip's shoulders fell, and he looked a little upset himself. "Can't be helped. It was his honest opinion...m-maybe he does have very high standards of taste. Besides, he complimented our hot cross buns!" He cheered up all of a sudden, showing me the digital copy that he'd received from Shea.

He pointed at the last sentence and began to read it aloud. "They...at the very least, know how to make good hot cross buns!" My husband peered up at me. "See? It's...it's not all that bad."

"Hm," I was surprised by this. If Dempsey was hired by competitors to write bad reviews of Chip's bakery, it would be strange to include compliments as well. "I guess you have a point. Sorry Angel, I'm probably overthinking but the invitation sounded suspicious."

"Th-that's okay," he reached up to touch my hair (or pat my head, it was hard to differentiate), only able to do so because we were sitting down. "I was surprised as well! After all, why would he extend the invitation to a bakery that he didn't particularly like? But, well...maybe he was feeling grateful about the other day. You know, when we took care of Vanilla."

I shrugged.

"Well, there are a ton of ideas I have going around in my head on how things could take a bad turn but I'll try not to think of them."

Chip handed Giselle a napkin to wipe her mouth before sliding a glass of homemade strawberry smoothie in front of her plate. "You do that. It's actually exciting—a tea party! I've never been invited to tea parties. O-or...parties, in general," he finished quietly, playing with his fingers.

"Good. You know what people do at parties? They gobble up people like you," I went over to his side of the dining table and peered over his head at the screen of his laptop. "When is it anyway?"

He scrolled down to display the date and venue. "Oh, it's on a Saturday."

"Yeah, and I have guard duty," I lowered my gaze to meet his, ruffling his hair.

Chip was confused. "Wait, since when did you have another job? You didn't tell me!"

"Sorry Angel, I thought you knew about the oath I'd taken to protect a bunny named Chip Honeycutt," I leaned down to kiss his forehead and watch him get the joke.

My husband let out a high-pitched 'ugh'—like he would always do whenever I said something of similar calibre—before using his hands to cover his cheeks that were blushing. "Th-that was! Go awaaay..."

"Seriously though, I'd like to come along," I let him hit my upper arm because it was a tickle to me and satisfying enough for him. "Did they say anything about bringing chief bakers or something?"

Chip scrolled through the email. "Um...they didn't, but I don't think it's against the law to bring the chief baker along." Then, he looked at me. "But...you're not my chief baker."

I stared back. "Husband, chief baker, same thing." Chip did not like the sound of that.

"You can't even bake!"

I retreated, hurt. "Hey, I made decent hot cross buns the other time alright—"

"You got help from Rose didn't you," my husband went on relentlessly, crossing his arms. "I know you did. Rose told me."

I cursed under my breath. "Yeah, but at least I can make a decent—"

"No you can't," my angel dealt his final card with the straightest, most innocent face I could imagine. I surrendered, wondering just how Chip could be this cocky with me whenever it came to cooking or baking.

"Well, that's because I know who my real competitors are!" He piped with a smile.

I sighed, then smirked. "Well, at least we know you won't be saying that in bed tonight."

Giselle stood up and slow-clapped.

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

[Rachel]

It was five in the morning and I had Jennifer run some updates by me as usual before opening, as every secretary should do.

"Sales have gone up five percent since the last two posts from Instagram celebrities..." Good, good. "And you've been selected as the owner of ARCD to attend and showcase your best-seller at the annual Baker's State Conference organized by the Baker's Times. Congratulations, Miss Rachel!"

Just as Trudy said I would be. She was right. As always, the Lord is on my side.

"Who else was invited?"

Jennifer paused. I could hear her swallow. "I didn't know, Miss Rachel...um, it wasn't stated in the invitation."

"Check the carbon copy list, it should have the email addresses of the twelve other recipients." I waited as she buried her face in her iPad and looked through the company mail again. She was testing my patience, I knew it. I drummed my fingers on the table to speed things up.

"Shall I, um—"

"Yes, read out their names."

"The names of the bakeries?"

"Yes," the Lord will reward me for my display of patience. "Do hurry."

Jennifer did the strange jumpy thing that she liked to do. I ignored it. "Yes Miss Rachel. They are: Andy's..." Andy's. The last time they were in the spotlight, it was a year ago—thankfully. Still, I'll keep tabs. "A Little Icing..." Never heard of them. "Baked Love..."

