MY BOYFRIEND’S OTHER GIRLFRIEND

“Why do you have a photograph of my boyfriend?” Cressida lowered her fork, leaving a piece of cake untouched on its prongs. “I’m sorry. What did you say?” I turned her phone toward me, although I had already recognized him. Elliot was kissing her temple while she rested her left hand against his chest, displaying the engagement ring she had been turning toward the window throughout our appointment. Less than two hours ago, he had kissed me goodbye in my kitchen. “That’s Elliot Crane,” I said. “Why are you showing me his picture?” “Because we’re getting married, and you asked whether I wanted to include anything personal in the cake design.” I was still holding the piping bag I had picked up to demonstrate a border. Buttercream squeezed beneath my fingers and spread across the order form before I noticed what I was doing. Cressida glanced at the mess. “Are you all right?” I placed the bag on its tray, taking care not to knock over her water. “How long have you been together?” Her expression changed. She put down the fork. “I think you should explain why you called my fiancé your boyfriend.” “Because he is. We’ve been together for eighteen months.” She pushed her chair back and stood, catching her bag before it slipped from her lap. “That isn’t possible. He proposed three weeks ago.” Three weeks ago, Elliot had cancelled dinner because a client needed him. I had packed his portion into a container, then apologized for complaining when he finally came back exhausted. Cressida reached across the table for her phone. “If there’s something you want from him, you need to take it up with him.” “I didn’t know who you were until you showed me that photograph.” “You wrote his name on my order.” “His first name. I didn’t think I needed to check whether your groom was the man who left his toothbrush beside mine.” She stopped putting her phone away. I regretted the sharpness of it, but she was preparing to leave believing I had chosen to do this to her. I found my own phone beside the sample labels and opened Elliot’s messages. “He sent this before you arrived.” I placed it in front of her. Tonight, beautiful. No business talk. Just you and me. Cressida read it without sitting down. “That doesn’t tell me what kind of relationship you have.” “You’re right. Let me show you something that does.” I scrolled back to his birthday and found the photograph we had taken in bed. Elliot was wearing the paper crown I had insisted on, his arm around my bare shoulders while I held his little birthday cake toward the camera. Cressida leaned over the table. Her gaze moved from our faces to the date. “He told me he was in Boston that weekend.” “He spent it with me.” She pulled out her chair again, this time sitting slowly. I started to move toward her when she caught the edge of the table, but she raised her hand. “Please. Just give me a second.” I stayed beside my chair. In the kitchen, Tavi was scraping batter into a tin. Someone at the front counter asked whether we had any cinnamon rolls left, and I caught myself listening for her answer. Cressida touched the screen. “Ten months,” she said. “He’s been with me for ten months.” I sat down opposite her. There was no useful response to that, and I couldn’t bear to start listing the occasions he must have divided between us. “Tavi, could you come here?” My friend appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. She took one look at me and stopped. “Could you cover the front and close this door?” I asked. “I need to finish something with my client.” “Of course.” Tavi looked at Cressida, then back at me. “Call if you need me.” Once the door closed, Cressida pushed my phone back across the table. “He told me about you.” I left it where it was. “What did he say?” “That you were a baker he was helping. He said you were talented, but you needed someone who understood the business side.” My face burned. He had said almost exactly that to me, usually while persuading me to let him handle another conversation. “He offered to introduce me to investors,” I said. “I didn’t realize he was describing me like that.” “You knew about Bridgehouse, then?” “The kitchen development? We’ve discussed it.” She looked down at her ring. “When you said you hadn’t heard of me, I thought perhaps—” “I knew about a possible business opportunity,” I said. “I didn’t know he was marrying someone else.” Cressida opened her messages and slid her phone toward me. Beneath a photograph of the ring in its box, Elliot had written: Can’t wait to make you my wife. I read the words, then looked away before she could see me reading them again. “He has a key to my apartment,” I said. “He keeps clothes at mine.” She pressed her lips together. “I suppose that explains why he never brought very much.” Her phone began ringing between us. When Elliot’s name appeared, she turned it over without answering. “Do you want to speak to him?” I asked. “Not until I know I can get through a sentence.” A message followed the call. She checked it, then gave a brief, incredulous laugh and showed me the screen. How’s the tasting, baby? Found somewhere you like? “He doesn’t know you’re here?” I asked. “I wanted to surprise him with the design. I booked it myself.” “How did you find us?” “Your bakery was in the Bridgehouse launch brochure. He’d mentioned Hart & Honey, so I thought choosing you would please him.” I straightened in my chair. “What launch brochure?” Cressida studied me. “It said you were involved.” “He’s arranged meetings about expansion. I haven’t agreed to a launch.” Before she could answer, Tavi knocked and opened the door a few inches, holding the cordless phone against her apron. “Elliot’s asking whether you’re free.” Cressida looked at the handset. I watched her register the same thing I had: he was calling one woman, then the other. “Tell him I’m with a client,” I said. “I’ll call him when I’m finished.” Tavi nodded and withdrew, leaving us alone again. Cressida gathered her bag. “I need to get out of here.” “I understand, but please don’t leave thinking I knew.” She paused with the strap halfway onto her shoulder. “I believe you,” she said. “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.” “I don’t either.” Her eyes filled. I pushed the water toward her and picked up the tasting plates, giving her a moment to drink without being watched. Buttercream had soaked through a corner of the order form. I wiped it away, then crossed out the congratulations I had written beneath their names. “What about the deposit?” Cressida asked. “We’ll sort it out later. You don’t have to decide anything else today.” She put down the glass. “My brother’s coming to collect me. I called him while you were getting the samples.” Before I could ask whether she had told him, the front bell rang. A man asked for Cressida, and she stood, brushing carefully beneath her eyes. Her brother entered a moment later. “Cress, what happened?” “It’s Elliot.” She caught his arm before he could come farther into the room. “Jane’s been with him for eighteen months.” His attention shifted to me as my phone began ringing again. Elliot’s name lit up beside the abandoned cake samples. I silenced it. Cressida’s brother glanced at the phone, then at the ruined order form between us. When he looked up, I expected a question about Elliot. “How much do you want to keep my sister’s name out of this?”