“I’m not going to mess it up.”

He laughed, shaking his head and reaching for the bag of icing I held clutched in my hand. I ducked away, and the icing ran off the side of the cake.

“Now see what you’ve done. You messed up the L.”

I was laughing now, and my husband took the advantage, snatching the icing from my hands. His strong hands finished the job with perfect ease, spelling out the remaining letters.

“You are such a party pooper.” I moaned, smacking the side of his head. “At least let me put it in the oven.”

He glanced at me suspiciously before nodding. “Just be careful, Casey.”

I bit my lip eagerly, placing a hand on either side of the glass pan. I lifted it with ease, watching my step carefully as to not drop it. My husband was nervous, following behind me. And I thought he had no reason. I wasn’t a total screw up. Surely I could walk a short distance and put this pan in the oven.

No such luck.

I tripped at the last moment, and my hands reached out for support. I toppled to the ground, the cake pan soaring through the air, and the tinkling of glass filled the small kitchen.

A small moan escaped my lips and my husband cried out.

“I’m sorry.” I rolled over, afraid to see his face. It was crumpled, and he was staring down at me in disbelief.

Regardless, he set me back on my feet, dusting off my back.

“I’m so sorry Rick.” My hands fluttered in the air as I searched for a way to make this better. “I’ll bake you another one, right now. I’ll go get the ingredients and…” My words failed. I had no idea how to bake a cake.

He didn’t reply, examining my arms instead.

“I’ll buy a premade cake then. One in the bakery window, the ones we see all the time. I’ll get one of those and bring it home.”

Again, no reply as his eyes darted over my shoulder and at the stove. I turned to see the glass sprinkled all over the counter and floor.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ve really screwed up this time.”

He moved away, pulling out the broom from the cupboard.

“Let me clean it up at least.”

Rick didn’t allow it, pushing past me to sweep up the glass in the floor.

“It’s a miracle you didn’t cut yourself.” He murmured, and he smiled slightly, tilting his head at the chocolate icing covering my hands. “Not completely unhurt though.”

“I’m so sorry Ricky.”

My voice trembled and he frowned, propping the broom against a cabinet.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. As you would say, it was just a cake.”

“But you love your cakes.” It was his life, his job, and his ambition. How could he be so cool about it?

“I can fix another one when,” He glared at me pointedly, “you’re out of the kitchen. Besides,” Rick managed a small smile, grabbing my wrist and holding my hand to his face, “I’ve got my cake right here.”