Tasha looked at her.
“That doesn’t make it yours.”
Before the woman could respond, a man in a black polo shirt approached.
Early forties.
Store badge.
MARCUS - ASSISTANT MANAGER.
“What’s going on?”
The floral-blouse woman answered before anyone else.
“Your employee is refusing to sell me merchandise I selected from your bakery.”
Marcus looked at Tasha.
Tasha pointed toward the cake.
“It’s prepaid.”
Marcus picked up Emily’s receipt.
Then looked underneath the cake box.
His face tightened.
“Who put this out?”
“I don’t know.”
The woman crossed her arms.
“Not my concern.”
Marcus nodded.
“You’re right.”
She smiled triumphantly.
Then Marcus continued:
“But because it was already purchased, we cannot sell it twice.”
Her smile disappeared.
“You clearly can refund her.”
Emily stared.
Tasha stared.
Even Marcus seemed briefly unsure he had heard correctly.
The woman gestured toward Emily.
“Refund her and sell it to me.”
Emily laughed.
She could not help it.
The woman snapped:
“What is funny?”
Emily shook her head.
“I’m trying to understand why my son’s cake has become this important to you.”
“Because I need a cake.”
“So do I.”
“I got there first.”
“No.”
Emily’s exhaustion disappeared beneath a cleaner emotion.
Certainty.
“You got there after I paid.”
The checkout line became silent again.
The woman stared at her.
Emily did not look away.
Marcus cleared his throat.
“The cake belongs to Ms. Carter.”
The woman pointed toward the bakery.
“Then I expect you to provide me another one.”
Marcus nodded.
“We can check.”
“I want the same size.”
“We’ll see what’s available.”
“And the same price.”
“If we have one.”
“And I’m not waiting.”
Marcus remained polite.
“We’ll do what we can.”
The woman grabbed her handbag.
“This store’s service has become unbelievable.”
Tasha looked down very quickly.
Emily could tell she was hiding a smile.
Marcus gestured toward the bakery.
“I’ll check personally.”
The woman followed.
Before leaving, she turned toward Emily.
“You made an enormous issue over a cake.”
Emily stared at her.
“You ran to the register with an eight-year-old’s birthday cake.”
The man with frozen pizzas actually laughed this time.
The woman left.
Emily exhaled.
Tasha looked at her.
“Birthday today?”
“Six o’clock.”
“What time is it?”
Emily checked.
“Three thirty-eight.”
“You’re good.”
Emily smiled.
“Party starts at four-thirty.”
Tasha winced.
“Less good.”
Emily laughed.
For the first time, genuinely.
She paid for the other items in her cart.
Candles.
Juice.
Paper plates.
Two bags of chips.
Ice cream.