Read The Cakes of Monte Cristo for Free Online Page B

me feeling all warm and fuzzy, and looking at the cars in the parking lot that morning ramped the fuzzies up another notch.
    I breezed into the design room, and spent a few minutes saying good morning to everyone (except Estelle, who wasn’t at her workstation). I verified that Ox and Isabeau would be delivering the restored wedding cake later that morning and then hurried into the front of the house.
    One look at the reception area explained why Estelle wasn’t in the design room. She was here, pacing in front of Edie’s desk and apparently waiting for me. She stopped walking when she saw me and smiled broadly. Her red hair curled all over the place without the kerchief she usually wore to contain it, and her orange shirt clashed wildly with her lime green capris.
    â€œThere you are, Rita,” she said. “I was starting to think maybe you weren’t coming in. You
have
to do something about Ox.”
    Uh-oh
. Ox hadn’t looked upset when I said good morning, but maybe I’d missed something. “Why?” I asked cautiously. “What has he done?”
    â€œIt’s about Zoey,” she said with a nod toward the wingback chairs flanking the front window.
    My heart sank when I remembered that on top of everything else on my agenda, I had to train Estelle’s niece Zoey to do Edie’s job, or at least a fraction of it. I did some rapid mental reshuffling as I glanced at the heavyset girl with greasy brown hair who was watching us. The girl—presumably Zoey—wore an oversized T-shirt and jeans that looked at least two sizes too large. Apparently she’d inherited her aunt’s fashion sense. When she realized that I’d noticed her, she slumped down so far on her tailbone, it had to hurt.
    Not exactly what I’d been expecting. Estelle’s other nieces were slim, blond, and bouncy—as if they’d mysteriously fallen from Isabeau’s family tree. But Zoey had none of their physical attributes, and it was painfully obvious that she was aware of the difference.
    I’d grown up in a poor Hispanic neighborhood without parents of my own and I recognized the look on Zoey’s face. It practically screamed,
I don’t measure up
, and it tugged at my already fuzzy heartstrings.
    â€œZoey, say hello to Rita,” Estelle instructed.
    Zoey glanced up at me from beneath a veil of bangs that obscured her eyes. Her upper lip twitched, which I thought might have been an attempt at a smile. “Hullo.”
    I’m not the kind of person who routinely takes others under my wing, so the surge of protectiveness I felt for Zoey caught me by surprise. For some reason, I felt an almost overwhelming need to make her feel welcome and appreciated.
    I crossed the room toward her and held out a hand. I got some chubby, damp fingers in response. They sat like dead fish in my grip, but I pumped her arm a couple of times and gave her a friendly smile. “We’re glad to have you, Zoey. Estelle has told me lots of good things about you.”
    Zoey’s surprised gaze shifted from my face to her aunt’s. “You did?”
    â€œWell, of course I did, you silly girl,” Estelle chided. “You’re smart. You always have been. The only person who doesn’t believe that is you.”
    I knew Estelle meant well, but I didn’t think this was the time or the place for such a personal comment. I thought it might bother Zoey but she merely shrugged and looked back at me. “I guess I should say thanks for giving me the chance.”
    Her enthusiasm was underwhelming but I didn’t let it bother me. I didn’t know what had hurt Zoey, but I was convinced something had and that cemented the bond I felt forher. I’d spent my early teen years hurt and angry and convinced I didn’t belong anywhere. I’d overcome most of those old feelings, but I still struggled with them at times.
    â€œI’m hoping for good things from