"Can you repeat that?"

Jennifer's shoulders went stiff the moment I spoke. She turned to me. "Um, sorry?"

"I said to repeat that. I'm giving you a chance to correct yourself, dear. You made a mistake."

"Uh..." she glanced back at the screen and by this point, I could clearly tell that she was doing this on purpose; testing my patience. To see how far I could go.

"Just repeat it dear. Slowly, from the top."

She nodded, and I crossed my arms.

"Andy's, A Little Icing, Baked Love, DeliHouse—" That's it.

I stood at once and took the iPad from her hands, scanning through the carbon copy list myself, certain that she had made a mistake and that her eyes were somehow crossed when she was reading. She hadn't.

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

[Chip]

"Chip," Shea popped her head into the kitchen and beckoned me towards the doorframe. "There's some kid here looking for you."

I blinked, wiping my flour-covered hands on the front my apron before peering out into the store. "Who...? There's no one there."

"Sure there is," my sister whispered aggressively, finger jabbing towards the cupcake display case. "He's right over there. Some noisy kid with glasses and nice hair. I can't talk to kids—you do it."

"Ah? But but but didn't you say that he was looking for me?" I shook my head briefly, which was, of course, the most effective way of shaking confusion away. Me, an intellectual. "Shea!"

My sister propelled me into the bakery and shooed my pebble-self towards the counter, mouthing 'go'. I obliged, taking a wipe from one of the drawers near the doorway and cleaning my floury hands before approaching the tiny customer.

"Hi! Welcome to Baked Love. Do you need any—"

My gaze met another that I found to be very familiar with. "Vanilla?"

"Mr. Chocolate Chip!" The adorable child turned away from the rows of cupcakes and ran towards me. N-naturally, I was startled. I didn't know what to do about things running towards me in general. Not dogs, cats, and not children either.

Vanilla wrapped his arms around my legs and squeezed. "I came to your bakery! Like I said I would." He produced a clipboard from his book bag. "I can write reviews. Uncle Al says that I'm getting better at them! I'll write a really good one for you, Mr. Chocolate Chip."

I reached down to ruffle his hair and return the hug. "You must be very talented at writing. Uncle Al would be very proud of you...but," I leaned down so that our eyes were levelled. "Did you run off on your own? Where's Uncle Al?"

The bespectacled boy was quiet all of a sudden. He turned away, gaze averted. "Well...we agreed to disagree," he began, fiddling with the notepad attached to his clipboard before his shoulders fell. "But, um, mainly disagreed. In the end. I-it was nothing."

I positively paled.

"Vanilla! It's not nothing," gently turning his shoulders so that he was facing me, I booped his nose for being naughty. "You ran away didn't you! What happened? Was it an argument?"

He sighed, nodding slowly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Vanilla shook his head hastily—then, upon further consideration, nodded with great reluctance. "Okay, but you have to keep this a secret."

I stuck out my pinky to seal the promise, and the precious child hooked it with his own. "There."

"So Uncle Al was upset about me wanting to—" the bells above the door chimed and both Vanilla and I turned to it at once. An incredibly well-dressed lady had entered with a purse in one hand and her cell phone in another.

"Vanille!"

The boy jumped, startled. "Miss Julie? How did you know I was here?"

"Oh you silly boy," the lady (who I assumed was Miss Julie, as Vanilla had addressed) came up to me with an expression of relief. "You must be Mr. Chocolate Chip. Vanille has been wanting to come to your bakery ever since that day."

I shook the hand that she'd extended towards me, still fairly in shock. T-the mother? But no, he called her Miss Julie. The aunt? But then she'd be Aunt Julie—

"Yes, I'm the Mr. Chocolate...no. No I'm not, I'm Mr. Chip—I mean! Chip Honeycutt! That's what I meant," I breathed. "Chip Honeycutt-Jaxon."

Miss Julie laughed good-naturedly, a hand on top of Vanille's head, ruffling his hair. "Mr. Jaxon? Why, I'm sorry for saying this but your family name doesn't suit you at all, dear!"

"Oh! Oh no," I waved my hands in front of my face. "That's my husband's last name. Mine's Honeycutt."

