The baker delivered it herself.
Her name was Jenna.
She looked around Lauren’s age, maybe early thirties, with dark hair twisted into a loose knot.
She carried the cake carefully through the side gate.
“Where do you want it?”
“Under the patio.”
“Good. Keep it out of direct sun.”
We placed it on the table.
It was exactly what Lauren wanted.
White frosting.
Simple piping.
No colored decorations.
Nothing that revealed what was inside.
“Beautiful.”
“Your daughter picked a nice design.”
Jenna smiled.
But she didn’t leave immediately.
She stood beside the table for several seconds.
At first, I thought she was making sure it was stable.
Then she looked at me.
Almost like she wanted to say something.
“You need anything else?” I asked.
“No.”
She hesitated.Start Baby Registry
Then:
“No. You’re good.”
She walked back toward her van.
I watched her go.
Something about that hesitation stayed with me for maybe thirty seconds.