Vanilla had his tiny mouth wide open in shock. "I'm at the wrong bakery...?"

"No no, this is the right one—I'm Mr. Chocolate Chip. Too. I'm both. Mr. Chocolate Chip and Mr. Honeycutt," I did my best to explain, short of losing my will to performing self-introductions ever again. "A-and you are?"

"Miss Julie was my teacher at pre-school," Vanilla jumped on the question, eager to be the one with all the information. "And in four months and three days, she's going to be my aunt!" He piped happily, turning to Miss Julie with the most adorable smile I've ever seen.

W-well, except Xander's. And Giselle's. My husband can be cute too, you know.

"You've got that right as usual, Vanille," Miss Julie laughed, patting her soon-to-be nephew on the head. "And as usual, I'm the one who has to mediate the little squabbles they have over which cake is better-tasting." I couldn't help but laugh along with her.

"So?" She turned to Vanilla with a fold of her arms. "What is it this time, dear. Pies? Cakes? Or is he nit-picking about waffles and pancakes again?"

The boy shook his head, chewing on his lower lip. His glasses were slipping off his tiny nose from how big the frames were. "Uncle Al wouldn't let me come to Mr. Chocolate Chip's bakery." He turned to me, and seemed to have more to say.

"Go on, Vanilla," I prompted. "Is there something else you want to say?"

Again, he shook his head at once, readjusting the frames that were slipping down the bridge of his nose. "I-it's nothing. I'm here now." Vanilla produced a coin pouch from the front of his neatly-packed book bag. "I'm here to buy everything!"

"Oh you silly boy," Miss Julie took one look at the coin pouch and laughed. "Doesn't that belong to Alfred?"

Cute Vanille laughed sheepishly, drifting towards the display case that he had been eyeing minutes ago. "I'm just borrowing it for the day."

"Oh! Oh, you don't have to buy anything," I waved away his pouch and showed them into the kitchen. "There's a table over there. Please have a seat and make yourselves at home. I'll bring some treats over."

"But that's not how it works, Mr. Chocolate Chip," Vanilla was reluctant to sit. "I'm a customer. I should be paying for your cakes!"

"No, you're a critic now," I corrected, glancing at Shea who had scooted all the way to the back, kneading dough and beckoning her over. "This is my youngest sister. Shea. Peak hour's over now, so we have the rest of our bakers take turns to rest upstairs."

Vanilla was in awe, as though he was experiencing the thrill of being treated as a real critic for once and delighting in the moment. He nodded, penning something down on his notepad. "O-okay! What's your bakery's specialty, then? Are you the chief baker, Mr. Chocolate Chip? How many cupcakes does the bakery make every day?"

"That's a lot of questions to answer, Vanille," Miss Julie commented lightly, persuading him to sit at the table while I fetch the treats. "Why don't you ask Mr. Chip after he brings you the cakes to review?"

The mini-critic's mouth shaped into an 'o' before he nodded at once, shuffling towards the nearest chair and tip-toeing to slide onto it. "Alright. I'll wait here, Mr. Chocolate Chip." He raised his gaze with a smile of anticipation.

Ah! An angel! He's adorable! ;u;

Hastily, I slipped back into the bakery and grabbed a pair of tongs and a tray, searching for the cinnamon rolls, mochi waffles, hot cross buns and a couple of slices of cake. Anyone could tell that I was unnecessarily excited about having Vanilla over at the bakery. He was a special guest that I felt the need to impress—more so than Mr. Dempsey himself, strangely.

"Mr. Chip."

I jumped, nearly sending the contents of the tray flying into the air. "O-oh! Miss Julie. I didn't notice you were behind me."

"Did I scare you for a second?" She flashed an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that. Just wanted to talk to you privately, uh, without Vanille's supervision," she lowered her voice, laughing quietly.

"Sure! What is it?"

"It's Alfred," she began anxiously, hands clasped together. "Forbidding Vanille to visit the bakery of the man who helped him find his Uncle! I understand that he must sound ridiculous. I'm sorry. He's a very strict guardian and he's been like this with Vanille since his sister—Vanille's mother—passed. I...I hope you understand."

I was slightly taken aback by how upfront she was about their family issues, unable to form an immediate response in turn.

"O-oh, I. I'm sorry. Was it—was it recent...? Ah, excuse me. I shouldn't have asked. Please don't worry about the issue. Mr. Dempsey is a thoughtful man who really cares for Vanilla! I understand that he might be concerned, especially with the controversy...um, no, just, the rumours floating around. About the bakery." I finished quietly, putting aside the tongs.

"Vanille can barely remember his mother, Mr. Chip." Miss Julie helped me with the tray of sweet treats. "You don't have to apologize. And about the rumours—I apologize if Alfred had, by some slip of the tongue, said or written some insensitive things about your bakery. I tried to talk him into letting his nephew drop by just this morning and he seemed adamant about it, so I thought..."

She's...she's so nice! ;-;

"He's a stick in the mud. That's all I'm trying to say," Mr. Dempsey's fiancé went on with an exasperated roll of her eyes. "I hope you'll forgive him. Vanille wanted so much to see you and that was how I guessed he was here when he wasn't at home after school hours."

I reassured her by saying that there was nothing to forgive in the first place. "Mr. Dempsey was giving his honest opinion. It's not a crime to have a straightforward personality! Haha, well um...my husband is pretty direct with his words too. No filter."

Miss Julie laughed. "Oh, you're such a sweetheart. I'm sorry I held you up—Vanille must be anxious with every passing minute. I can only hope he hasn't adopted Alfred's impatience."

We returned to the kitchen with a tray of baked goodies, pleasantly surprised by four glasses of freshly-squeezed orange juice. I spotted Shea stowing the rest of the oranges away in the cooler, murmuring something about 'happening to peel them anyway'.

Vanilla was sipping on his orange juice contently, patiently seated with his back completely straight. His eyes widened as soon as they rested on the contents of the tray.

"Is that a strawberry shortcake? And are those cinnamon rolls? And that's chocolate ganache on that cake? Is the other one a cheesecake? The strawberry shortcake looks really good." He pointed out each and every treat, fiddling with his suspenders before remembering that he was to be a critic and having to clear his throat to set himself straight.

I handed him and Miss Julie a fork each. "Pick whichever you'd like to start with! The hazelnut chocolate cake is a guilty favourite of mine. The slightly healthier option would be the strawberry shortcake. A-although, I mean, still...not entirely fat free but," I laughed, sheepish.

Vanilla went for the strawberry shortcake without a second to waste.

"That's his favourite treat," Miss Julie explained, sampling a portion of the mochi waffle. "Alfred gets free samples all the time so Vanille's got to taste strawberry shortcakes from all sorts of bakeries. And—wow, these waffles are really good. Is that custard cream inside? Alfred's got to be out of his mind when he wrote about how ridiculous these were."

"What's your secret ingredient?" Vanilla was eager to know at once, ready to take down my answer with a pen in hand. "The cream...it's so light!"

I blinked, surprised. "W-well, I don't have a secret ingredient, Vanilla. It's just an ordinary strawberry shortcake."

"But it's! It's...it's..." The mini-critic frowned at the slice of cake, pen hovering above his notepad. "I don't know. Why didn't you pipe rosettes or swirls or...or fleur de lis on top of the cake for decoration? I-I mean, there's nothing except the strawberry," he said, referring to the thinly-sliced strawberry placed in the middle of the cake slice—so thin that it was pink and translucent.

"That's a good question," I laughed. "Well...piping rosettes of cream all over the cake would increase the overall density of it, and it can be quite a mouthful. People who like strawberry shortcakes instead of chocolate or mocha cakes like it because of its simplicity. You don't feel as though you're hit by intense flavour from the first bite. Having too much cream would defeat the purpose of a light and well-balanced cake! At the same time, you don't want a strawberry shortcake to be overly sour from the strawberries, or overly sweet. Having full strawberries on top of the cake means that you have to eat it whole—without the compliment of the cream and the cake unless you can fit all of that into your mouth in one go—so that's a no too. So...hmm, to answer your question, maybe it's not about what I have in the cake that makes it special, but what I don't have."

Vanilla looked at me as though I had revealed to him the secrets of the world, blank and quiet. Miss Julie laughed.

"He's probably shocked because most bakeries have fancy piping techniques or the entire cake-top filled with sliced strawberries," she explained, reaching for the cake to give it a try. "You know, the kind that fans out in a flower shape and are priced at jaw-dropping numbers?"

"Uncle Al brought something like that over to grandma's on Saturday and he loved it. I thought it was nice but there was something missing," the boy piped up after a while, sharing the cake with his aunt-to-be. "I felt bored after three spoonfuls. It's weird, but I've always thought it was my taste buds that needed fixing."

I ruffled his hair. "Well, there have been several scientific studies that support children's high sensitivity to taste. You're almost at the age! Don't worry. You're not broken or anything like that."

"Phew," Vanilla sighed, finishing the strawberry shortcake. "I guess I've found my cake in the universe then." He turned to his clipboard and wrote the longest word I've witnessed any five-year-old write.

Phenomenal

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

"How do I look?"

I emerged from behind the door of our wardrobe, where the mirror was hidden. Hansel's dress shirt was a size bigger than what I usually wore, but it was nearly impossible for me to afford another item when the cream-coloured vest and matching pants that I purchased had barely made the cut for my budget.

"Delicious," my husband said after staring me up and down for a good minute, his signature smirk surfacing unconsciously.

"Wh—wha...why do you always use such problematic words to describe me?" I asked, prodding his upper arm as we made our way downstairs to the bakery's kitchen.

"Like angel, sweet, delicious, treasure, beautiful and—" I felt myself turning red very quickly and reached up to put a finger to his lips.

"O-okay, okay...I get it. You don't have to embarrass me now."

Xander laughed, lowering his voice. "So that means I can embarrass you later?"

"Nu!" I turned to him with a glare, attacking him with pokes.

He defended against them by planting a kiss on my forehead. It was my true weakness ;-;

"Lovebirds, the truck's gotta leave in five minutes!" I heard Shea call from the kitchen and picked up my pace at once.

"Coming!"

Hansel was carefully transferring the last of our cake holders into the cooler truck with Coco while Shea was looking through the list to confirm that we had everything prepared. She frowned the moment we entered the kitchen.

"What, are you looking to be eaten up like the rest of your strawberry shortcakes?" My sister looked me up and down with a shake of her head while I paused with a blink.

"Um...is there something wrong with my outfit? D-do I look weird?"

Apparently, Shea and my husband were plotting something behind my back because they sighed in sync.

"Thank god you're tagging along. You're the only I can trust to keep this bunny safe," Xander placed his hands on my shoulders before squeezing them. "Call me if you need back up. I hope this Dempsey dude's nice enough to be sincere at least."

"People, we're ready to go," Hansel called from the back door, staring at my outfit. "Okay, what's with that vest and how are you going to—"

"Why is everyone talking about my clothes all of a sudden?" My heart sank but Xander was there to cuddle me to normal.

*

The venue was more extravagant than I had imagined it to be. It was, like Xander had said, something akin to an elegant tea party that I absolutely did not belong in. The garden was indoors—almost like a greenhouse but air-conditioned and all the plants and trees were species that thrived in chilly weather. There were vines everywhere and in the middle of the garden was a white veranda where the invited bakers would display their best-sellers for the event.

I'd only ever seen this in pictures on magazines and short video clips covered by the local news but witnessing in real life was an entirely different experience altogether. It was scary ;-;

"May I take a look at your e-invitation, sir?" A well-dressed man approached me as soon as Hansel stopped the truck at the unloading bay and I opened to door to start unpacking the slices of strawberry shortcake that Coco, Shea, Rose (she came over just to help!) and I stayed up doing all night.

I fished out my phone and showed him a screenshot of my invitation. He nodded, signalling several other men that were dressed in a similar outfit to help with the unloading.

"I'll show you to the veranda, Mr. Honeycutt. Mr. Dempsey will be waiting for you at the registration counter—reception is still ongoing. Drinks are provided free of charge so feel free to help yourself," said the man to me and Shea, gesturing for us to follow.

Shea and I carried a box each and began tailing him.

"Holy hell," my sister nudged me as we entered the garden. "This place is fancy. I feel so out of place."

"M-me too," I stammered, trying to keep my nerves in check and failing terribly as soon as the reception area was in sight and many well-dressed people came into view. My eyes strayed towards the buffet table at once; where all the best-sellers were set up.

Although we made an effort to be early, there were several bakeries that already had their creations displayed in their allocated spots but one of them caught my eye at once.

Oh no. It was more strawberry shortcake.